Did you catch the themes of last Sunday's lessons? When the Gospel was proclaimed, did they click? Authority and belief jump right out at you, but I would like to save authority for another time and focus on belief, as belief is why we’re all here today, isn’t it? Still, that question of authority tempts because I believe we all buck it at one time or another, or wish we had more of it . . . just look what happened to the priests and elders when they approached Jesus about it.
I would have loved to be a butterfly on the walls of the Temple that day. It must have been a bit too much to swallow for these people in authority. In their structured, neat, and privileged world, one doesn’t buck the system, so they have questions for him, and they have a right to ask as those who uphold tradition and the law – but in this instance, the chief priests and elders aren’t really interested in a theological debate; they want Jesus to say that it’s God who gives him such power so they can bring him up on charges of blasphemy.
Jesus enters the Temple in Jerusalem and creates quite a scene. He disrupts the local economy by knocking over the money changers’ tables and driving out the merchants and their livestock. He heals people and children squeal and shout his praises and clamor at him.
“By what authority are you doing these things,” they ask; “and who gave you this authority?”
Jesus in true rabbinic tradition responds to their query with a question.
“Did the baptism of John come from heaven or was it of human origin?”
Looks like the ball rolled into the priests and elders’ court and they’ve got a problem. If they say John’s authority to baptize came from heaven, they’re at odds with Rome, with whom they cooperate, and if they say human, the crowds following Jesus and present during this exchange would probably riot, for John was revered as a prophet. So they take the middle ground, the safest route, and admit that they don’t know. They’re in a can’t-win situation. Jesus has the last word, of course, and ends this line of questioning by saying he’s not going to divulge the source of his authority. Then he pushes them a bit further, continues, telling a parable of two sons.
“What do you think?” Jesus asks. A man asks two sons to work in his vineyard. The first son says, no, but changes his mind and goes out to work. The second son says, yes, and doesn’t bother following through.
So which of these sons, Jesus asks, did his father’s bidding?
The priests and elders reveal their hypocrisy by saying it’s the first son. In so few words, they admit John’s authority came from God, for the first son can be compared to the tax collectors and prostitutes, the outcasts of a first century society that took honor and shame very seriously. They represented a less than holy way of life, but eventually they responded to and accepted John’s message to repent. These so-called sinners will be welcomed in the Kingdom of Heaven because they responded in belief to the messengers sent by God. On the other hand, the priests and elders were like the second son -- people who profess to be righteous, but rejected John and all that he taught, even after they witnessed changed lives they still refused to believe; they continued with business as usual, saying “yes” to God, but never following through.
The message we can take from this scripture goes something like this -- what matters most is what we actually do when God calls. Acknowledging what is correct, but not taking action, is a barrier to a true and heartfelt response to God.
It is through God that John and Jesus received their gifts of ministry, their exceptional powers and abilities to completely understand what it was that God required of them and accept what was asked.
All that we do and say in living out the Gospel and proclaiming it are gifts from God. We don’t have the particular gifts given to Jesus, but he gives us something wonderful – salvation and eternal life.
But is it really that simple, to say “Yes!” to whatever God asks and assume that’s good enough for now?
No, not really.
Do you find yourself at times eagerly promising God that you’ll go into the vineyard, and then getting distracted by just one more thing that has to be wrapped up before -- ? I plead guilty on this count, as I’m sure some of you will. Do you find yourself thinking that just because you’re Christian you’ve got it all locked up and you’ve got a reservation for one of the bigger rooms in the house in the Kingdom of Heaven? Again, I’m guilty as charged.
I’m like both of the sons. Are you?
The good news is the Good News. We might rush to give God the right answer and hope that that will suffice for the time being, but Jesus is with us to show us how to love perfectly and act accordingly. We are invited to allow Jesus’ love and guidance, and our action to transform us into what God wants us to be.
Every day is another chance to get it right with God, that when we’re asked to work in the vineyard, we should go and do just that.
Easy enough, right?
Not right.
If we are to do the will of God and give an authentic response, we need to embrace a life that reflects His love and the wonder of all creation.
The tax collectors and prostitutes responded and now it’s our turn.
The news throughout the world hasn’t been comforting or encouraging these past few weeks and now more than ever, we have an opportunity to proclaim the Gospel, using words, as Saint Francis once said, if necessary. If our words are true and bold, and actions follow that improve by one kindness someone’s life, and if our words are not lip service, or something convenient to satisfy the listener, then we honor Christ and model his holy work.
Come with me, friends. There’s work to do in the vineyard.
Are you ready?
01 October, 2008
26 August, 2008
Like a Rock
The Kingdom of Heaven is like the foundation of a great building – there are many stones, side by side, that hold it all together, and the building, in spite of many assaults, many earthquakes, many storms, remains standing because of the foundation. A foundation built on faith.
The first of those stones was Jesus and the next was Peter.
Of all the disciples, Peter is, perhaps the one that each of us can find something in which to identify. He’s less than perfect, he struggles to understand Jesus, has great ‘aha!’ moments where he finally gets it; he has moments of weakness and stupidity, he’s not afraid to speak up – remember when he sniped at Jesus, “Look, we’ve given up everything to follow you!” - and yet, when the final accounting is made, he is strong and sure, his love is evident. He’s a corner stone.
As Christians, we can add ourselves to this foundation – and why not? Don’t we possess similar qualities and strengths, weaknesses, as Peter? Who among us, if Jesus showed up at six o’clock some Tuesday night and asked, ‘But who do you say I am?’ would not echo Peter’s response, his confession of faith?
What makes us Christians? Our belief that Jesus is the Messiah. Our faith.
This morning’s Gospel is called “Peter’s Confession of Faith,” and it follows the miracles of the loaves and fishes, and Jesus’ walk on the Sea of Galilee. The author of Matthew tells us that after the walk, the disciples worshipped Jesus and proclaimed him Son of God. Simon Peter takes it up a notch. He says that Jesus is indeed the Messiah. This is the first time that a disciple has used this title. This confession leads to a blessing, a charge, and a new identity.
It begins when Peter becomes the first person to make what the first Christian Confession of Faith. Something new is happening, something new is being built—a foundation of love that will become the body of Christ, the church, by the will of God, and by the power of God, led first by Christ, and then his apostles, and now us.
Jesus gives Peter something more than new responsibility. A new name. To give a name is to bestow an identity. A name tells people who and what you are, your ancestry. To change a person’s name, as God changed Abram’s name to Abraham, and Jacob’s name to Israel, and now Simon Peter, was to alter that person’s identity, relationships, and mission.
Simon bar Jonah becomes Cephas, or Petros – the rock. Upon this rock Jesus gives responsibility and mission – to lead the disciples after his death and resurrection. He has a new purpose, a new identity.
Scripture refers to God as a rock (Genesis 49:24; Deuteronomy 32; 1 Samuel 2:2; 22; Psalm 18, 28, 31, 42, 62, 71, 78, 89, 92, etc.) Isaiah also refers to Abraham and Sarah as a rock: "Look to the Rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father, and to Sarah who bore you" (Isaiah 51:1-2). Given these associations, Jesus does great honor to Peter when he calls him the rock. I’ll throw this into the mix to get you thinking: is the “rock” actually the faith that Peter exhibits when he makes this confession, or Peter? Or both?
We become stones in the foundation all in time and it comes when we are baptized, and when we pronounce the Creed. If you look at the Baptismal Covenant on pages 304 and 305 of the Prayer Book, you will see that the charges made to those being baptized are exhortations to obey, serve and lead in Christ’s name and with God’s help. Similar, perhaps, to the charges Jesus gave Peter. When we answer, “I will” to the questions presented to us, and act upon them, building blocks are added to that set down by Jesus, Peter, the apostles, of all the faithful, and it makes the church stronger. As Paul states in his letter to the Romans, each of us has a gift that differs according to the grace bestowed on us – ministry, teaching, giving, loving, to name a few – and they are the stones, too, that build the body of Christ.
Like Peter, we are rock solid, and there are times when we are stumbling blocks; but the building remains intact. With the strength of our faith, our love of God in Christ, the walls are solid, stable; the church still stands and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.
Go in peace and keep building the church,
Ellen+
The first of those stones was Jesus and the next was Peter.
Of all the disciples, Peter is, perhaps the one that each of us can find something in which to identify. He’s less than perfect, he struggles to understand Jesus, has great ‘aha!’ moments where he finally gets it; he has moments of weakness and stupidity, he’s not afraid to speak up – remember when he sniped at Jesus, “Look, we’ve given up everything to follow you!” - and yet, when the final accounting is made, he is strong and sure, his love is evident. He’s a corner stone.
As Christians, we can add ourselves to this foundation – and why not? Don’t we possess similar qualities and strengths, weaknesses, as Peter? Who among us, if Jesus showed up at six o’clock some Tuesday night and asked, ‘But who do you say I am?’ would not echo Peter’s response, his confession of faith?
What makes us Christians? Our belief that Jesus is the Messiah. Our faith.
This morning’s Gospel is called “Peter’s Confession of Faith,” and it follows the miracles of the loaves and fishes, and Jesus’ walk on the Sea of Galilee. The author of Matthew tells us that after the walk, the disciples worshipped Jesus and proclaimed him Son of God. Simon Peter takes it up a notch. He says that Jesus is indeed the Messiah. This is the first time that a disciple has used this title. This confession leads to a blessing, a charge, and a new identity.
It begins when Peter becomes the first person to make what the first Christian Confession of Faith. Something new is happening, something new is being built—a foundation of love that will become the body of Christ, the church, by the will of God, and by the power of God, led first by Christ, and then his apostles, and now us.
Jesus gives Peter something more than new responsibility. A new name. To give a name is to bestow an identity. A name tells people who and what you are, your ancestry. To change a person’s name, as God changed Abram’s name to Abraham, and Jacob’s name to Israel, and now Simon Peter, was to alter that person’s identity, relationships, and mission.
Simon bar Jonah becomes Cephas, or Petros – the rock. Upon this rock Jesus gives responsibility and mission – to lead the disciples after his death and resurrection. He has a new purpose, a new identity.
Scripture refers to God as a rock (Genesis 49:24; Deuteronomy 32; 1 Samuel 2:2; 22; Psalm 18, 28, 31, 42, 62, 71, 78, 89, 92, etc.) Isaiah also refers to Abraham and Sarah as a rock: "Look to the Rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug. Look to Abraham your father, and to Sarah who bore you" (Isaiah 51:1-2). Given these associations, Jesus does great honor to Peter when he calls him the rock. I’ll throw this into the mix to get you thinking: is the “rock” actually the faith that Peter exhibits when he makes this confession, or Peter? Or both?
We become stones in the foundation all in time and it comes when we are baptized, and when we pronounce the Creed. If you look at the Baptismal Covenant on pages 304 and 305 of the Prayer Book, you will see that the charges made to those being baptized are exhortations to obey, serve and lead in Christ’s name and with God’s help. Similar, perhaps, to the charges Jesus gave Peter. When we answer, “I will” to the questions presented to us, and act upon them, building blocks are added to that set down by Jesus, Peter, the apostles, of all the faithful, and it makes the church stronger. As Paul states in his letter to the Romans, each of us has a gift that differs according to the grace bestowed on us – ministry, teaching, giving, loving, to name a few – and they are the stones, too, that build the body of Christ.
Like Peter, we are rock solid, and there are times when we are stumbling blocks; but the building remains intact. With the strength of our faith, our love of God in Christ, the walls are solid, stable; the church still stands and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.
Go in peace and keep building the church,
Ellen+
04 August, 2008
So Much More than Loaves and Fishes
Do you remember the folk tale, Stone Soup? A stranger enters a village in the dead of winter with a pot slung over his back; he sets up a fire in the market square and drops a pebble into the pot, adds water, and . . . . nothing! An old woman watches him from her window, as do most of the villagers, I guess, and while he stirs the water, he wishes that he had a turnip to improve the flavor of the broth. The old woman she thinks she has a turnip past its expiration date somewhere in the vegetable bin, and there it is. She tosses it in the pot. He thanks her, adding that the perfect thing to compliment a stone and turnip would be a carrot, a few more vegetables. Miraculously, the old woman just happens to have a soft onion somewhere – the skin needed to be peeled back and the bad parts cut off, but it would do, wouldn’t it? And the carrots – well, her old pony won’t mind giving them up, there’d be more tomorrow. The onion is joined by a bit of meat, a potato, some chicken bones for flavor – the ones you save to make stock with. Neighbors come by when the good smell of broth simmering drifts through the village; they dig around in their kitchens and drop something they just happen to find in a cupboard or in a bag or barrel, until everyone gathers around to enjoy a wonderful, hearty, meal – all from a pebble and some water.
Somewhere in the story, did you hear Jesus whispering, “You give them something to eat?”
I used this folk tale because the characters and the plot reminded me of the Gospel this morning – it’s an example of how God works by faith and action. The Gospel acts out the parables in Chapter 13 – the loaves and fishes are like a mustard seed – a little goes a long way; they’re like leaven hidden in the loaf; the Disciples fail to recognize the food hiding almost secretly in the midst of the crowd.
The stranger gets people to act by invitation and necessity; Jesus acts out of compassion and asks the Disciples to do the same. The crowds need not go away, the Disciples have food; they will give the crowds their supper. When they opened up their lunch boxes and found five loaves of bread and two fish. They’d need more than that to feed over five thousand people. Maybe they scratched their heads and looked at each other – you know, that look when everyone but the person asking the question thinks he or she is right. One can only imagine what Peter was thinking – or saying. But let’s give a back story to this scripture. This event follows the death of John the Baptist at Herod’s birthday feast – a bit different than the feast described here in Chapter 14. Jesus has spent the day preaching – perhaps one of the longest sermons ever offered, and, he’s been healing all those people. When he learns of John the Baptist’s death, he goes off by himself – and the crowds follow; they just won’t go home. Matthew’s text doesn’t state that the crowd was hungry and wanted something to eat, but it does say that the disciples wanted the people to go away and find their supper elsewhere. Here we have one of those moments when being disciples of Christ, of being members of the Body, seems utterly impossible or hopeless, and we look to the pragmatic, the logical, what’s in front of our noses for answers.
So Jesus tells the disciples not only what they do not want to hear, but what they cannot fathom: “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” Rather than argue the point further, the disciples give Jesus the loaves and fishes. Jesus looked to heaven and took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, who in turn gave the bread to the crowds. There was plenty to eat, everyone was fed, and there were leftovers.
This miraculous feeding is repeated in all of the gospels and that very fact is evidence of the importance of this story to the early Christians as it should be to Christians now: it is the foretaste of the Last Supper and gives us elements of the Eucharist in the orderly arrangement of people, the prayer of blessing, the act of breaking bread and the distribution of the bread to all assembled. It is a call to community. The Table has become more than just an outward and visible sign of Christ’s compassion. Fed at this Table, we the faithful work and serve in a world where sharing our resources, our ministries is one way to express our willingness to believe, to take chances against the norm and live and proclaim the Gospel.
What we should note here is not only the miraculous feeding of the five thousand, but the call to action and mission.
Jesus sent The Twelve out with authority to teach, preach, heal, and we see it at work as they distribute the bread and the fish. They are models for us as they follow the instructions Jesus gives – no matter how impossible it may seem. Perhaps the miracle is that when we trust in the love of God through Christ, completely give ourselves over to that love, we can make things that seem impossible very real in our lives and the lives of those we touch.
A stranger comes to town and invites the people to share a soup they make together – from very little comes an abundance of food and love. The disciples’ five loaves and two fish seem to be lacking in quantity, yet over five thousand people had their fill. No one was turned away. There is enough of God’s love to go around.
And now, my friends, come to this table, and you will have something to eat. It is only a little bit of bread and wine, but it is so much more.
Somewhere in the story, did you hear Jesus whispering, “You give them something to eat?”
I used this folk tale because the characters and the plot reminded me of the Gospel this morning – it’s an example of how God works by faith and action. The Gospel acts out the parables in Chapter 13 – the loaves and fishes are like a mustard seed – a little goes a long way; they’re like leaven hidden in the loaf; the Disciples fail to recognize the food hiding almost secretly in the midst of the crowd.
The stranger gets people to act by invitation and necessity; Jesus acts out of compassion and asks the Disciples to do the same. The crowds need not go away, the Disciples have food; they will give the crowds their supper. When they opened up their lunch boxes and found five loaves of bread and two fish. They’d need more than that to feed over five thousand people. Maybe they scratched their heads and looked at each other – you know, that look when everyone but the person asking the question thinks he or she is right. One can only imagine what Peter was thinking – or saying. But let’s give a back story to this scripture. This event follows the death of John the Baptist at Herod’s birthday feast – a bit different than the feast described here in Chapter 14. Jesus has spent the day preaching – perhaps one of the longest sermons ever offered, and, he’s been healing all those people. When he learns of John the Baptist’s death, he goes off by himself – and the crowds follow; they just won’t go home. Matthew’s text doesn’t state that the crowd was hungry and wanted something to eat, but it does say that the disciples wanted the people to go away and find their supper elsewhere. Here we have one of those moments when being disciples of Christ, of being members of the Body, seems utterly impossible or hopeless, and we look to the pragmatic, the logical, what’s in front of our noses for answers.
So Jesus tells the disciples not only what they do not want to hear, but what they cannot fathom: “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” Rather than argue the point further, the disciples give Jesus the loaves and fishes. Jesus looked to heaven and took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, who in turn gave the bread to the crowds. There was plenty to eat, everyone was fed, and there were leftovers.
This miraculous feeding is repeated in all of the gospels and that very fact is evidence of the importance of this story to the early Christians as it should be to Christians now: it is the foretaste of the Last Supper and gives us elements of the Eucharist in the orderly arrangement of people, the prayer of blessing, the act of breaking bread and the distribution of the bread to all assembled. It is a call to community. The Table has become more than just an outward and visible sign of Christ’s compassion. Fed at this Table, we the faithful work and serve in a world where sharing our resources, our ministries is one way to express our willingness to believe, to take chances against the norm and live and proclaim the Gospel.
What we should note here is not only the miraculous feeding of the five thousand, but the call to action and mission.
Jesus sent The Twelve out with authority to teach, preach, heal, and we see it at work as they distribute the bread and the fish. They are models for us as they follow the instructions Jesus gives – no matter how impossible it may seem. Perhaps the miracle is that when we trust in the love of God through Christ, completely give ourselves over to that love, we can make things that seem impossible very real in our lives and the lives of those we touch.
A stranger comes to town and invites the people to share a soup they make together – from very little comes an abundance of food and love. The disciples’ five loaves and two fish seem to be lacking in quantity, yet over five thousand people had their fill. No one was turned away. There is enough of God’s love to go around.
And now, my friends, come to this table, and you will have something to eat. It is only a little bit of bread and wine, but it is so much more.
19 July, 2008
Growth from God ... and Tiny Seeds
Creation is a glorious mystery. I live in an area of California where there are redwoods and eucalyptus. I love the smell of eucalyptus, the seeds that look like tea cups. Redwoods are just amazing -- is there any plant as tall and majestic? 25 years ago, when my daughter Celia was born, we planted a redwood out in front of her grandmother's house where a dying tree once stood. Today, that tree soars over the tiny white cottage on the hill and the plush neighborhood where it stands. What is amazing is that it came from a seed I can hold in the palm of my hand.
Life comes from a spark of almost nothing and becomes something extraordinary.
Where the seeds are planted and nurtured make a big difference.
The Gospel for Sunday, July, 13, is the first of three lections from Matthew 13 consisting of parables, the the third major body of Jesus' teachings found in this Gospel, the first being the Sermon on the Mount and the other, the Mission Charge.
Okay, so what's a parable?
It's a tool for teaching that Jesus used - they are powerful, because what stays in the memory better than a good story?
But these are stories that allow the listener to teach themselves. Jesus' parables are disorienting; they turn society as we know it on it's head, takes us out of the predictable and comfortable and challenges us to look deeper, closer.
The "Parable of the Sower" tells us of seeds that are planted in different ground - the seeds are tossed; some seeds fell on pavement; some seeds fell in rocky ground; more seed fell into bracken, thorns and weeds, and finally, seeds fell into good soil.
What happens to the seeds, the seed that fell on pavement, or path? They were eaten by the birds immediately, And the seeds that fell on rocky ground? Well, they sprang up but there was no depth for their roots and they withered and died, How about the seeds that fell into the thorns? Choked. Finally, the seeds that fell into good soil? Can you guess? They produce grain in hundredfolds, and them some!
So which seed are you?
That's the point of this parable. Our ears hear an allegory - the seed is Logos, the word of God through Christ. The seeds represent we children of God and how we respond to the teaching of Jesus.
Let's see if I can get this right:
The seed on the path is the person who doesn't want to hear; the seed on rocky ground is the person who wants to get it, tries hard at it, then gives up for whatever reason. It's just too hard. The seed in the thorns might be someone in the wrong crowd, who cannot hear, tries, but is suffocated by their own worries and life; and the seed in the good soil - that's not hard to figure out. That's someone who hears and takes it to heart; let's the word of the Lord and the invitation of Christ to be nurtured and it grows so that the word is spread to everyone that good seed knows and sees, and it continues to reap a good harvest.
Jesus told these stories to get people to think harder about their lives, their relationships with God and people, to look at the Kingdom of Heaven through a different lens, take an understanding of it as a way of being and acting, other than a physical place.
The Kingdom of Heaven is like . . .
well, what do you think it is like?
How will you sow the Word of God so that it may reap in a hundredfold, twenty, thirty, believers ready to make the Kingdom of Heaven a place for all to come and sit down at the table?
Go in peace!
Ellen+
Life comes from a spark of almost nothing and becomes something extraordinary.
Where the seeds are planted and nurtured make a big difference.
The Gospel for Sunday, July, 13, is the first of three lections from Matthew 13 consisting of parables, the the third major body of Jesus' teachings found in this Gospel, the first being the Sermon on the Mount and the other, the Mission Charge.
Okay, so what's a parable?
It's a tool for teaching that Jesus used - they are powerful, because what stays in the memory better than a good story?
But these are stories that allow the listener to teach themselves. Jesus' parables are disorienting; they turn society as we know it on it's head, takes us out of the predictable and comfortable and challenges us to look deeper, closer.
The "Parable of the Sower" tells us of seeds that are planted in different ground - the seeds are tossed; some seeds fell on pavement; some seeds fell in rocky ground; more seed fell into bracken, thorns and weeds, and finally, seeds fell into good soil.
What happens to the seeds, the seed that fell on pavement, or path? They were eaten by the birds immediately, And the seeds that fell on rocky ground? Well, they sprang up but there was no depth for their roots and they withered and died, How about the seeds that fell into the thorns? Choked. Finally, the seeds that fell into good soil? Can you guess? They produce grain in hundredfolds, and them some!
So which seed are you?
That's the point of this parable. Our ears hear an allegory - the seed is Logos, the word of God through Christ. The seeds represent we children of God and how we respond to the teaching of Jesus.
Let's see if I can get this right:
The seed on the path is the person who doesn't want to hear; the seed on rocky ground is the person who wants to get it, tries hard at it, then gives up for whatever reason. It's just too hard. The seed in the thorns might be someone in the wrong crowd, who cannot hear, tries, but is suffocated by their own worries and life; and the seed in the good soil - that's not hard to figure out. That's someone who hears and takes it to heart; let's the word of the Lord and the invitation of Christ to be nurtured and it grows so that the word is spread to everyone that good seed knows and sees, and it continues to reap a good harvest.
Jesus told these stories to get people to think harder about their lives, their relationships with God and people, to look at the Kingdom of Heaven through a different lens, take an understanding of it as a way of being and acting, other than a physical place.
The Kingdom of Heaven is like . . .
well, what do you think it is like?
How will you sow the Word of God so that it may reap in a hundredfold, twenty, thirty, believers ready to make the Kingdom of Heaven a place for all to come and sit down at the table?
Go in peace!
Ellen+
09 July, 2008
Yokes That Are Tailored to Fit
I've been off the radar for the last couple of weeks due to a nasty infection - oral surgery is not one of my favorite pastimes. During an uncomfortable time, Jesus' words offered a lot of comfort. When I don't have the strength, or am in pain, there's someone to lean on.This last Sunday's gospel from Matthew 11:16-18, 28-30 is one of those passages in the Christian scripture that despite Jesus' denunciation of Bethsaida, Chorazin and Capernum, he invites us to come to him that our burdens may be lifted from our shoulders, and how beautiful the invitation is:
"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble
in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
(Matthew 11:28-30).
Such a deal, one might think! I can just let Jesus take care of everything.
It's this deacon's opinion that nah, don't think so.
Jesus offers a shoulder to lean on, but I think he would expect that in dark times, in times of uncertainty, frustration, fear and pain, we turn to Him for guidance, to learn from His example. And while we're being offered support, maybe that will give us time to put matters to prayer and have the strength to act on whatever we're being called to do in Christ's name. From Jesus of Nazareth we can model His new command-ment - love one another as Christ loves us.
I often quote this and mention it in conversation and sermons and in my writing, but it bears repeating, that and his paraphrasing of Deuteronomy 10:12-15 at Mark 12:29-30 and Matthew 22:34-40:
"The most important one," {commandment} answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind and with all your strength. ' The second is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than this."(Mark 12:29-30)
Loving your neighbor, whether a friend, a stranger, or a co-worker with which you barely share three words in one day, is difficult. Love comes more easily if we let our egos and human frailty, our tendencies to want to be first, and our search for perfection in beauty and mind, to be the center of the universe. And that's where Jesus' yoke comes into play. Yokes are those harnesses that go over the shoulders of an ox or horse to keep them attached to a wagon, cart, or plow. It's used to help bear heavy loads. Made of hardwood, they're pretty heavy - but not as heavy as the cross-beam Jesus carried on humanity�s behalf in his exhausted state to Golgotha. Once we get out of the blinding sun of our own wants and needs, and step into the shadow Jesus we are able to take up the yoke � one made with Jesus' support and the strength of love and faith, of submitting our hearts, souls and minds to the ever-present, ever powerful, unconditional love of God and loving Christ as we love the Father.Go in peace, dear ones!With God's love and mine, Ellen+
29 June, 2008
Comfort Food - for Thought
“Hear what comfortable words our Saviour Christ saith unto all who truly turn to him.”
Do you find anything comforting or comfortable in the Gospel lesson this morning? Jesus is asking us to go beyond our safe, comfortable circle of friends and reach out to strangers. Didn’t Mom tell us not to talk to strangers? How about the Hebrew scripture? Pretty disturbing. And the passage from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome? The word ‘sin’ is mentioned ten times, that’s once in ten verses out of twelve, though one of the verses mentions ‘impurity’, and another mentions ‘shame.’
Sometimes we have to read and hear the uncomfortable words to hear what God and Christ say to all who truly turn to them.
Let’s see if we can find the good news among the bad.
How do we reconcile the loving God of the Christian scripture, the deity in the person of Jesus who bids us welcome prophets and little ones, people on the fringes of society, with a God that tells a father to kill his son? Let me answer that by asking this: do you really think God wanted Abraham to sacrifice Isaac?
The story begins with the sentence, “After these things, God tested Abraham.” These things were God’s calling of Abraham, his journey with Sarah into Egypt, passing his wife off as his sister to the Pharoah, and there was Sodom and Gomorrah, Hagar and Ishmael – how many tests can a person take? Abraham is rightly held up as a person of great faith, but he has his moments of weakness, and he has his shortcomings – passing his wife off as his sister? Twice? He’s an enigma. He pleads with God over sparing, fifty, then forty, then twenty, then ten righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah, many perfect strangers, but he says nothing about sparing his son.
I was thinking that while God was testing Abraham, maybe Abraham was testing God. Or maybe it’s one of those moments when one is so frozen by fear, so horrified, that the shock leads to inactivity.
Our narrative is stark. We have no indication of Abraham’s state of mind. As soon as Abraham hears the command, he cuts the wood for the offering, takes his son, two servants and donkey and heads out for Moriah. He’s silent until they reach their destination three days later when he tells the servants to wait for them while Abraham and Isaac go up on the mountain to pray. Here, the narrator hints that Abraham prepared for the sacrifice methodically – first he builds the altar, then he lays the wood that Isaac has been carrying – maybe he stalling for time? Waiting for that call at 11:55 p.m. to stay the execution.
Then we have a heart-wrenching moment. Isaac notices that they haven’t brought a lamb for the sacrifice and asks his father about it. Abraham says, “God will provide.”
He raises the knife . . . it’s like watching a movie. You want to yell at the screen, “Turn around, Abraham! There’s a ram caught in the thicket! See? God does provide!”
This story has a happy ending. Abraham is stopped from murdering his son by an angel. Isaac grows up to become the father of a great people. This is the last test God gives Abraham.
Many questions are unanswered here. Did Abraham pass the test, or did he fail? Is his failure the reason why God no longer spoke to him, or had Abraham served his purpose? Did God want Abraham to stand up to Him with the same passion he used for Sodom and Gomorrah to ask why he was being asked to sacrifice his son?
I don’t have the answers; I have my own theories, as do we all, but I’ll let you decide in your own dialogues with God. It’s a copout, but I’m still wrestling with these questions and someday I might just have the answers – or not. I do know this. God only gives us as much as we can handle. He knows our hearts and minds and what we can or cannot do.
What we can surmise is that God surely understood Abraham’s feelings when He sacrificed his son, Jesus.
The truth of the matter is that we are all tested by God, aren’t we? Perhaps not in the dramatic ways that Abraham was put to the test. Why are there floods in the Midwest destroying lives and homes when God gave us the rainbow? Why does a complete stranger shoot and kill a family at an intersection? Why does a father kill his toddler on a road out in the country? Why do we still argue over gender? Why is race still such a hot button? Why is gas so expensive and why is there a global food crisis? These are tests of the heart, soul and mind. And in this morning’s Gospel, Jesus throws a challenge at us. He tells his disciples, and us, that whoever welcomes a prophet or little one welcomes him. We know from history and scripture that prophets are those noisy, confrontational types who tells us truths we don’t want to hear, and they don’t make the best of ends, but they open our hearts and minds to reality and how things are supposed to be. Think of John the Baptist, Stephen, Perpetua and her companions, Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr. Little ones might be children or people outside of the norm of society, what we might call the ‘fringe element’ We are asked to welcome them, make them a part of our community, give to them as Jesus would give to us. It’s not hard to be welcoming. The effort comes in being welcoming those society thinks are not welcome to the table. Giving a cup of water to a little one, or a hot meal to someone who’s hungry, or listening, really listening to a message offered by a prophet – that’s easy enough. Doing it because we love God and we want to live out the Gospel – now that’s where it really is at. Righteous people aren’t holier than others, righteous people are you and me, in a covenant with God and Jesus, chosen, called, tested – sometimes we get it right, sometimes we don’t, but there’s always another chance to get it right – the right way that God wants us to take to the best of our abilities. Righteous people are people who say yes to God, even when it’s the most difficult thing they have to do in their lives.
And no matter what, God loves us and welcomes us into the Kingdom – prophets, little ones, the righteous, you and me.
I hope you find some comfort in that.
Do you find anything comforting or comfortable in the Gospel lesson this morning? Jesus is asking us to go beyond our safe, comfortable circle of friends and reach out to strangers. Didn’t Mom tell us not to talk to strangers? How about the Hebrew scripture? Pretty disturbing. And the passage from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome? The word ‘sin’ is mentioned ten times, that’s once in ten verses out of twelve, though one of the verses mentions ‘impurity’, and another mentions ‘shame.’
Sometimes we have to read and hear the uncomfortable words to hear what God and Christ say to all who truly turn to them.
Let’s see if we can find the good news among the bad.
How do we reconcile the loving God of the Christian scripture, the deity in the person of Jesus who bids us welcome prophets and little ones, people on the fringes of society, with a God that tells a father to kill his son? Let me answer that by asking this: do you really think God wanted Abraham to sacrifice Isaac?
The story begins with the sentence, “After these things, God tested Abraham.” These things were God’s calling of Abraham, his journey with Sarah into Egypt, passing his wife off as his sister to the Pharoah, and there was Sodom and Gomorrah, Hagar and Ishmael – how many tests can a person take? Abraham is rightly held up as a person of great faith, but he has his moments of weakness, and he has his shortcomings – passing his wife off as his sister? Twice? He’s an enigma. He pleads with God over sparing, fifty, then forty, then twenty, then ten righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah, many perfect strangers, but he says nothing about sparing his son.
I was thinking that while God was testing Abraham, maybe Abraham was testing God. Or maybe it’s one of those moments when one is so frozen by fear, so horrified, that the shock leads to inactivity.
Our narrative is stark. We have no indication of Abraham’s state of mind. As soon as Abraham hears the command, he cuts the wood for the offering, takes his son, two servants and donkey and heads out for Moriah. He’s silent until they reach their destination three days later when he tells the servants to wait for them while Abraham and Isaac go up on the mountain to pray. Here, the narrator hints that Abraham prepared for the sacrifice methodically – first he builds the altar, then he lays the wood that Isaac has been carrying – maybe he stalling for time? Waiting for that call at 11:55 p.m. to stay the execution.
Then we have a heart-wrenching moment. Isaac notices that they haven’t brought a lamb for the sacrifice and asks his father about it. Abraham says, “God will provide.”
He raises the knife . . . it’s like watching a movie. You want to yell at the screen, “Turn around, Abraham! There’s a ram caught in the thicket! See? God does provide!”
This story has a happy ending. Abraham is stopped from murdering his son by an angel. Isaac grows up to become the father of a great people. This is the last test God gives Abraham.
Many questions are unanswered here. Did Abraham pass the test, or did he fail? Is his failure the reason why God no longer spoke to him, or had Abraham served his purpose? Did God want Abraham to stand up to Him with the same passion he used for Sodom and Gomorrah to ask why he was being asked to sacrifice his son?
I don’t have the answers; I have my own theories, as do we all, but I’ll let you decide in your own dialogues with God. It’s a copout, but I’m still wrestling with these questions and someday I might just have the answers – or not. I do know this. God only gives us as much as we can handle. He knows our hearts and minds and what we can or cannot do.
What we can surmise is that God surely understood Abraham’s feelings when He sacrificed his son, Jesus.
The truth of the matter is that we are all tested by God, aren’t we? Perhaps not in the dramatic ways that Abraham was put to the test. Why are there floods in the Midwest destroying lives and homes when God gave us the rainbow? Why does a complete stranger shoot and kill a family at an intersection? Why does a father kill his toddler on a road out in the country? Why do we still argue over gender? Why is race still such a hot button? Why is gas so expensive and why is there a global food crisis? These are tests of the heart, soul and mind. And in this morning’s Gospel, Jesus throws a challenge at us. He tells his disciples, and us, that whoever welcomes a prophet or little one welcomes him. We know from history and scripture that prophets are those noisy, confrontational types who tells us truths we don’t want to hear, and they don’t make the best of ends, but they open our hearts and minds to reality and how things are supposed to be. Think of John the Baptist, Stephen, Perpetua and her companions, Jesus, Martin Luther King, Jr. Little ones might be children or people outside of the norm of society, what we might call the ‘fringe element’ We are asked to welcome them, make them a part of our community, give to them as Jesus would give to us. It’s not hard to be welcoming. The effort comes in being welcoming those society thinks are not welcome to the table. Giving a cup of water to a little one, or a hot meal to someone who’s hungry, or listening, really listening to a message offered by a prophet – that’s easy enough. Doing it because we love God and we want to live out the Gospel – now that’s where it really is at. Righteous people aren’t holier than others, righteous people are you and me, in a covenant with God and Jesus, chosen, called, tested – sometimes we get it right, sometimes we don’t, but there’s always another chance to get it right – the right way that God wants us to take to the best of our abilities. Righteous people are people who say yes to God, even when it’s the most difficult thing they have to do in their lives.
And no matter what, God loves us and welcomes us into the Kingdom – prophets, little ones, the righteous, you and me.
I hope you find some comfort in that.
15 June, 2008
The Great Commission
This morning the apostles, Peter to Judas, received their marching orders. In the scripture passage from Matthew, Jesus takes the twelve aside and gives them specific instructions for their ministry out in the world. They are to proclaim the good news and perform works of God for the lost sheep of Israel - this is in line with his comments to the Pharisees earlier, when they asked why he dined with people on the edges of society, that the healthy have no need of healing, but the sick.
Imagine a conversation on a road somewhere in Judea. Suppose you're a tax collector, a leper, a woman, a woman of ill repute, a slave and you're sitting outside the town walls hoping for a crust of bread, a kind word, maybe even a coin - even the Emperor's coin. How strange would it be for you to be approached by a stranger who calls you friend and offers you food and drink, starts to tell you about the Kingdom of Heaven? Come to think of it, what if you were the stranger and charged with starting that dialogue?
This is unlike anything you've done or witnessed before. There's something new, something revolutionary here.
Imagine the emotions roiling through you.
How would you respond to such a conversation?
How would you begin such a conversation?
I don't know about you, but I'd start by saying, "Hello." It's usually the safest way to begin, isn't it?
The conversation could start with the weather, how someone is doing, and eventually it comes round to this different and bold vision of how the world should be, the vision of Jesus of Nazareth. Maybe after a few moments of conversation, if you're the person outside the walls, you start to think, perhaps get excited about what you're hearing and ask to hear more. Or, if you're the apostle sent on a mission, you begin to relax and realize that evangelism doesn't have to be heavy-handed or frightening, or all or nothing, but a gradual, informal give and take of ideas. Soon it becomes natural.
I'm not suggesting that accepting the great commission to proclaim the Gospel and live it out is easy. On the contrary; I believe it's just as difficult now in our post-modern society as it was in the first century.
How do we impart a message of unconditional love and acceptance, of mutual respect for people and respect for all of creation?
Well, you're reading this, aren't you? That's one way.
Wake every morning and think of being generous with your heart and resources as you are able. These little seeds of optimism and love will take root, just as the twelve apostles' work took root and continues growing today.
Go in peace,
Ellen+
Imagine a conversation on a road somewhere in Judea. Suppose you're a tax collector, a leper, a woman, a woman of ill repute, a slave and you're sitting outside the town walls hoping for a crust of bread, a kind word, maybe even a coin - even the Emperor's coin. How strange would it be for you to be approached by a stranger who calls you friend and offers you food and drink, starts to tell you about the Kingdom of Heaven? Come to think of it, what if you were the stranger and charged with starting that dialogue?
This is unlike anything you've done or witnessed before. There's something new, something revolutionary here.
Imagine the emotions roiling through you.
How would you respond to such a conversation?
How would you begin such a conversation?
I don't know about you, but I'd start by saying, "Hello." It's usually the safest way to begin, isn't it?
The conversation could start with the weather, how someone is doing, and eventually it comes round to this different and bold vision of how the world should be, the vision of Jesus of Nazareth. Maybe after a few moments of conversation, if you're the person outside the walls, you start to think, perhaps get excited about what you're hearing and ask to hear more. Or, if you're the apostle sent on a mission, you begin to relax and realize that evangelism doesn't have to be heavy-handed or frightening, or all or nothing, but a gradual, informal give and take of ideas. Soon it becomes natural.
I'm not suggesting that accepting the great commission to proclaim the Gospel and live it out is easy. On the contrary; I believe it's just as difficult now in our post-modern society as it was in the first century.
How do we impart a message of unconditional love and acceptance, of mutual respect for people and respect for all of creation?
Well, you're reading this, aren't you? That's one way.
Wake every morning and think of being generous with your heart and resources as you are able. These little seeds of optimism and love will take root, just as the twelve apostles' work took root and continues growing today.
Go in peace,
Ellen+
04 June, 2008
Wandering In From a Spiritual Desert
I've been in a desert of sorts.
A few of my friends ask why I feel I'm having difficulty connecting with God; after all, who's my Daddy?
The last weeks have been painful - spiritually. I haven't felt God's presence, nor can I hear the Word.
Having one's hands annointed, being consecrated an ordained leader, wearing all the trappings on Sunday mornings and holidays doesn't guarantee instant spiritual connection or enlightenment.
What it does guarantee are moments of uncertainty, doubt, loneliness - just like everybody else.
I keep asking why? I keep asking where are you? When I meditate and use the image of the walk in the forest, there's a boulder in the path - like the giant stone rolled in front of the entrance of Jesus' tomb, or the giant marble that chased Indiana Jones in "Raiders of the Lost Ark". Let me give you a back story.
When I begin my contemplative prayer, I close my eyes and put myself on a path leading into a forest from a field of wheat. I walk through the forest on the path, heading toward a gate, beyond which is a clearing that leads down hill into a valley where there's a castle (well, there'd have to be a castle if it's my imagery, right?) and a village surrounded by hills and lush greenery. It's my goal to pass through the gate and go down to the castle.
I've only reached the gate once.
Lately, as I walk on this path in my mind and heart, the boulder is in the way. There's no way around it. The trees are too thick to walk around and the boulder is too heavy to move.
So I've been trying again and again to walk through this path.
A few minutes ago, while typing the foregoing, it hit me.
I'M THE BOULDER IN THE PATH.
I'm preventing my spiritual connection and journey.
I've let my unhappiness and loneliness build up a wall of sorts to God, when all I need to do is let God.
I need to let it be.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
A few of my friends ask why I feel I'm having difficulty connecting with God; after all, who's my Daddy?
The last weeks have been painful - spiritually. I haven't felt God's presence, nor can I hear the Word.
Having one's hands annointed, being consecrated an ordained leader, wearing all the trappings on Sunday mornings and holidays doesn't guarantee instant spiritual connection or enlightenment.
What it does guarantee are moments of uncertainty, doubt, loneliness - just like everybody else.
I keep asking why? I keep asking where are you? When I meditate and use the image of the walk in the forest, there's a boulder in the path - like the giant stone rolled in front of the entrance of Jesus' tomb, or the giant marble that chased Indiana Jones in "Raiders of the Lost Ark". Let me give you a back story.
When I begin my contemplative prayer, I close my eyes and put myself on a path leading into a forest from a field of wheat. I walk through the forest on the path, heading toward a gate, beyond which is a clearing that leads down hill into a valley where there's a castle (well, there'd have to be a castle if it's my imagery, right?) and a village surrounded by hills and lush greenery. It's my goal to pass through the gate and go down to the castle.
I've only reached the gate once.
Lately, as I walk on this path in my mind and heart, the boulder is in the way. There's no way around it. The trees are too thick to walk around and the boulder is too heavy to move.
So I've been trying again and again to walk through this path.
A few minutes ago, while typing the foregoing, it hit me.
I'M THE BOULDER IN THE PATH.
I'm preventing my spiritual connection and journey.
I've let my unhappiness and loneliness build up a wall of sorts to God, when all I need to do is let God.
I need to let it be.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
12 May, 2008
Leaving the Upper Room
In the beginning, God created humankind from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man and women became living beings. Then God blew a breath into Israel, and as Ezekiel tells us, their dead bones came to life. At Pentecost, the culmination of fifty great days, God's breath, a wind, breathes life into the new people of God – the church.
How, in this post-modern, secular world, does God breathe life into us so that we can proclaim the Gospel of Christ? How does the Holy Spirit light the fires in our hearts and minds?
We are Californians, Americans, citizens of other nations living, working and studying here, we are Native American, African, Asian, European, variations on these, and more. Each of us, in our own language, hears the Good News. And each of us, in our own manner, proclaims the Gospel, sometimes, as Brother Francis said once, actually using words – that is how it happened for the apostles in the upper room.
I can't imagine what it would have been like for the followers of Jesus in those first fifty days. They met in a place that was secure, familiar, where they broke bread with Jesus, and where he appeared to them, as in the Gospel of John, where he breathes on them and bestows the Holy Spirit, charging them to forgive sins, commissioning Peter to tend his flock, feed his sheep. This can't be done from the security of the upper room. It has to be done out in the world – a place where they were in danger by association.
Perhaps they doubted their abilities and Jesus wasn't there to lead them, to tell them when they didn't get it, or praise them when they did.
How powerful then, how extraordinary, that they each begin to speak of God's deeds and powers by proclaiming them in the tongues of the people in the crowd? I think the wind and fire that descended in that room, these symbols of God's presence, also gave them the courage to leave that room and begin a ministry that would become the Church as you and I know it. Fires were lit in their hearts and minds and full of confidence, energy, they went out into the streets of Jerusalem where they were accused of being drunk at nine in the morning.
Jesus said this would happen, it would have to happen and it wouldn't be easy. It would have been easy to continue meeting in the upper room, to have people come to them, but what would they do when the room couldn't hold any more people? The body of Christ wasn't for safe quarters behind locked doors – it was meant for people and places beyond Jerusalem. It had life breathed into it with fire and wind. The church was for everyone. Unfortunately, throughout our common history, that spirit was mistaken by some as something for only those who prayed a certain way, believed a certain doctrine, to be held close in upper rooms, a personal messiah. Private spirituality has its place and practice, and I embrace it, but it is out there in the streets, and in the world, that the Church belongs. Because of this relationship, there are bumps in the road that we have to negotiate as best we can – differences of opinion and doctrine that can divide, or even better, bring us together. And we have the Holy Spirit, the breath of God, to guide us. How does the Holy Spirit inspire us to proclaim and live out the Gospel in this post-modern, busy, secular world?
She is the spark that makes us sit up and listen, pay attention, when we hear the Word, discovering in it a commonality with our daily lives, something that makes us say, "Yes, that's what the Kingdom of Heaven is like! It's like my office when we jump in and help someone else with a project, when we make a collection for someone in trouble or sick; it's like my church when we feed the hungry; it's when we show kindness and love to one another just because we want to, not for ulterior motives or to receive something in kind. She is the tongue of fire resting above our heads, encouraging and guiding us to follow the great commandment.
The Holy Spirit reveals Jesus to all who look for him, and brings us into a right relationship with God that in turn, opens us to relationships with each other that are loving and nurturing. It is this same Spirit that is alive in the water of baptism, the bread and wine of our common meal, the oil of healing and chrism. The Spirit resides within each of us while at prayer and leads us out of this our very own Upper Room, this nave, to do Christ's work in the world, to push us beyond what we expect of ourselves, beyond our abilities, and comfort zones.
I don't know about you, but I'm ready to step out of that upper room and take it into the streets.
How, in this post-modern, secular world, does God breathe life into us so that we can proclaim the Gospel of Christ? How does the Holy Spirit light the fires in our hearts and minds?
We are Californians, Americans, citizens of other nations living, working and studying here, we are Native American, African, Asian, European, variations on these, and more. Each of us, in our own language, hears the Good News. And each of us, in our own manner, proclaims the Gospel, sometimes, as Brother Francis said once, actually using words – that is how it happened for the apostles in the upper room.
I can't imagine what it would have been like for the followers of Jesus in those first fifty days. They met in a place that was secure, familiar, where they broke bread with Jesus, and where he appeared to them, as in the Gospel of John, where he breathes on them and bestows the Holy Spirit, charging them to forgive sins, commissioning Peter to tend his flock, feed his sheep. This can't be done from the security of the upper room. It has to be done out in the world – a place where they were in danger by association.
Perhaps they doubted their abilities and Jesus wasn't there to lead them, to tell them when they didn't get it, or praise them when they did.
How powerful then, how extraordinary, that they each begin to speak of God's deeds and powers by proclaiming them in the tongues of the people in the crowd? I think the wind and fire that descended in that room, these symbols of God's presence, also gave them the courage to leave that room and begin a ministry that would become the Church as you and I know it. Fires were lit in their hearts and minds and full of confidence, energy, they went out into the streets of Jerusalem where they were accused of being drunk at nine in the morning.
Jesus said this would happen, it would have to happen and it wouldn't be easy. It would have been easy to continue meeting in the upper room, to have people come to them, but what would they do when the room couldn't hold any more people? The body of Christ wasn't for safe quarters behind locked doors – it was meant for people and places beyond Jerusalem. It had life breathed into it with fire and wind. The church was for everyone. Unfortunately, throughout our common history, that spirit was mistaken by some as something for only those who prayed a certain way, believed a certain doctrine, to be held close in upper rooms, a personal messiah. Private spirituality has its place and practice, and I embrace it, but it is out there in the streets, and in the world, that the Church belongs. Because of this relationship, there are bumps in the road that we have to negotiate as best we can – differences of opinion and doctrine that can divide, or even better, bring us together. And we have the Holy Spirit, the breath of God, to guide us. How does the Holy Spirit inspire us to proclaim and live out the Gospel in this post-modern, busy, secular world?
She is the spark that makes us sit up and listen, pay attention, when we hear the Word, discovering in it a commonality with our daily lives, something that makes us say, "Yes, that's what the Kingdom of Heaven is like! It's like my office when we jump in and help someone else with a project, when we make a collection for someone in trouble or sick; it's like my church when we feed the hungry; it's when we show kindness and love to one another just because we want to, not for ulterior motives or to receive something in kind. She is the tongue of fire resting above our heads, encouraging and guiding us to follow the great commandment.
The Holy Spirit reveals Jesus to all who look for him, and brings us into a right relationship with God that in turn, opens us to relationships with each other that are loving and nurturing. It is this same Spirit that is alive in the water of baptism, the bread and wine of our common meal, the oil of healing and chrism. The Spirit resides within each of us while at prayer and leads us out of this our very own Upper Room, this nave, to do Christ's work in the world, to push us beyond what we expect of ourselves, beyond our abilities, and comfort zones.
I don't know about you, but I'm ready to step out of that upper room and take it into the streets.
13 April, 2008
Shepherds
Today is the fourth of Sunday of Easter, traditionally called "Good Shepherd Sunday." The gospel from John focused on Jesus' exhortation that he is the shepherd and he knows his sheep, that those who enter the fold by the gate are true sheep, and those who enter via the window or over the fence, as it were are theives and bandits.
It's hard to look at this text in context. As one of my friends and parishioners noted this morning at coffee hour, even during Jesus' time it might have been hard for the followers of Jesus to get the allegory of Jesus being the shepherd of a flock, afterall, they were poor urban folk living in Jerusalem, fishermen of Capernaum or Magdala, and Jesus was a carpenter from Nazareth.
Shepherds lived a lonely, solitary life. They brought the sheep out to the pastures beyond the villages and towns, and stayed there all day, watching over their charges to keep them safe from wolves and/or poachers, sometimes staying away from civilization for days and weeks. The shepherds knew their flock, and the sheep knew their shepherd. The shepherd attends his flock with the diligence and care of a father for his children.
Knowing this, seeing Jesus as the Good Shepherd isn't impossible. Jesus came into the world to gather God's children to him, to bring them to the fold, the Kingdom, and lead them to a way of life that it is harmonious with creation. He warns his first century listeners to be wary of those who claim to have the answers, to have the right way of life, for they are the thieves and bandits who jump over the wall or go through a window to get into the fold, rather than follow Jesus through the gate.
Today, the shepherd is as foreign to us as a knight on horseback or a Hobbit. We don't have occasion to see them on our commutes to work and school, not most of us, anyway. Still, the message Jesus offers is worth noting. It's in our best interest to be wary of those who say they have the answers, the secrets to life, those who invite us to get rich quick, to be the alpha dog, the leader of the pack. Strange, as I was typing this, a television commercial was playing in the living room and the jingle went something like, "I want it all . . . I want it all . . . I want it now." Is this the message we want to convey? Having the most doesn't get you into the Kingdom, having all the answers to the most puzzling questions in the universe may get you a spot on a game show, but it doesn't guarantee a place at the table, or a room in the Father's house. Hearing the Word, sharing it, living a life in right relationship and taking right action, a life modelling the gospel to one's best ability invites us to join the fold, to enter by the gate. In this way, we can be shepherds like Jesus. Or if we must be sheep, we will know who our shepherd is.
Alleluia, He is risen.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
Ellen+
It's hard to look at this text in context. As one of my friends and parishioners noted this morning at coffee hour, even during Jesus' time it might have been hard for the followers of Jesus to get the allegory of Jesus being the shepherd of a flock, afterall, they were poor urban folk living in Jerusalem, fishermen of Capernaum or Magdala, and Jesus was a carpenter from Nazareth.
Shepherds lived a lonely, solitary life. They brought the sheep out to the pastures beyond the villages and towns, and stayed there all day, watching over their charges to keep them safe from wolves and/or poachers, sometimes staying away from civilization for days and weeks. The shepherds knew their flock, and the sheep knew their shepherd. The shepherd attends his flock with the diligence and care of a father for his children.
Knowing this, seeing Jesus as the Good Shepherd isn't impossible. Jesus came into the world to gather God's children to him, to bring them to the fold, the Kingdom, and lead them to a way of life that it is harmonious with creation. He warns his first century listeners to be wary of those who claim to have the answers, to have the right way of life, for they are the thieves and bandits who jump over the wall or go through a window to get into the fold, rather than follow Jesus through the gate.
Today, the shepherd is as foreign to us as a knight on horseback or a Hobbit. We don't have occasion to see them on our commutes to work and school, not most of us, anyway. Still, the message Jesus offers is worth noting. It's in our best interest to be wary of those who say they have the answers, the secrets to life, those who invite us to get rich quick, to be the alpha dog, the leader of the pack. Strange, as I was typing this, a television commercial was playing in the living room and the jingle went something like, "I want it all . . . I want it all . . . I want it now." Is this the message we want to convey? Having the most doesn't get you into the Kingdom, having all the answers to the most puzzling questions in the universe may get you a spot on a game show, but it doesn't guarantee a place at the table, or a room in the Father's house. Hearing the Word, sharing it, living a life in right relationship and taking right action, a life modelling the gospel to one's best ability invites us to join the fold, to enter by the gate. In this way, we can be shepherds like Jesus. Or if we must be sheep, we will know who our shepherd is.
Alleluia, He is risen.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
Ellen+
06 April, 2008
Even Christ Went Up on Mountain
During Holy Week, I thought I would report on each of the days and gospel lessons, and also comment on Easter Day. I wasn't expecting exhaustion or depression to come from my favorite of holy seasons.
So I stepped away from theological reflection and stepped back for God to do the work, which meant that I did a lot of sleeping, praying and tried to relax. When you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, look after children, and fit ministry around such a life, once in a while the Trinity invites you to do nothing except bask in God's love.
Which is what I did.
Alleluia, he is risen!
Ellen+
So I stepped away from theological reflection and stepped back for God to do the work, which meant that I did a lot of sleeping, praying and tried to relax. When you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan, look after children, and fit ministry around such a life, once in a while the Trinity invites you to do nothing except bask in God's love.
Which is what I did.
Alleluia, he is risen!
Ellen+
We had hoped . . . .
This week's Gospel from Luke continues the narration of the events of Easter Day.
How is it possible that joy springs from grief?
In the last weeks, we’ve been on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his followers. We’ve witnessed the glorious entry into the city, the poignant supper at which a woman anoints Jesus and washes him with her tears, we’ve seen the incredible and necessary raising of Lazarus, and we’ve experienced the Seder in the upper room, and finally the trial and execution of Jesus. After some pretty amazing moments that give life and hope comes a horrific, mind and spirit numbing death. So it’s hard to imagine that something good could come of it. If you, as I, have lost someone you knew, someone you loved, with whom you shared a life, meals, joys and sorrows, then you’ve felt the pain that comes from such loss and the accompanying grief. It’s not hard then, to put ourselves on the road to Emmaus.
My first experience of Emmaus was Rembrandt’s famous painting “The Supper at Emmaus.” In typical fashion for this artist the painting is suffused in soft, dim colors and hues; Jesus’ face is bathed in gold light; he looks wistfully to the heavens and is captured in mid-prayer. The disciples gaze in wonderment.
There’s more to this town, though. It was some seven miles out of Jerusalem, and had a history of violence. It was thought to be the base camp for Judas Maccabeus and his uprising, and it was burned by the Romans in retaliation for the unrest and revolts following the death of Herod – two thousand rebels were crucified there. People in that generation would have memories of the crosses lining the road. On that third day after the crucifixion, a place of defeat and lost hope is restored by Jesus as a place of fellowship and love.
This morning’s story begins when the two disciples on that Sunday afternoon walk away from Jerusalem, perhaps running for their lives, maybe they feel lost, hopeless, let down. They discuss the events of the last week and in particular the discovery at the tomb that very morning. A stranger joins them on the walk and the disciples are amazed that there is actually one person in the region who has not heard about the death and resurrection of Jesus. Here they recount what they’ve been discussing and add a personal postscript: that they had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel. Let me put that remark in context. There had been prophets before Jesus who claimed to be the Messiah and their message and ministry didn’t strike the right chord with the people. They were executed as Jesus had been, so their missions were considered failures. This is probably what Cleopas and his friend were thinking – here was yet another so-called prophet who didn’t make good on his claims; he, like all the rest, failed and it was business as usual in Roman-governed Palestine.
But Jesus did something different. He kept his promise. He fulfilled the prophecies. He did rise on the third day. These facts, and his message proclaiming the kingdom of heaven, his call to a unique and unconditional love, made this call to right action very different, very powerful – and as we know today, very successful.
The disciples didn’t know this. They are so deep in their misery, they don’t recognize the man walking with them. This stranger interprets scripture and the events of the week as part of the greater story of humanity and of God’s action in the world as chronicled by the prophets and scripture. Yes, it was necessary that Jesus suffered, died and was buried, but death is not the end of the story. He reveals himself to these disciples in an act of love and fellowship that they would have recognized if they had been present during the feeding of the five thousand and if they were at table at the last supper -- a simple breaking of bread and sharing a meal. Something Jesus did every day with his friends. It is at that moment eyes are opened, and memory and recognition come into play. Hearts that have been lit aflame by the interpretation of Scripture still burn after they recognize it was Jesus, who vanishes as mysteriously from their table as he appeared on the road.
The disciples return to Jerusalem, where, by the way, they were commanded to stay by Jesus, and tell their story. Earlier in the day, they didn’t believe the women when they ran back from the empty tomb and tried to tell everyone what they’d seen, but because these two disciples had seen the risen Lord, their doubt becomes belief. Through these events a new community emerges. It is a community of faith built on understanding of scripture, worship and the sharing of a common experience of the risen Christ. Jesus’ words to Thomas from last week’s Gospel are still ringing in our ears: “Blessed are those who had not seen, yet come to believe.” That would be us.
But we’re human, we have our expectations. We had hoped . . .
Each one of us, in our own way and times, has repeated the words of the disciples, “we had hoped.” The first of four times for me was in April of 1969, and if you had told me then that joy came of grief, I would have ignored it, or more probably, slammed my bedroom door shut and turned up the volume on the Moody Blues, the Beatles, or the Rolling Stones – whatever I was annoying my family with that day. I was 15, you see, and my mother had just died unexpectedly. One afternoon she was there, the next morning she was gone. No warning, no nothing. She was gone. The days and weeks that followed were a blur then, and still are. It was full of moments I do remember, moments in which I sought answers and wondered how my brother and sisters were handling their grief – we never talked about it. We had hoped, you see, that she could still be with us.
I’ve thought like this, said these words aloud and to God. What about you? I disobeyed Christ, in that I walked away from Jerusalem, away from the pain and memories, away from the life Christ gave me. The grief clouded my sight and I didn’t want to see past it.
It happens to all of us. We wish we could have had one more day to say all that needed to be said; we wish we could make things right between our loved ones; we wish it all could have been done differently; said “I love you and always have, always will.”
Valid and real thoughts, honest emotions, these.
We weren’t and aren’t alone. We were and are heard. As we hope and wonder, Jesus comes into our lives with words of comfort and hope. We are reminded that God became one of us, and shared our experience, our joys, our grief, our pain. Jesus reminds us that on the Cross, God took and blessed and broke the most perfect of lives and offered it to us in the midst of suffering so that all sadness and pain might become a bridge to a loving, sustaining presence.
And if there’s a small voice within that still hedges, still whispers, “Yes, but . . .” Then come! I invite you to this table. Come here where Jesus invites you, me, all of us, anyone who is hungry to take as often as necessary the bread that he blessed and broke and shared and drink the cup he pours out for all humanity. Your eyes will be opened and your hearts will be burning with hope.
Jesus will always be with us on our roads and at our tables.
He is risen, Alleluia!
With God's love and mine this Easter season,
Ellen+
How is it possible that joy springs from grief?
In the last weeks, we’ve been on the road to Jerusalem with Jesus and his followers. We’ve witnessed the glorious entry into the city, the poignant supper at which a woman anoints Jesus and washes him with her tears, we’ve seen the incredible and necessary raising of Lazarus, and we’ve experienced the Seder in the upper room, and finally the trial and execution of Jesus. After some pretty amazing moments that give life and hope comes a horrific, mind and spirit numbing death. So it’s hard to imagine that something good could come of it. If you, as I, have lost someone you knew, someone you loved, with whom you shared a life, meals, joys and sorrows, then you’ve felt the pain that comes from such loss and the accompanying grief. It’s not hard then, to put ourselves on the road to Emmaus.
My first experience of Emmaus was Rembrandt’s famous painting “The Supper at Emmaus.” In typical fashion for this artist the painting is suffused in soft, dim colors and hues; Jesus’ face is bathed in gold light; he looks wistfully to the heavens and is captured in mid-prayer. The disciples gaze in wonderment.
There’s more to this town, though. It was some seven miles out of Jerusalem, and had a history of violence. It was thought to be the base camp for Judas Maccabeus and his uprising, and it was burned by the Romans in retaliation for the unrest and revolts following the death of Herod – two thousand rebels were crucified there. People in that generation would have memories of the crosses lining the road. On that third day after the crucifixion, a place of defeat and lost hope is restored by Jesus as a place of fellowship and love.
This morning’s story begins when the two disciples on that Sunday afternoon walk away from Jerusalem, perhaps running for their lives, maybe they feel lost, hopeless, let down. They discuss the events of the last week and in particular the discovery at the tomb that very morning. A stranger joins them on the walk and the disciples are amazed that there is actually one person in the region who has not heard about the death and resurrection of Jesus. Here they recount what they’ve been discussing and add a personal postscript: that they had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel. Let me put that remark in context. There had been prophets before Jesus who claimed to be the Messiah and their message and ministry didn’t strike the right chord with the people. They were executed as Jesus had been, so their missions were considered failures. This is probably what Cleopas and his friend were thinking – here was yet another so-called prophet who didn’t make good on his claims; he, like all the rest, failed and it was business as usual in Roman-governed Palestine.
But Jesus did something different. He kept his promise. He fulfilled the prophecies. He did rise on the third day. These facts, and his message proclaiming the kingdom of heaven, his call to a unique and unconditional love, made this call to right action very different, very powerful – and as we know today, very successful.
The disciples didn’t know this. They are so deep in their misery, they don’t recognize the man walking with them. This stranger interprets scripture and the events of the week as part of the greater story of humanity and of God’s action in the world as chronicled by the prophets and scripture. Yes, it was necessary that Jesus suffered, died and was buried, but death is not the end of the story. He reveals himself to these disciples in an act of love and fellowship that they would have recognized if they had been present during the feeding of the five thousand and if they were at table at the last supper -- a simple breaking of bread and sharing a meal. Something Jesus did every day with his friends. It is at that moment eyes are opened, and memory and recognition come into play. Hearts that have been lit aflame by the interpretation of Scripture still burn after they recognize it was Jesus, who vanishes as mysteriously from their table as he appeared on the road.
The disciples return to Jerusalem, where, by the way, they were commanded to stay by Jesus, and tell their story. Earlier in the day, they didn’t believe the women when they ran back from the empty tomb and tried to tell everyone what they’d seen, but because these two disciples had seen the risen Lord, their doubt becomes belief. Through these events a new community emerges. It is a community of faith built on understanding of scripture, worship and the sharing of a common experience of the risen Christ. Jesus’ words to Thomas from last week’s Gospel are still ringing in our ears: “Blessed are those who had not seen, yet come to believe.” That would be us.
But we’re human, we have our expectations. We had hoped . . .
Each one of us, in our own way and times, has repeated the words of the disciples, “we had hoped.” The first of four times for me was in April of 1969, and if you had told me then that joy came of grief, I would have ignored it, or more probably, slammed my bedroom door shut and turned up the volume on the Moody Blues, the Beatles, or the Rolling Stones – whatever I was annoying my family with that day. I was 15, you see, and my mother had just died unexpectedly. One afternoon she was there, the next morning she was gone. No warning, no nothing. She was gone. The days and weeks that followed were a blur then, and still are. It was full of moments I do remember, moments in which I sought answers and wondered how my brother and sisters were handling their grief – we never talked about it. We had hoped, you see, that she could still be with us.
I’ve thought like this, said these words aloud and to God. What about you? I disobeyed Christ, in that I walked away from Jerusalem, away from the pain and memories, away from the life Christ gave me. The grief clouded my sight and I didn’t want to see past it.
It happens to all of us. We wish we could have had one more day to say all that needed to be said; we wish we could make things right between our loved ones; we wish it all could have been done differently; said “I love you and always have, always will.”
Valid and real thoughts, honest emotions, these.
We weren’t and aren’t alone. We were and are heard. As we hope and wonder, Jesus comes into our lives with words of comfort and hope. We are reminded that God became one of us, and shared our experience, our joys, our grief, our pain. Jesus reminds us that on the Cross, God took and blessed and broke the most perfect of lives and offered it to us in the midst of suffering so that all sadness and pain might become a bridge to a loving, sustaining presence.
And if there’s a small voice within that still hedges, still whispers, “Yes, but . . .” Then come! I invite you to this table. Come here where Jesus invites you, me, all of us, anyone who is hungry to take as often as necessary the bread that he blessed and broke and shared and drink the cup he pours out for all humanity. Your eyes will be opened and your hearts will be burning with hope.
Jesus will always be with us on our roads and at our tables.
He is risen, Alleluia!
With God's love and mine this Easter season,
Ellen+
17 March, 2008
The Journey of a Lifetime . . . for all Life
So it begins; and so it ends. Some say it is the greatest story ever told. These seven days hold excitement and dread for me - excitement because I never tire of the story, always find something new to ponder; dread because of the long hours of liturgy that culminate in exhaustion. I joke that when Christ climbs out of his tomb, I climb into one.
This is the week that I reflect on what exactly happened. Prophets came and went, were executed, in first century Palestine by the authorities. What made Jesus special?
His special relationship with God - he was the only man, I believe, that fully understood and accepted God's message of unconditional love and how to return it. As God incarnate, he could show us how to love, and demonstrated in a supreme act of sacrifice that unconditional, unwavering love.
I've always had a problem with the atonement theology - that Christ died to take away our sins. If that were so, then why is sin and evil such a problem after two thousand years? This is where my belief of right action and unconditional love comes into play. Yes, Christ died to take away the sins of world, but he died also to show us a new way of living, of loving, of serving. That's what made his ministry stand out among so many first century prophets.
He also kept his word, delivered on his teaching. He said he would rise again after death and return to the Father, that he would be with us always. He said that if we believed, we would have eternal life; if we loved one another, he would be in the midst of us. That's what really made him special. He was, I think, the first to offer a message of hope and change. Christ offered us a new life through his sacrifice and a new way to look at the world and each other and more importantly, to love God, because as he said, he could do nothing except through God.
You see, loving God leads us on the journey of a lifetime, just as Jesus' complete love and understanding of God's call for him, led him on a journey that we commemorate during the next seven days.
This week is Holy Week, and I'll return with reflections on each of the sacred days and hours of liturgy and worship.
I hope during this week you find a path you can walk.
May the peace and love of God, which passes all understanding, keep us and sustain us this Holy Week and always.
Go in peace, dear ones!
Ellen+
This is the week that I reflect on what exactly happened. Prophets came and went, were executed, in first century Palestine by the authorities. What made Jesus special?
His special relationship with God - he was the only man, I believe, that fully understood and accepted God's message of unconditional love and how to return it. As God incarnate, he could show us how to love, and demonstrated in a supreme act of sacrifice that unconditional, unwavering love.
I've always had a problem with the atonement theology - that Christ died to take away our sins. If that were so, then why is sin and evil such a problem after two thousand years? This is where my belief of right action and unconditional love comes into play. Yes, Christ died to take away the sins of world, but he died also to show us a new way of living, of loving, of serving. That's what made his ministry stand out among so many first century prophets.
He also kept his word, delivered on his teaching. He said he would rise again after death and return to the Father, that he would be with us always. He said that if we believed, we would have eternal life; if we loved one another, he would be in the midst of us. That's what really made him special. He was, I think, the first to offer a message of hope and change. Christ offered us a new life through his sacrifice and a new way to look at the world and each other and more importantly, to love God, because as he said, he could do nothing except through God.
You see, loving God leads us on the journey of a lifetime, just as Jesus' complete love and understanding of God's call for him, led him on a journey that we commemorate during the next seven days.
This week is Holy Week, and I'll return with reflections on each of the sacred days and hours of liturgy and worship.
I hope during this week you find a path you can walk.
May the peace and love of God, which passes all understanding, keep us and sustain us this Holy Week and always.
Go in peace, dear ones!
Ellen+
10 March, 2008
The New Life
"In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’."
So begins the Introduction to La Vita Nova, The New Life, written by Dante.
With this week's Gospel from John 11:1-45, we are witnesses to a new life - both spiritual and physical.
This scripture brings an end to Jesus' earthly ministry and in a sensational way, as if Jesus is pushing the agenda here. He has been giving the apostles clues as to the next chapter of the story, yet it hasn't sunk in yet. What better way to hammer home the message that one is the Son of God by bringing a man four days dead back to life?
I love this story, for it tells of unconditional love, unwavering faith and unfathomable power through the working of God in Christ.
Jesus is en route to Bethany when he learns that his friend Lazarus lies near death. Rather than pick up speed and hurry, Jesus takes his time so that he arrives too late to do anything - or does he? We hear from Martha, Lazarus' sister, a word or two of scolding: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died," and then affirmation of Jesus' unique relationship with God: "But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." This is unwavering faith and love, knowledge that in God all things are possible.
And so it happens. Lazarus is brought back from the dead, but not before Jesus is disturbed at his friend Mary's distress and the grief of those who were with her. The Gospeller tells us that Jesus, greatly disturbed, goes to the tomb and weeps and returns again, still disturbed. I used to wonder why Jesus would be so unhappy when he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead; perhaps we told this, in this very spiritual and mystical of Gospels, to show the human side of Jesus. We are shown a Jesus who is like us.
Or, could be be that Jesus was anticipating, even fearing, his own human limitations and his death?
Whatever the case, Jesus prays to God that those who were present might believe in his power to do God's will on earth, that they may finally understand. Lazarus comes out of the tomb. He has new life, reborn through the saving acts of God through Christ.
As we approach Holy Week, we are given the promise of a new life when we proclaim the risen Lord on Easter Day. We are given the opportunity to climb out of our self-made tombs of despair, stress, selfishness, self-pity and give ourselves totally to God and give God control of our hearts. Releasing ourselves from this kind of death will enable us to live out the Gospel and serve one another as Christ serves us.
That's not a bad life, is it? It's the new life I want, and maybe you do to.
Go forth in Christ, dear ones!
Ellen+
So begins the Introduction to La Vita Nova, The New Life, written by Dante.
With this week's Gospel from John 11:1-45, we are witnesses to a new life - both spiritual and physical.
This scripture brings an end to Jesus' earthly ministry and in a sensational way, as if Jesus is pushing the agenda here. He has been giving the apostles clues as to the next chapter of the story, yet it hasn't sunk in yet. What better way to hammer home the message that one is the Son of God by bringing a man four days dead back to life?
I love this story, for it tells of unconditional love, unwavering faith and unfathomable power through the working of God in Christ.
Jesus is en route to Bethany when he learns that his friend Lazarus lies near death. Rather than pick up speed and hurry, Jesus takes his time so that he arrives too late to do anything - or does he? We hear from Martha, Lazarus' sister, a word or two of scolding: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died," and then affirmation of Jesus' unique relationship with God: "But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." This is unwavering faith and love, knowledge that in God all things are possible.
And so it happens. Lazarus is brought back from the dead, but not before Jesus is disturbed at his friend Mary's distress and the grief of those who were with her. The Gospeller tells us that Jesus, greatly disturbed, goes to the tomb and weeps and returns again, still disturbed. I used to wonder why Jesus would be so unhappy when he knew he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead; perhaps we told this, in this very spiritual and mystical of Gospels, to show the human side of Jesus. We are shown a Jesus who is like us.
Or, could be be that Jesus was anticipating, even fearing, his own human limitations and his death?
Whatever the case, Jesus prays to God that those who were present might believe in his power to do God's will on earth, that they may finally understand. Lazarus comes out of the tomb. He has new life, reborn through the saving acts of God through Christ.
As we approach Holy Week, we are given the promise of a new life when we proclaim the risen Lord on Easter Day. We are given the opportunity to climb out of our self-made tombs of despair, stress, selfishness, self-pity and give ourselves totally to God and give God control of our hearts. Releasing ourselves from this kind of death will enable us to live out the Gospel and serve one another as Christ serves us.
That's not a bad life, is it? It's the new life I want, and maybe you do to.
Go forth in Christ, dear ones!
Ellen+
03 March, 2008
The Most Unlikely People . . .
I may be repeating myself, but I used to think that God chose the perfect people to represent him/her on Earth; the people who went to church on Sundays, always did good work, never swore, never had money troubles, never had relationship problems, always there with a green bean casserole in times of crisis. This week's scripture proves how wrong I was, and how each of us, in our own way, and according to our ability, is suited to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of Heaven.
God chose David, a pretty shepherd boy with lovely eyes to lead Israel.
Jesus chose a man blind from birth to proclaim the good news.
In each of these stories, the norm of society is turned upside down. What we assume should be is not.
I imagine that the Temple authorities believed that one of their own, a boy born into a Pharisitical family of privilege and wealth, education in the Mosaic Law, would be the Messiah, never mind Isaiah's prophecies! This what their society knew to be management material. Instead, a man who is disabled, is cured by Jesus on the Sabbath and his insistent testimony, a testimony steeped in faith, leads Jesus to tell him that the man who healed him is the Messiah. It is Jesus.
David, with his beauty and lovely eyes, was a flawed man but a great king, a man of faith. He made some whoppers when it came to mistakes, but God loved him nevertheless, and David honored God with some of the most beautiful poetry imaginable, the Psalms.
God chooses the least likely of people to carry the message and proclaim the good news.
The good news for all of us imperfect people in the world is that it's okay not to have all the answers, to not drive the best and biggest SUV, to live in a toney neighborhood or carry pets as accessories. It's okay if we are who God calls us to be, and if we make mistakes, or are less than perfect. Our striving for perfect intention and perfect relationships are more important. If we strive every day to live out the Gospel, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off when we stumble, then perhaps we're that much closer to the perfect Jesus asks us to be. And how wonderful is that?
Go forth in the name of Christ.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
God chose David, a pretty shepherd boy with lovely eyes to lead Israel.
Jesus chose a man blind from birth to proclaim the good news.
In each of these stories, the norm of society is turned upside down. What we assume should be is not.
I imagine that the Temple authorities believed that one of their own, a boy born into a Pharisitical family of privilege and wealth, education in the Mosaic Law, would be the Messiah, never mind Isaiah's prophecies! This what their society knew to be management material. Instead, a man who is disabled, is cured by Jesus on the Sabbath and his insistent testimony, a testimony steeped in faith, leads Jesus to tell him that the man who healed him is the Messiah. It is Jesus.
David, with his beauty and lovely eyes, was a flawed man but a great king, a man of faith. He made some whoppers when it came to mistakes, but God loved him nevertheless, and David honored God with some of the most beautiful poetry imaginable, the Psalms.
God chooses the least likely of people to carry the message and proclaim the good news.
The good news for all of us imperfect people in the world is that it's okay not to have all the answers, to not drive the best and biggest SUV, to live in a toney neighborhood or carry pets as accessories. It's okay if we are who God calls us to be, and if we make mistakes, or are less than perfect. Our striving for perfect intention and perfect relationships are more important. If we strive every day to live out the Gospel, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off when we stumble, then perhaps we're that much closer to the perfect Jesus asks us to be. And how wonderful is that?
Go forth in the name of Christ.
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
24 February, 2008
The Woman at the Well
Nowhere in the Gospels does Jesus have an extended conversation with a woman except in the Gospel according to John and it is a powerful conversation at that. It is bold, unexpected, and is an illustration of the Kingdom of Heaven where all are equal, man and woman, Samaritan and Jew.
The story opens with Jesus stopping to rest at Jacob's Well near Sychar. He's tired and the Apostles have gone into town to find something to eat. A Samaritan woman comes to the well to draw water. As she goes about her business, Jesus says, "Give me a drink." The woman is astounded for multiple reasons - first, a man speaks to her, second, he is a Jew and she is a Samaritan and they are adversaries going back centuries. One can only imagine what the woman is thinking. A strange man sits by the well and says he's thirsty, yet he has no bowl, cup or bucket. She is bold enough to question Jesus, and he responds to her inquiries with the statement that if she knew of the water he was speaking of, she'd ask for it - and she does. Their conversation grows bolder, more meaningful and at one point Jesus admits to being the Messiah. The story continues with her running into town to tell the news that a man who knew everything about her was at the well - and he was the messiah.
Sometimes I feel like the Samaritan woman. I go about my business, I live on the perimeter of what we consider the norm of society, and sometimes these wonderful insights into life hit me, like a wave on a beach or a gust of morning wind. I want to run and tell everyone I know what I've learned, what I'm feeling, to invite others to experience for myself what I have experienced. I want them to drink from living water.
What I take from this Gospel, and I hope you as well, is that we are all part of the great cosmic scheme -- Jesus chooses to reveal himself to the least likely of people in his society: an outsider and a woman. It doesn't happen within the precincts of the Temple within the Holy of Holies, but at a well on a blistering hot afternoon when a Samaritan woman who has been married several times and is living with a man outside the norm of society comes up to the well to draw water. Jesus asks, "Give me a drink."
I cry, "Jesus, give me some of that living water!"
Go forth in the name of Christ!
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
The story opens with Jesus stopping to rest at Jacob's Well near Sychar. He's tired and the Apostles have gone into town to find something to eat. A Samaritan woman comes to the well to draw water. As she goes about her business, Jesus says, "Give me a drink." The woman is astounded for multiple reasons - first, a man speaks to her, second, he is a Jew and she is a Samaritan and they are adversaries going back centuries. One can only imagine what the woman is thinking. A strange man sits by the well and says he's thirsty, yet he has no bowl, cup or bucket. She is bold enough to question Jesus, and he responds to her inquiries with the statement that if she knew of the water he was speaking of, she'd ask for it - and she does. Their conversation grows bolder, more meaningful and at one point Jesus admits to being the Messiah. The story continues with her running into town to tell the news that a man who knew everything about her was at the well - and he was the messiah.
Sometimes I feel like the Samaritan woman. I go about my business, I live on the perimeter of what we consider the norm of society, and sometimes these wonderful insights into life hit me, like a wave on a beach or a gust of morning wind. I want to run and tell everyone I know what I've learned, what I'm feeling, to invite others to experience for myself what I have experienced. I want them to drink from living water.
What I take from this Gospel, and I hope you as well, is that we are all part of the great cosmic scheme -- Jesus chooses to reveal himself to the least likely of people in his society: an outsider and a woman. It doesn't happen within the precincts of the Temple within the Holy of Holies, but at a well on a blistering hot afternoon when a Samaritan woman who has been married several times and is living with a man outside the norm of society comes up to the well to draw water. Jesus asks, "Give me a drink."
I cry, "Jesus, give me some of that living water!"
Go forth in the name of Christ!
With God's love and mine,
Ellen+
17 February, 2008
Let it Be
I have a number of favorite heroes and heroines from scripture, just as I’m sure some or all of you may have. In the Hebrew scripture, I count Elijah, Ruth, Deborah, Jael, and Daniel. In the Christian scripture, there’s Peter, Mary -- all of the Maries -- including Magdalene, Stephen, our sister Phoebe, a deacon, and of course, Jesus – and Nicodemus. Nicodemus shows us that sometimes discussion is inadequate in experiencing the understanding God. Sometimes, you have to just let it, to get it -- and by that I mean one needs to let God take over, let these inspired and inspiring words sink in. You have to shut up, open your heart and mind, and let the beauty and mystery of God’s love happen to get what’s going on. And how wonderful and inspiring this Gospel of John is! It stands apart from the Synoptics, for its advanced Christology, its mystery, its allusions to water, life and light; and as we’ve heard in the scripture passage this morning, Nicodemus goes to Jesus under the cloak of darkness and ultimately comes to the light.
When Nicodemus meets Jesus, perhaps you get a sense, as I do, that things are changing for him. The location of this meeting isn’t mentioned, but given that Jesus has upset the local authorities and the local economy by chasing the merchants and money changers, the cattle, doves and sheep out of the Temple right before this visit, it is somewhere in Jerusalem. Perhaps Nicodemus was a witness to Jesus’ protest, or had seen and heard him elsewhere in the city. Perhaps he was present when the Temple authorities decided that Jesus had crossed the line, was a threat and must die. Whatever the circumstance, the teaching he’s witnessed and his station in society compels him to go to Jesus. Nicodemus comes in secret during the night so as not to be seen. And he’s a man in the dark.
You have to feel for him: he approaches Jesus wanting answers, and no doubt risks his life in doing so because he’s a Pharisee, he’s a man of reputation and Jesus is still an unknown, a Galilean rabbi who’s cause a bit of trouble. Nicodemus addresses Jesus with respect – rabbi – a little one on one rapport - and receives puzzling responses. Is Jesus being deliberately rude? I don’t think so. Jesus is responding in a way that initiates an intimate dialogue – he answers questions with questions of his own, questions that provoke deeper thought, prayerful consideration. Questions that sometimes reveal innocence or naivety. We don’t get the answer we expect, but we get word play: wind and spirit, the lifting up of Jesus – up on the cross and then into heaven – and the curious statement from Jesus that you can’t enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit, that you must be born from above. Is it any wonder that Nicodemus goes away dazed and confused, takes these statements literally? He doesn’t have the filter of two thousand years and countless commentaries and critiques to ‘get it.’ He either doesn’t understand, or chooses not to. I think it’s the first, for he’ll later defend Jesus at his trial and offer costly spices for his burial. At some point, the light glows brightly for him and he understands.
This is a bit more than my experience. I can relate to Nicodemus, whom I like to call the patron saint of the clueless; I count myself among those lucky few. Aren’t there times when you find yourself stumbling in the dark, looking for the light? When you’re so confounded that all you can do is just scratch your head and nod, pretending to get it? Don’t we have all the answers? Not on your life. Aren’t there moments when you do come to an understanding, you cry, “Ohhhhh! So that’s what he meant!”
And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Sometimes we have to step back and just live in the awe. We can be like Nicodemus and walk away, dazed and confused, with answers that answer nothing, but there’s beauty in that. As we grope in darkness, we find ourselves dependent on a God that comes to us and connects us, giving us a bridge to salvation and eternal life.
How can this be, Nicodemus asks?
It can be because God makes it so.
It is not that we are expected to undergo a physical renaissance, but that we undergo a transformation within, a spiritual rebirth, which is more meaningful, more powerful.
And if we step back and take it all in, we can let it be.
Eventually, we’ll get it.
Go forth in the name of Christ.
Ellen+
When Nicodemus meets Jesus, perhaps you get a sense, as I do, that things are changing for him. The location of this meeting isn’t mentioned, but given that Jesus has upset the local authorities and the local economy by chasing the merchants and money changers, the cattle, doves and sheep out of the Temple right before this visit, it is somewhere in Jerusalem. Perhaps Nicodemus was a witness to Jesus’ protest, or had seen and heard him elsewhere in the city. Perhaps he was present when the Temple authorities decided that Jesus had crossed the line, was a threat and must die. Whatever the circumstance, the teaching he’s witnessed and his station in society compels him to go to Jesus. Nicodemus comes in secret during the night so as not to be seen. And he’s a man in the dark.
You have to feel for him: he approaches Jesus wanting answers, and no doubt risks his life in doing so because he’s a Pharisee, he’s a man of reputation and Jesus is still an unknown, a Galilean rabbi who’s cause a bit of trouble. Nicodemus addresses Jesus with respect – rabbi – a little one on one rapport - and receives puzzling responses. Is Jesus being deliberately rude? I don’t think so. Jesus is responding in a way that initiates an intimate dialogue – he answers questions with questions of his own, questions that provoke deeper thought, prayerful consideration. Questions that sometimes reveal innocence or naivety. We don’t get the answer we expect, but we get word play: wind and spirit, the lifting up of Jesus – up on the cross and then into heaven – and the curious statement from Jesus that you can’t enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit, that you must be born from above. Is it any wonder that Nicodemus goes away dazed and confused, takes these statements literally? He doesn’t have the filter of two thousand years and countless commentaries and critiques to ‘get it.’ He either doesn’t understand, or chooses not to. I think it’s the first, for he’ll later defend Jesus at his trial and offer costly spices for his burial. At some point, the light glows brightly for him and he understands.
This is a bit more than my experience. I can relate to Nicodemus, whom I like to call the patron saint of the clueless; I count myself among those lucky few. Aren’t there times when you find yourself stumbling in the dark, looking for the light? When you’re so confounded that all you can do is just scratch your head and nod, pretending to get it? Don’t we have all the answers? Not on your life. Aren’t there moments when you do come to an understanding, you cry, “Ohhhhh! So that’s what he meant!”
And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Sometimes we have to step back and just live in the awe. We can be like Nicodemus and walk away, dazed and confused, with answers that answer nothing, but there’s beauty in that. As we grope in darkness, we find ourselves dependent on a God that comes to us and connects us, giving us a bridge to salvation and eternal life.
How can this be, Nicodemus asks?
It can be because God makes it so.
It is not that we are expected to undergo a physical renaissance, but that we undergo a transformation within, a spiritual rebirth, which is more meaningful, more powerful.
And if we step back and take it all in, we can let it be.
Eventually, we’ll get it.
Go forth in the name of Christ.
Ellen+
10 February, 2008
Into the Wilderness
The stark narrative that is Mark’s gospel tells of the baptism of Christ and his preparation for, and beginning of, his ministry; this narrative reminds Christians to set time apart to be alone and quiet with God, to prepare ourselves for ministry and be ready for challenges.
If you want richness and drama, exciting dialogue, details filled in, like that found in the narratives of Matthew and Luke, you won’t find it in this Gospel. Mark only gives us the minimalist version of Jesus’ story. Today we have the beginning. We hear how Jesus came to John and was baptized; at the moment he rises out of the water, the heavens are ripped apart, the Spirit descends and God speaks. Then the Spirit drives him immediately into the wilderness with the wild beasts and angels to see to his needs.
Our wilderness and our wild beasts may be many things – we have so much to choose from nowadays. It’s a long list, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about: beginning with stress at home and down the list to war.
But it’s not time to crawl under a rock.
We have an example to show us how to cope and how to garner strength and faith, and it is in God, working through Jesus.
Right after his baptism, Jesus was tested rigorously – he did not immediately begin his ministry, but was immediately driven into the wilderness. One might suppose that the wilderness is not an idyllic woodland, but an arid, stark landscape, apart from society and all comforts. Mark says that Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan. But wait a moment - didn’t the voice from heaven just say “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased?” Why would the Son of God need to go through all that? It’s a puzzling contradiction, but necessary, because it shows that Jesus is truly human and his conflict with Satan, as Williamson states, “is the ordeal which validates the man Jesus as bearer of God’s banner throughout the coming battle.”[1]
Could it be that his baptism was a commissioning of his ministry and his trials a strengthening, hardening experience?
Here’s another thought, another thread to connect it all: baptism, preparation and identity link Jesus to us. Just as he began his ministry with baptism and preparation, so do we. Jesus’ baptism does not set him apart from us, he is one of us. He is the beloved Son, and we are the beloved Children of God. Christians past, present and future have these commonalities, no matter what is in store for each of us in our spiritual journeys. It is this deacon's personal opinion that a Jesus who experiences the joys and sorrow of life, is put through trials, is a Jesus that is accessible, making God even more accessible.
Throughout history, humanity has been tested, often in the wilderness, and often it has failed, but it came out with a deeper, more meaningful spirituality, and that is what I strive for, and maybe you do, and we hope to pass our trials as Jesus did.
I invite you to take some time out of your hectic lives, go to the wilderness, the desolate place that is uniquely yours and seek out God, find moments with the Lord and empty your heart and soul. Let the Spirit enter the void, fill you with the love of Christ. I invite you to wrestle with your wild beasts and demons, whatever they may be, and know that angels will patiently and lovingly attend you. When you emerge, I hope and pray that you will be restored, and we all have new strength and a sense of commitment to whatever ministry we are called, so that together we may bear witness to the good news and proclaim that the Kingdom of God is here and now.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
[1] Lamar Williamson, Jr., Interpretation – Mark, John Knox Press, Louisville, 1983
If you want richness and drama, exciting dialogue, details filled in, like that found in the narratives of Matthew and Luke, you won’t find it in this Gospel. Mark only gives us the minimalist version of Jesus’ story. Today we have the beginning. We hear how Jesus came to John and was baptized; at the moment he rises out of the water, the heavens are ripped apart, the Spirit descends and God speaks. Then the Spirit drives him immediately into the wilderness with the wild beasts and angels to see to his needs.
Our wilderness and our wild beasts may be many things – we have so much to choose from nowadays. It’s a long list, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about: beginning with stress at home and down the list to war.
But it’s not time to crawl under a rock.
We have an example to show us how to cope and how to garner strength and faith, and it is in God, working through Jesus.
Right after his baptism, Jesus was tested rigorously – he did not immediately begin his ministry, but was immediately driven into the wilderness. One might suppose that the wilderness is not an idyllic woodland, but an arid, stark landscape, apart from society and all comforts. Mark says that Jesus was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan. But wait a moment - didn’t the voice from heaven just say “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased?” Why would the Son of God need to go through all that? It’s a puzzling contradiction, but necessary, because it shows that Jesus is truly human and his conflict with Satan, as Williamson states, “is the ordeal which validates the man Jesus as bearer of God’s banner throughout the coming battle.”[1]
Could it be that his baptism was a commissioning of his ministry and his trials a strengthening, hardening experience?
Here’s another thought, another thread to connect it all: baptism, preparation and identity link Jesus to us. Just as he began his ministry with baptism and preparation, so do we. Jesus’ baptism does not set him apart from us, he is one of us. He is the beloved Son, and we are the beloved Children of God. Christians past, present and future have these commonalities, no matter what is in store for each of us in our spiritual journeys. It is this deacon's personal opinion that a Jesus who experiences the joys and sorrow of life, is put through trials, is a Jesus that is accessible, making God even more accessible.
Throughout history, humanity has been tested, often in the wilderness, and often it has failed, but it came out with a deeper, more meaningful spirituality, and that is what I strive for, and maybe you do, and we hope to pass our trials as Jesus did.
I invite you to take some time out of your hectic lives, go to the wilderness, the desolate place that is uniquely yours and seek out God, find moments with the Lord and empty your heart and soul. Let the Spirit enter the void, fill you with the love of Christ. I invite you to wrestle with your wild beasts and demons, whatever they may be, and know that angels will patiently and lovingly attend you. When you emerge, I hope and pray that you will be restored, and we all have new strength and a sense of commitment to whatever ministry we are called, so that together we may bear witness to the good news and proclaim that the Kingdom of God is here and now.
Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!
Ellen+
[1] Lamar Williamson, Jr., Interpretation – Mark, John Knox Press, Louisville, 1983
27 January, 2008
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+
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+
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+
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