I'm filling in for Stephen this week. As you can see from all the good blogging he does, he needed a chance to recharge his batteries. I should start by saying I don't take direction well. In this case, it means I looked at how the blog normal works and said, "I'm going to do something different." So let's start...
I was thinking over the last few weeks about the role of questions and questioning as we study scriptures. This was brought about by a couple of occurrences. The first was in relation to Mark 8:22-26. We've been using this passage during Lent to think about the need for a "Second Touch" as Stephen calls it. The crux of the passage is that the blind man needed to be touched twice by Jesus to have his sight fully restored. When we first talked about this passage in Bible study, my first question did not center around the healing, but around the end of the story: "Jesus sent him him home, saying, 'Don't go into the village.'" Why? What was so wrong with sharing with the people in the village the miracle that had occurred? What's the point of a miracle if you can't tell your friends?
Later I used the same passage with the kids who attend our weekday activities- music, crafts, bible story. I read the story after couching it in a discussion of healing and dealing with injuries. And wouldn't you know..but one of the little girls got hung up on Mark 8:26 too! She had a different question though: How is he supposed to get home if the can't go into the village? I had no idea and probably glossed over that great question a little too fast. But thinking about it now, it was a very practical question, even more practical than mine. The girl was trying to work out, in a similar way as I was, how the story worked. What's the point of being cured if you can't go home again?
In the scheme of things, I think the girl and I had little questions. Not unimportant questions, but these little questions that take us away from the meaning of the passage as a whole. However, until these questions are answered we can't focus our attention on the miracle at the heart of the passage. When we get these little questions answered then we can turn to the big questions: Why did the man need to be touched twice? What are the roles of trust and faith in the passage?
I would like to encourage us all to ask the little and big questions when reading scripture. When we ask these questions to ourselves, to our family, or to our fellow members, we are thinking critically. I believe thinking critically about what you are reading or hearing is a stop on the way to internalizing the information. From there we can apply the message to ourselves, our lives, our times.
Have a great week and see you Sunday!
Susan
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A Matter of Faith
This week's scriptures are Mark 6:1-13 and Mark 9:14-29.
Both of these passages are interesting because they put situations that look like 'failure' side by side with times of impressive 'success.'
In Mark 5, Jesus has cast out a boat load of demons, healed a woman who just touched him, and raised a child from the dead for one of the leaders of the synagogue. But in Mark 6 he is rejected in his hometown and we're told that Jesus 'could do no deed of power there' ('except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them'....you gotta wonder about Mark's sense of humor here) due to their lack of faith-a lack of faith that has Jesus 'amazed at their unbelief'. Apparently, these folks, who have known Jesus since boyhood, can't get past their familiarity and their cultural belief that Jesus, as the son of Joseph and Mary, is locked into a social role that is inescapable.
Before we pass too much judgement on the people of Nazareth, we might want to remember the times in our own lives when we have been defined by some part of our youth or our past; or when we have seen it happen to another. I remember a guy who, in his senior year of high school, recovered a fumble and ran 90 yards for a touchdown against a major rival. Over 10 years later, his wife told me, "you know, that's what everybody remembers." His accomplishments since...his education...his marriage? Nope...that 90 yard run. And he was lucky. Suppose the thing people had remembered wasn't so flattering.
They (the people of Nazareth) 'took offense' at Jesus. In that culture's view for one person to be lifted up, another had to lose. So they did a 1st century version of "Who do you think you are? Aren't you getting a little big for your britches?"
And the repercussion was that they were blocked from what might have happened. Mark seems to indicate that had they been able to break out of this stance, some great "deed of power" might have been done there. How sad that they were not able to suspend their world view for just a moment. And (this is important, I think) the ones who were able to....the sick people he cured....were the ones desperate enough to risk the possibility of a new way of seeing.
Now we move on to Mark 9. Jesus comes down from the mountain where he has been transfigured in front of Peter, James, and John to join the other disciples. Jesus finds them arguing with some scribes and surrounded by a crowd. An man has brought them his epileptic son and they can't heal him.
Jesus explodes, "You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you?" and commands that the boy be brought to him. Now we'll be looking at the rest of this story on Sunday....but for the moment I want to make a couple of observations. The first is that I think that the comment Jesus makes is aimed at his disciples and at the scribes.
The disciples have already been sent out on a healing mission before. They've know the experience of God working through them in Jesus name. Yet here they are, arguing with the scribes while this boy is writhing on the ground. And probably arguing about some 'law' that might be broken if the healing was done...or whether they had the authority to do the healing. No wonder they couldn't heal this boy. They had let their energy get caught up in the argument and focused there rather than on the important task at hand. And I think that Jesus' comment that such healings take "prayer and fasting" is a comment on where the focus needs to be: on an emptying of themselves (ourselves) and a strengthening of their (our) connection with the one in whose name we act.
These stories have a great deal to say to you and me on a bunch of levels. But for now, I would focus on this: For God to work through us in the world; and in us in our lives, we need to be....we have to be....willing to risk stepping out of our old ways of seeing. To lay aside our old ways of doing. If just for a moment, we need to say, 'what if' and risk the possibility.
A NOTE OF REQUEST: I know that many folks who read the blog are new to this kind of thing. But your thoughts and reactions to the ideas here are a part of a conversation that-hopefully-results in Sunday's sermon. It's a chance for me to hear the kinds of questions that are stirred up by the scriptures and where I'm going with them. So please, if you have time, share your thoughts. I'd love to hear them....as would others who read the blog.
Thanks and I hope to see you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
Both of these passages are interesting because they put situations that look like 'failure' side by side with times of impressive 'success.'
In Mark 5, Jesus has cast out a boat load of demons, healed a woman who just touched him, and raised a child from the dead for one of the leaders of the synagogue. But in Mark 6 he is rejected in his hometown and we're told that Jesus 'could do no deed of power there' ('except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them'....you gotta wonder about Mark's sense of humor here) due to their lack of faith-a lack of faith that has Jesus 'amazed at their unbelief'. Apparently, these folks, who have known Jesus since boyhood, can't get past their familiarity and their cultural belief that Jesus, as the son of Joseph and Mary, is locked into a social role that is inescapable.
Before we pass too much judgement on the people of Nazareth, we might want to remember the times in our own lives when we have been defined by some part of our youth or our past; or when we have seen it happen to another. I remember a guy who, in his senior year of high school, recovered a fumble and ran 90 yards for a touchdown against a major rival. Over 10 years later, his wife told me, "you know, that's what everybody remembers." His accomplishments since...his education...his marriage? Nope...that 90 yard run. And he was lucky. Suppose the thing people had remembered wasn't so flattering.
They (the people of Nazareth) 'took offense' at Jesus. In that culture's view for one person to be lifted up, another had to lose. So they did a 1st century version of "Who do you think you are? Aren't you getting a little big for your britches?"
And the repercussion was that they were blocked from what might have happened. Mark seems to indicate that had they been able to break out of this stance, some great "deed of power" might have been done there. How sad that they were not able to suspend their world view for just a moment. And (this is important, I think) the ones who were able to....the sick people he cured....were the ones desperate enough to risk the possibility of a new way of seeing.
Now we move on to Mark 9. Jesus comes down from the mountain where he has been transfigured in front of Peter, James, and John to join the other disciples. Jesus finds them arguing with some scribes and surrounded by a crowd. An man has brought them his epileptic son and they can't heal him.
Jesus explodes, "You faithless generation, how much longer must I be among you? How much longer must I put up with you?" and commands that the boy be brought to him. Now we'll be looking at the rest of this story on Sunday....but for the moment I want to make a couple of observations. The first is that I think that the comment Jesus makes is aimed at his disciples and at the scribes.
The disciples have already been sent out on a healing mission before. They've know the experience of God working through them in Jesus name. Yet here they are, arguing with the scribes while this boy is writhing on the ground. And probably arguing about some 'law' that might be broken if the healing was done...or whether they had the authority to do the healing. No wonder they couldn't heal this boy. They had let their energy get caught up in the argument and focused there rather than on the important task at hand. And I think that Jesus' comment that such healings take "prayer and fasting" is a comment on where the focus needs to be: on an emptying of themselves (ourselves) and a strengthening of their (our) connection with the one in whose name we act.
These stories have a great deal to say to you and me on a bunch of levels. But for now, I would focus on this: For God to work through us in the world; and in us in our lives, we need to be....we have to be....willing to risk stepping out of our old ways of seeing. To lay aside our old ways of doing. If just for a moment, we need to say, 'what if' and risk the possibility.
A NOTE OF REQUEST: I know that many folks who read the blog are new to this kind of thing. But your thoughts and reactions to the ideas here are a part of a conversation that-hopefully-results in Sunday's sermon. It's a chance for me to hear the kinds of questions that are stirred up by the scriptures and where I'm going with them. So please, if you have time, share your thoughts. I'd love to hear them....as would others who read the blog.
Thanks and I hope to see you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
What Does It Mean To Be The Messiah
This week's scriptures are Genesis 7:1-16 and Mark 8:27-38.
This week's Markan passage is the first of three times that Jesus speaks about his suffering and death. He does it as the counterpoint to Peter's answer to the question, "who do you say that I am?" Peter's answer, as you probably remember was, "you are the Christ, the son of the living God."
It's a wonderful answer....as far as it went.
But the fireworks that take place between Peter and Jesus immediately afterward let us know that there is something about Peter's answer that isn't wrong....it just isn't right enough.
Whatever Peter's mental image was of Jesus being the Christ, it didn't include Jesus suffering and dying. It didn't include the kind of sacrifice and anguish that Jesus is describing. So Peter pulls Jesus aside and they have this screaming match (to 'rebuke' means to scream at) about Jesus' view of His ministry and calling.
This leads to Jesus' famous comments about 'denying ones self taking up one's cross.' A passage that I imagine has been as misused and misunderstood as any in scripture.
We'll look more closely at this story on Saturday at the Bible Study Brunch and again on Sunday in worship.
But for now, I'd like to just look at the fact that there is a great gulf between Peter's confession and his understanding. I think that's true for most of us....I know it is for me. I believe in Jesus. I believe that He is the Son of God. I believe that He is the Messiah. But my understanding of what that means is a constantly unfolding thing.
When I accepted Christ as my Savior, I was a child. I understood as much as I probably could at that age; and my decision was sincere. But that faith would not serve me well now. It is not big enough to carry me through the days of my adult life.
But that's not all. There is something about the direction of our faith to consider as well. Dr. Jones told a wonderful story on Sunday about a woman in the slums of El Salvador who welcomed him into her home. For her, the direction of her faith said, 'welcome the stranger in Christ's name.' It was, in her poverty ridden situation, a direction of sacrifice.
Peter's ideas about the direction of the Messiah didn't include suffering and death. That's where he and Jesus had their argument. Now Jesus didn't send Peter home, kick him out of the disciples, or stop talking to him. They had a knock down, drag out fight about what it meant to be the Messiah....and follow the Messiah.
I'd like to say that I've learned a lot from this story....that I've learned from Peter's experience to never argue with Jesus about what it means to follow Him. I'd really, really like to say that.....but I can't. My life is a constant struggle with my understanding of what it means to be a disciple. Your's may be as well.
But we're in good company. This seems to be the common theme with all of Jesus' disciples; their growing, ongoing, lifelong struggle with their understanding of what it means to follow Jesus.
And so we will struggle together on Saturday and Sunday. We'll examine some of the stories and try to understand what we need to do: what to 'lay down, to deny ourselves' and how to 'take up our cross' and follow.
I hope you'll join us.
Shalom,
Stephen
This week's Markan passage is the first of three times that Jesus speaks about his suffering and death. He does it as the counterpoint to Peter's answer to the question, "who do you say that I am?" Peter's answer, as you probably remember was, "you are the Christ, the son of the living God."
It's a wonderful answer....as far as it went.
But the fireworks that take place between Peter and Jesus immediately afterward let us know that there is something about Peter's answer that isn't wrong....it just isn't right enough.
Whatever Peter's mental image was of Jesus being the Christ, it didn't include Jesus suffering and dying. It didn't include the kind of sacrifice and anguish that Jesus is describing. So Peter pulls Jesus aside and they have this screaming match (to 'rebuke' means to scream at) about Jesus' view of His ministry and calling.
This leads to Jesus' famous comments about 'denying ones self taking up one's cross.' A passage that I imagine has been as misused and misunderstood as any in scripture.
We'll look more closely at this story on Saturday at the Bible Study Brunch and again on Sunday in worship.
But for now, I'd like to just look at the fact that there is a great gulf between Peter's confession and his understanding. I think that's true for most of us....I know it is for me. I believe in Jesus. I believe that He is the Son of God. I believe that He is the Messiah. But my understanding of what that means is a constantly unfolding thing.
When I accepted Christ as my Savior, I was a child. I understood as much as I probably could at that age; and my decision was sincere. But that faith would not serve me well now. It is not big enough to carry me through the days of my adult life.
But that's not all. There is something about the direction of our faith to consider as well. Dr. Jones told a wonderful story on Sunday about a woman in the slums of El Salvador who welcomed him into her home. For her, the direction of her faith said, 'welcome the stranger in Christ's name.' It was, in her poverty ridden situation, a direction of sacrifice.
Peter's ideas about the direction of the Messiah didn't include suffering and death. That's where he and Jesus had their argument. Now Jesus didn't send Peter home, kick him out of the disciples, or stop talking to him. They had a knock down, drag out fight about what it meant to be the Messiah....and follow the Messiah.
I'd like to say that I've learned a lot from this story....that I've learned from Peter's experience to never argue with Jesus about what it means to follow Him. I'd really, really like to say that.....but I can't. My life is a constant struggle with my understanding of what it means to be a disciple. Your's may be as well.
But we're in good company. This seems to be the common theme with all of Jesus' disciples; their growing, ongoing, lifelong struggle with their understanding of what it means to follow Jesus.
And so we will struggle together on Saturday and Sunday. We'll examine some of the stories and try to understand what we need to do: what to 'lay down, to deny ourselves' and how to 'take up our cross' and follow.
I hope you'll join us.
Shalom,
Stephen
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Ash Wednesday
I told this story/fable at the Ash Wednesday service last night:
Once upon a time, not so very long ago-or too far away for that matter-there was a village. Everything it needed; from blacksmiths to bookbinders, this village had...save one thing...the village lacked a bakery. And so, to make the best of an inconvenient situation, the village arranged to buy its bread from traveling merchants.
So it was that on a bright spring day; when the buds were just beginning to open, and the birds eggs cracked to introduce tiny wings and beaks to a new world, that the air in the village was filled with the warm friendly odor of freshly baked bread.
The smell itself was delicious. Toward it the children came, turning summersaults in the dusty street while their parents called happily to one another as they moved toward the market.
In the marketplace the merchant, gaily clad, stood calling; the bells on his bright three cornered hat ringing merrily. "Fresh bread here, warm bread here," he called as he saw them come. And they all bought his wares.
Suddenly..."You can't eat this stuff," a boy cried out. "It won't chew," cried a second child.
And it was true. It looked like bread. It smelled like bread. But unlike bread it was rubbery and hard and tasted sickly sweet.
"We cannot live on this," the people cried.
"Who said," the merchant replied, "that you could have both the pleasure of smell and warmth...and bread's nurture too? Impossible! You must chose: pick one, forget the other." The three bells jingled on his hat as he nodded in his wisdom.
And the merchant was dressed so fine, and spoke with such conviction, that the townfolk believed him; and swore they'd not be fooled again.
They buy stale bread in the village now; for it is hard and has no odor. And they shut their windows and bar their doors, whenever they smell fresh bread.
They eat the stale; and smell the freshness that creeps through the keyholes and the cracks in the windows. And often wonder, with tears in their eyes, if "maybe, just maybe......"
As we move into this season of Lent perhaps we might think of the things that we've been told will nourish us....that don't. Perhaps we can remember those relationships and events in our lives that have been "true bread"-giving us nurture and warmth and a 'taste' of something that we desire.
Lent will be a time of admitting that we've bought in to a lot of things that don't really feed us....even though, for the moment, they feel like the might. Can we explore setting them down...even for a day. Perhaps longer. Lent can become a movement toward freedom.
Can we remember what has feed us in our lives? The people, the relationships, the events, the moments. Remembering these may guide us back to the places where God's love and "true bread" have been evident.
This is my invitation....to myself and to you, this Lenten season. I wonder where such a spiritual discipline might lead us.
Dr.Keith Jones, head of the seminary in Prague where Bill and Nancy Lively have served over the last four years, will be leading us in our morning worship and Euchrist this week. We will all join afterward for an Agape meal together. I hope you will be able to join us as we welcome Keith and look forward to his leadership.
Shalom,
Stephen
Once upon a time, not so very long ago-or too far away for that matter-there was a village. Everything it needed; from blacksmiths to bookbinders, this village had...save one thing...the village lacked a bakery. And so, to make the best of an inconvenient situation, the village arranged to buy its bread from traveling merchants.
So it was that on a bright spring day; when the buds were just beginning to open, and the birds eggs cracked to introduce tiny wings and beaks to a new world, that the air in the village was filled with the warm friendly odor of freshly baked bread.
The smell itself was delicious. Toward it the children came, turning summersaults in the dusty street while their parents called happily to one another as they moved toward the market.
In the marketplace the merchant, gaily clad, stood calling; the bells on his bright three cornered hat ringing merrily. "Fresh bread here, warm bread here," he called as he saw them come. And they all bought his wares.
Suddenly..."You can't eat this stuff," a boy cried out. "It won't chew," cried a second child.
And it was true. It looked like bread. It smelled like bread. But unlike bread it was rubbery and hard and tasted sickly sweet.
"We cannot live on this," the people cried.
"Who said," the merchant replied, "that you could have both the pleasure of smell and warmth...and bread's nurture too? Impossible! You must chose: pick one, forget the other." The three bells jingled on his hat as he nodded in his wisdom.
And the merchant was dressed so fine, and spoke with such conviction, that the townfolk believed him; and swore they'd not be fooled again.
They buy stale bread in the village now; for it is hard and has no odor. And they shut their windows and bar their doors, whenever they smell fresh bread.
They eat the stale; and smell the freshness that creeps through the keyholes and the cracks in the windows. And often wonder, with tears in their eyes, if "maybe, just maybe......"
As we move into this season of Lent perhaps we might think of the things that we've been told will nourish us....that don't. Perhaps we can remember those relationships and events in our lives that have been "true bread"-giving us nurture and warmth and a 'taste' of something that we desire.
Lent will be a time of admitting that we've bought in to a lot of things that don't really feed us....even though, for the moment, they feel like the might. Can we explore setting them down...even for a day. Perhaps longer. Lent can become a movement toward freedom.
Can we remember what has feed us in our lives? The people, the relationships, the events, the moments. Remembering these may guide us back to the places where God's love and "true bread" have been evident.
This is my invitation....to myself and to you, this Lenten season. I wonder where such a spiritual discipline might lead us.
Dr.Keith Jones, head of the seminary in Prague where Bill and Nancy Lively have served over the last four years, will be leading us in our morning worship and Euchrist this week. We will all join afterward for an Agape meal together. I hope you will be able to join us as we welcome Keith and look forward to his leadership.
Shalom,
Stephen
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Elijah and Elisha....A Tale of Departure and Loss
This week's scriptures are 2 Kings 2:1-14 and Mark 9:2-9.
This is Transfiguration Sunday. But I want to focus on the Old Testament passage rather that the one from Mark.
Elijah, the old prophet, is about to die. He and Elisha-his disciple-journey to the place where they will say their final goodbye. As they go through each town the local prophets come up to Elisha and ask him if he know that Elijah's end is near. Elisha responds to each group the same way; telling them that he knows, and that they should keep quiet.
The most poignant moment comes when Elijah asks Elisha what he can do for him before he dies. Elisha's response is that he wants a double portion of Elijah's spirit. Elisha doesn't know how he will go on without the one who has taught him everything he knows about being the Lord's prophet. He wonders what he will do when the people look for the Lord's prophet and that means him.
Any of us who have lost someone who was a central part of our world knows how Elisha felt. How will we go on? What will hold our world together now?
And what is Elijah's response to Elisha? "If you see me go." What does this mean? One of the best responses I've read was that what Elijah was pushing for was an awareness on Elisha's part that he, Elijah, was really gone. Elisha needed, before he could inherit Elijah's spirit, to be totally clear that Elijah was no longer in this world. Only then could he 1) tear his clothes (a sign of grief); and move into his own strength (taking up the cloak and using it to part the waters). As long as Elisha clung to his teacher he could neither grieve nor grow. Perhaps that is why the fiery chariot had to come between them before Elijah was taken up in the whirlwind....to create enough seperation to block Elisha from clinging.
Accept, Grieve, Grow. I've seen families, churches, organizations torn apart because they could not do this. The year after Bill Curry's Alabama football team won the Conference championship the University of Alabama fired him. When asked why he thought this had happened, Curry replied, "I'm not Bear Bryant."
The comic version of this is the male mid-life crisis in which a middle aged man (oh, say 56 or so) has difficulty admitting and accepting that he is no longer the athlete he once was. Or that the dreams he once had may not all come to fruition. Small fortunes have been spent on sports cars during this phase of men's lives.
We've all known sons who could not move out from under the shadow of their father. And churches that took years to move past the pastorate of a famous minister or a time in the church's history when they were influencial and important. Clinging to what makes us feel safe is a part of the human condition, we come by it honest. But we do not move into the new things that God has for us by clinging to the past.
We accept the loss. We grieve it; both what no longer is, and what will now not be. And then we take from the relationship or experience what will give us strength and hope and move out into the new thing that God is going to do...nurtured by the gift of what once was.
See you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
This is Transfiguration Sunday. But I want to focus on the Old Testament passage rather that the one from Mark.
Elijah, the old prophet, is about to die. He and Elisha-his disciple-journey to the place where they will say their final goodbye. As they go through each town the local prophets come up to Elisha and ask him if he know that Elijah's end is near. Elisha responds to each group the same way; telling them that he knows, and that they should keep quiet.
The most poignant moment comes when Elijah asks Elisha what he can do for him before he dies. Elisha's response is that he wants a double portion of Elijah's spirit. Elisha doesn't know how he will go on without the one who has taught him everything he knows about being the Lord's prophet. He wonders what he will do when the people look for the Lord's prophet and that means him.
Any of us who have lost someone who was a central part of our world knows how Elisha felt. How will we go on? What will hold our world together now?
And what is Elijah's response to Elisha? "If you see me go." What does this mean? One of the best responses I've read was that what Elijah was pushing for was an awareness on Elisha's part that he, Elijah, was really gone. Elisha needed, before he could inherit Elijah's spirit, to be totally clear that Elijah was no longer in this world. Only then could he 1) tear his clothes (a sign of grief); and move into his own strength (taking up the cloak and using it to part the waters). As long as Elisha clung to his teacher he could neither grieve nor grow. Perhaps that is why the fiery chariot had to come between them before Elijah was taken up in the whirlwind....to create enough seperation to block Elisha from clinging.
Accept, Grieve, Grow. I've seen families, churches, organizations torn apart because they could not do this. The year after Bill Curry's Alabama football team won the Conference championship the University of Alabama fired him. When asked why he thought this had happened, Curry replied, "I'm not Bear Bryant."
The comic version of this is the male mid-life crisis in which a middle aged man (oh, say 56 or so) has difficulty admitting and accepting that he is no longer the athlete he once was. Or that the dreams he once had may not all come to fruition. Small fortunes have been spent on sports cars during this phase of men's lives.
We've all known sons who could not move out from under the shadow of their father. And churches that took years to move past the pastorate of a famous minister or a time in the church's history when they were influencial and important. Clinging to what makes us feel safe is a part of the human condition, we come by it honest. But we do not move into the new things that God has for us by clinging to the past.
We accept the loss. We grieve it; both what no longer is, and what will now not be. And then we take from the relationship or experience what will give us strength and hope and move out into the new thing that God is going to do...nurtured by the gift of what once was.
See you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Touching Lepers
This Week's scriptures are Psalm 30 and Mark 1:40-45.
I started writing this blog and stopped. I stopped because I felt a need to live with the story in Mark for a little longer. To turn it a little more and examine it a little closer. All the reading I was doing about this passage left me asking myself, "what am I missing that this story might have to say to me in my particular position today?"
It is tempting to read this story and find the most comfortable place in it to curl up for a rest. To find the place in the story that comforts me in my position-political, theological, or otherwise-and focus my meditation and reflection there. There are some wonderful points in this story (and hopefully we'll talk about them on Sunday) about challenging the system and reaching out in compassionate anger to heal and reconcile.
But my problem in reading this passage was/is that if felt a whole lot like "preaching to the choir" when I stopped there. It didn't challenge me to act different, or change, or repent. So I chose to stop writing and spend some time asking myself not "who are our lepers?" (which is, by the way, an important question); but "who is leper to ME?" "Who would it bother me if Jesus healed and sent back into community?"
It was not one of my more pleasant exercises in meditation on scripture. I found myself realizing that there are a lot of people that I really, really don't like. What, I asked myself, would I say if Micheal Vick (you know, the football player arrested for his role in dog fights) came out and said he'd found Jesus? What would I say? What would I think? And he's one of the milder examples.
The truth is (if we go back to the scripture again) that one of the reasons that Jesus couldn't go into the towns was that by touching a leper He had alienated himself from a lot of folks. On the other hand, those who saw in His behavior the possibility that he might touch the secret, unclean places within them flocked to him.
This lead me to this final thought. There are places in me that Jesus cannot come as long as I have a beef with who He heals. The degree to which Jesus can move into my life, and heal my dis-ease, is directly related to my willingness to accept His healing the dis-ease of others. Certainly puts an interesting spin on the "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us."
I'm still mulling this one over. Maybe we can find some wisdom together on Sunday. See you then.
Shalom,
Stephen
I started writing this blog and stopped. I stopped because I felt a need to live with the story in Mark for a little longer. To turn it a little more and examine it a little closer. All the reading I was doing about this passage left me asking myself, "what am I missing that this story might have to say to me in my particular position today?"
It is tempting to read this story and find the most comfortable place in it to curl up for a rest. To find the place in the story that comforts me in my position-political, theological, or otherwise-and focus my meditation and reflection there. There are some wonderful points in this story (and hopefully we'll talk about them on Sunday) about challenging the system and reaching out in compassionate anger to heal and reconcile.
But my problem in reading this passage was/is that if felt a whole lot like "preaching to the choir" when I stopped there. It didn't challenge me to act different, or change, or repent. So I chose to stop writing and spend some time asking myself not "who are our lepers?" (which is, by the way, an important question); but "who is leper to ME?" "Who would it bother me if Jesus healed and sent back into community?"
It was not one of my more pleasant exercises in meditation on scripture. I found myself realizing that there are a lot of people that I really, really don't like. What, I asked myself, would I say if Micheal Vick (you know, the football player arrested for his role in dog fights) came out and said he'd found Jesus? What would I say? What would I think? And he's one of the milder examples.
The truth is (if we go back to the scripture again) that one of the reasons that Jesus couldn't go into the towns was that by touching a leper He had alienated himself from a lot of folks. On the other hand, those who saw in His behavior the possibility that he might touch the secret, unclean places within them flocked to him.
This lead me to this final thought. There are places in me that Jesus cannot come as long as I have a beef with who He heals. The degree to which Jesus can move into my life, and heal my dis-ease, is directly related to my willingness to accept His healing the dis-ease of others. Certainly puts an interesting spin on the "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us."
I'm still mulling this one over. Maybe we can find some wisdom together on Sunday. See you then.
Shalom,
Stephen
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
This week's scriptures are Isaiah 40:21-31 and Mark 1:29-39.
The picture painted by Mark in this week's scripture is a busy one. No sooner has Jesus had the encounter with the man with a demon in the synagogue, then he is off to the house of Simon and Andrew. There Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law who is sick with a fever. Next thing you know, the house is surrounded that evening by those who were ill, possessed, or suffered from diseases. We're told that "the whole town was there, gathered at the door."
Mark is very focused on Jesus' action. This is the Kingdom of God on the move; the Power of God Loose in the World. From the very beginning of the Gospel Mark wants to make the point that Jesus' intention is to break down all the barriers between us and God; to get rid of all the things that impinge upon humankind: illness, disease, 'demons' (who represented both mental illnesses and those diseases, like epilepsy, which people did not understand)....all of these were taken on squarely by the coming of the Kingdom in the person of Jesus.
Our passage from Isaiah makes the point explicitly that the God who is at work here is the one so far above the earth and its inhabitants that they "appear as grasshoppers." And yet.....and yet....this is the same God who promises that "those who look to the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar as on eagles' wings; they will run and not feel faint, march on and not grow weary." This is the same God whom Jesus claims to be ushering in the Kingdom for.
So....here is the Power of God Loose in the World (I really like that phrase; it isn't mine, but I like it anyway) and what does it do? Does it strike down the Romans? Does it attack the political stucture?
Though these things are ultimately affected; Jesus' actions are not broad stroke, sweeping actions. They are intimate, personal inter-actions with ordinary people in the midst of their own pain and struggle.
Jesus'....and hence God's.....care for us is as individual, particular people. God's desire is to touch us intimately at the place of our deepest need, our deepest pain. To God, as represented by Jesus, we're not some lump of humanity. We're Stephen who struggles with "X"; Mary who suffers from "Y"; John who's dealing with "Z."
Historically, 'movements' have quickly lost contact with the specific, real life, particular people they were created to help. And there are those who could make a case (and a reasonable one) that the Church has fallen prey to this same shortcoming.
But if we look at Jesus as the representative of God's power and intention; and if we look at Him, as well, as the example and role model for our work as God's people; we see a clear and unmistakable focus. Jesus is showing us that God's care is not some vague, general concern for humanity (remember Lucy from Peanuts saying, "I love humanity; it's people I can't stand"). Jesus is telling us that God cares about you and me; in all our brokenness, all our pain, all our struggle....individually, particularly, personally.
To me, that is real good news.
Hope to see you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
The picture painted by Mark in this week's scripture is a busy one. No sooner has Jesus had the encounter with the man with a demon in the synagogue, then he is off to the house of Simon and Andrew. There Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law who is sick with a fever. Next thing you know, the house is surrounded that evening by those who were ill, possessed, or suffered from diseases. We're told that "the whole town was there, gathered at the door."
Mark is very focused on Jesus' action. This is the Kingdom of God on the move; the Power of God Loose in the World. From the very beginning of the Gospel Mark wants to make the point that Jesus' intention is to break down all the barriers between us and God; to get rid of all the things that impinge upon humankind: illness, disease, 'demons' (who represented both mental illnesses and those diseases, like epilepsy, which people did not understand)....all of these were taken on squarely by the coming of the Kingdom in the person of Jesus.
Our passage from Isaiah makes the point explicitly that the God who is at work here is the one so far above the earth and its inhabitants that they "appear as grasshoppers." And yet.....and yet....this is the same God who promises that "those who look to the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar as on eagles' wings; they will run and not feel faint, march on and not grow weary." This is the same God whom Jesus claims to be ushering in the Kingdom for.
So....here is the Power of God Loose in the World (I really like that phrase; it isn't mine, but I like it anyway) and what does it do? Does it strike down the Romans? Does it attack the political stucture?
Though these things are ultimately affected; Jesus' actions are not broad stroke, sweeping actions. They are intimate, personal inter-actions with ordinary people in the midst of their own pain and struggle.
Jesus'....and hence God's.....care for us is as individual, particular people. God's desire is to touch us intimately at the place of our deepest need, our deepest pain. To God, as represented by Jesus, we're not some lump of humanity. We're Stephen who struggles with "X"; Mary who suffers from "Y"; John who's dealing with "Z."
Historically, 'movements' have quickly lost contact with the specific, real life, particular people they were created to help. And there are those who could make a case (and a reasonable one) that the Church has fallen prey to this same shortcoming.
But if we look at Jesus as the representative of God's power and intention; and if we look at Him, as well, as the example and role model for our work as God's people; we see a clear and unmistakable focus. Jesus is showing us that God's care is not some vague, general concern for humanity (remember Lucy from Peanuts saying, "I love humanity; it's people I can't stand"). Jesus is telling us that God cares about you and me; in all our brokenness, all our pain, all our struggle....individually, particularly, personally.
To me, that is real good news.
Hope to see you Sunday.
Shalom,
Stephen
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