Faith5: Reading the Word -- keeping it in our Hearts

Hebrews 4:11-13

Psalm 119:105

Luke 24:36b-48

       

            How did you learn about the Bible?

             How did you learn the stories of the Bible?  From Sunday School? From your parents?  From worship? 

            As for me, I remember going to church every Sunday, where the readings were printed on the back of the bulletin.

             I was fascinated by this, and even got the connection once in awhile that sometimes  one week’s readings followed exactly the readings from the week before.

             It made me think that if I cut and pasted the bulletin readings for long enough, I might be able to make my own Bible!  How cool would that be!

            But really, what I remember most about learning the Bible stories is how my dad sat down with us at the end of the day, and,

            right before prayer time, would read a little story from a book called, “The Bible in pictures for Little Eyes”

            When I was in college I came across a copy of this book, and I had to buy it, because it brought back so many memories. 

            It was such a simple book.

             Just one small picture of a Bible story, a few words, and 2 or three questions. 

            You didn’t even have to know how to read.  You could look at the pictures and answer the questions.

            Even better, it was time we got to spend with our dad.

            How did you learn about the Bible? 

            How are your children and grandchildren learning those stories? 

            Last week we learned the first step in the Faith5, Sharing highs and lows.

            We learned that it is so important to cement relationships of trust, in families, among friends, and in the church. 

            So we start by sharing the small and big things of our day,

            the good things and the hard things, and we trust that God is in all of it –- that God is in our highs and in our lows, with us always.

            This week’s step is “Read”. 

            The next thing we do together is to read the word of God

            We learn Bible stories and Bible verses that will help us know who God is for us and who we are. 

            And every day of our lives, we need those reminders – when we’re children – and after we grow up. 

            Do any of you have a Bible verse or a Bible story that is very important to you, that is comforting or challenging or helps you when you are having hard times? 

            (Several people Answered with verses that were meaningful in their lives.)

            Why is this verse or story important to you?

             One of my favorite Bible stories is the one about Peter walking on water – and that tells me that sometimes I have to take a risk – get out of the boat.

            – have an adventure – but it also tells me about the God who – when I fail – when I am drowning – will grab my hand – and lift me out of the deep waters.    

            And you know what?  I need to hear that message.

            We need to have scripture passages in our heads and hearts because of who we are and because of the world we live in. 

            The world has a lot of goodness and beauty in it, but a lot of danger and evil too. 

            There are pitfalls and temptations for our children – and for us, as well.    

            There are so many messages – words and pictures – that  glorify violence,

             that tell us that we must meet an impossible standard of beauty to be loved, and that we’re only valuable if we’re wealthy or successful or popular.

            Children  (and adults) see advertising that makes them dislike their bodies, and feel ashamed of them, because they are not perfect.      

            So knowing scripture – is so critical – and being immersed in the message of God love and forgiveness as much as possible…. This is our true identity. That’s part of what the text from Hebrews is about – the word of God is

            a two-edged sword, that holds us accountable to God – and convicts the heart both about what is wrong – in us and in the world – and about God’s love for us in the middle of everything.

            It’s true, though, that not every part of the Bible is equally easy to understand. 

            There are some stories that are clear, and others that we can spend our lives studying and never totally figure out. 

            And it’s okay to start with the basics – the story of God’s creation – the life of Jesus, and his death and resurrection, Abraham and Jacob and Moses (the prince of Egypt!).  

             It’s good to read with others – your family, your friends, for example – because in sharing – we witness to one another about our faith, encourage each other when we doubt – and learn more together than we would alone.  

            …. But that’s for next week.

            Sharing scripture together with your family will ground your children in their faith and will give them a different imagination – about who they are, who God is

            – and what it means to be God’s person in the world.   

            They might be inspired by God’s word to organized against hunger, to pray for their friends, or their enemies, to stand up against bullies.. 

            But you know, knowing scripture is not just for our children. 

            And it’s not just for childhood.  It is for our whole lives, and it benefits all ages.

            I still remember when my dad first went to the nursing home.  It was temporary at first, complications from his Parkinsons, and memory loss.  

             I used to visit him. 

            Sometimes he was pretty positive and other times he was confused and depressed. 

            One time he was going back and forth, trying to convince himself…. “Worrying never did any good”, he said.

             I agreed.

             But then suddenly he started saying, “The wages of sin is death.”  I tried to reason with him. 

            I tried to change the subject. 

            I sang – because sometimes singing worked.

            But he just kept repeating, again and again, “The wages of sin is death….” 

            I know that was true, but it was only half of the truth. 

            He seemed depressed and that he was judging himself.  “The wages of sin is death.”

            Suddenly I remembered something. 

            “But dad, I said, “the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.”  He smiled. 

            Don’t we all want our children and our grandchildren to know that the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord?     Don’t we want to know it ourselves?  To have confidence, to  know and to remind each other of the best, most truthful things in life? 

            Tell them.  Share them.  Because when we share scripture with our children, we are learning it again for ourselves.

            AMEN

In 1991 I Wrote This About My Call

I was looking for some old Lenten monologues I wrote based on Mark's gospel, and I came upon the "Endorsement Essay" that I wrote for the seminary and for my denomination.  Here's what I wrote:


SINCE childhood, I have been nurtured by many stories from the Bible.  There have been picture Bibles at bedtime before prayers, stories told by Sunday School teachers, lectionary readings preached from the pulpit.  A few of these stories have stayed with me and become mine, to comfort as well as afflict me.  He is a story about some of the stories that have become companions with me on my journey.

Story #1
It was a dark and stormy night, and the little boat was rocked by waves.  The disciples had all they could do to keep afloat, for the wind was against them.  When they saw Jesus walking across the lake to them, it was somehow not so reassuring, but just another eerie thing in the middle of the night, the kind they would have nightmares about sometimes after witnessing Jesus cast out some particularly terrifying demons.  "Don't be afraid!" he called, and it was about as easy to stop being afraid as it would have been to stop breathing.  Impulsive Peter, however,  put all sense behind him.  The man knew no fear.  He leaped from the boat and found himself, to his surprise, walking on water.  It didn't last, however; it couldn't last.  Peter feared he fell; he failed.

It was August 30, 1981.  My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, I felt somewhat numb.  I was in church, being commissioned as a missionary to Japan, and I listened intently as the minister told this story.  I identified with Peter.  I was leaving for Japan the next day, and I was not packed yet.  I felt ignorant, foolish, unprepared.

"But I never feel prepared!"
It was at a winter retreat
that a student said it,
I was pleased when a counselor replied,
"But we walk on water all the time."

It is well to be prepared,
but we dare not forget that we are never fully prepared
for the tasks that are most worth doing.
The tasks that are worthy of us, as persons,
are often beyond us.

--Gerhard Frost, "Bless My Growing"

As I prepared for ministry of service in Japan, I feared that I had gotten in "over my head" as Peter did, and was about to drown.  But I also began to suspect that "over my head" was just where God wanted me.  I began to suspect that a life in response to God's grace was a life of risk, a life of continual dependence on the Voice that calls out over the waves, and the strong Arm that reaches us when we are drowning.  We are continually drowning and being raised to new life, and since that first drowning, we need not fear the others.

It was May 19, 1957.  I was only one month old, and this time, I did not jump in.  I was pushed!  When my parents brought me to Augustana church that day in obedience to God's Word, I'm sure they did not suspect what adventures would follow.  But as the minister poured water three times over my head in the strong name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I was assured a lifetime of getting in "over my head."  It is a lifetime of grace for all of our a ventures, of daring to risk because of the God who dares to go with us.

Story #2
Job was a Good Man, God had said so Himself, so it came as somewhat of a shock when he found his fortunes turning from good to bad and from bad to worse.  He lost everything; first his fortune, then his family, even his wife, last his health.  No one understood it, least of all Job, although some of his friends who thought they had it all worked out came over to try to enlighten him.  "Comforters," they were called, and some of their responses sounded reasonable, though none of them were very comforting, and Job did not find them compelling.  In the end, Job demanded an explanation from God himself, and though he didn't get one, he did get God, the creator of the Universe, right there, at this bedside.

I first read the story of Job, all 42 chapters of the Revised Standard Version, the first day of my senior year of high school.  It was an assignment.  I didn't understand it much then.  But by the end of my senior year, I had begun to take a liking to this gutsy questioner.  By the end of this year, I too was beginning to question God.  Confronted by issues of human suffering, the Holocaust, the Atomic bomb, I found it difficult to believe in an all-powerful but all-loving God.  Trips to the library to learn more about Jesus did not bring answers but still more questions.  In the church, which I continued to attend despite my doubts, I found no answers either.  But I found something.  I found God who promised to be with us "where two or three are gathered."  I found that the Christian response to suffering was not an answer, but a presence.  As Job discovered, answers did not sustain me.  But God has sustained me and continues to sustain.  Within the bread and the wine, within the gathered community which sings, prayers, confesses together, God is present.  Sometimes the community believes for me when I cannot believe.  Sometimes another is weak when I am strong.  I know we don't always get answers, but I know that the Creator of the Universe has come right here, among us.

Story #3
Jonah went to Nineveh to preach repentance, but it certainly wasn't his idea.  In fact, the indentations in the sand were pretty long and deep where God dragged him kicking and screaming.  In case you had forgotten, the first thing Jonah did when God called him was get on a boat going in the opposite direction.  After that, he ended up spending three days in the belly of a great fish, reconsidering his original plan.  That's what you get for trying to run away from God.

I like Jonah.  I think I am a lot like him.  He was stubborn and resistant, pretty convinced that he could not preach the Word, especially to Nineveh.  Jonah knew his weaknesses and used them as excuses to run away from God's call.  I find I have been the same way.  "I can't serve you, God," I have argued.  "I am not a leader.  I am not assertive enough."  (Indeed, I will have to learn to be more assertive as I grow in ministry.)  But my argument, unfortunately, did not impress God.  "You're crazy, God", I countered, "I am too much of a people-pleaser to preach your Word prophetically."  (And it's true, I do need to learn to be less concerned about how other people see me.)  But God was as stubborn as I was, and this argument did not work either.  "O God," I persisted piously.  I am not disciplined enough in my own life of prayer and Bible study to lead a congregation's spiritual life."  and God granted that it was a true confession, but did not give up calling me.  I began to hear another voice beneath all of my excuses, and this one was a still small voice, reminding me that along with all my weaknesses, I also had gifts to bring to ministry.

One of these gifts ironically, grows out of my own stubborn delay in recognizing Gods call.  Because of that, I have had many experiences as a lay person, struggling to integrate faith and life.  I have often sat in the pew on Sunday morning and thought, "That's nice for you, Pastor, but how do I live out my Christian faith in my life and at my job?  What do I do on Monday?"  I want to hang onto that experience as I plan worship and preaching.  I have also sat on church councils and know the good, the bad and the ugly about church politics.  I believe that lay people can teach me as well as learn from me.

Another of these gifts is a love for stories and for writing.  Clarity of expression is important to me.  I know that words and stories have power.  I also know that people are stories to be read and enjoyed.  I want to learn to read people and learn from them and be sensitive to their struggles.  I know that the Word is not just words on a page, but the word of speech, of touch, of sight and of sound.

Another gift I bring is my nurture in the Lutheran tradition, with respect for the power of baptism and the Triune God who commands it and acts through it.  Yet I have grown through a variety of religious experiences, Lutheran and not:  summer campfires, charismatic worship, reading in mysticism, cross-cultural experiences, and insights through art, music and literature.  I have learned that God speaks to us in a variety of languages to different people.  All these resources I might bring to worship, preaching, teaching, and counseling, now that I have gotten out of the belly of that great fish.

Story #4
In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the Beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  In the Beginning was the Word.  And the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven, took on human flesh, eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us.  In the End the Word was crucified by us and for us, but that was only the Beginning.  In the Middle the Word healed and forgave, spoke in riddles and walked on seas, multiplied loaves of bread and divided the house of Satan, and wear generally misunderstood and underestimated.  In the Middle, almost nobody understood until the End.  But that was only the Beginning.  In the Middle was the Word, and the Word is in the Middle.  In the Middle, we continue to misunderstand, get it wrong, trip over our shoelaces and miss the point.  And in the Middle we continue to hear the Word, "Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins, who is, in the middle of our middle, still eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us, although we often don't understand until the End.

And that is only the beginning.

The Preacher, Not Preaching

It is Saturday evening.  I'm not preaching again this weekend.  It feels odd, not exactly like a vacation (which it is not) but more like my job description suddenly changed, or someone moved around the days of the week without telling me, or I have forgotten a large appointment in my weekly calendar.

The first time it felt odd was when the preaching schedule came out.  A whole month without preaching.  My knee jerked.  "What am I going to do?" was the first thought in my head.  Not that there isn't plenty to do, even without preaching, but I have grown to believe that preaching regularly sort of justifies my existence.  The reading and the studying and the thinking and the conversations all give shape to my week.  I end up seeing the world in a different way, bringing the scripture readings to the world and the people I know.

The second time it felt odd was on Wednesday, when I realized that I hadn't really studied the scriptures for a few days.  This should not be so, I thought; the discipline of scripture reading is not only for the sake of preaching.  But what should I study?

Why not the scripture readings for this week? I answered, after a short period of angst.  So there I was, at noon on Wednesday, sitting in the common area at our local mall, eating my tuna sandwich and reading the Beatitudes that I would not preach on, hearing the words in my mind, not just the familiar words of uncommon blessing, but also the words about the salt and the light and how our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees, which sort of blows my mind, no matter how many times I read it.  I have a hard time quantifying righteousness, I realize.  I actually don't think you can measure righteousness.  I don't think you can measure grace either.  I just think this.  I wonder if I am right.

And now, here I am, on Saturday night.  I am not praying for the Holy Spirit to enliven the words I have written, and I am not wondering whether I should re-write a few of them.  I am not struggling for a little last-minute inspiration.  I am not wondering whether I missed the Spirit this week.

It feels different:  not good, not bad:  just different.

There are times when I wonder what it would be like to have a different weekly schedule, and a different Sunday discipline.  I wonder how it would feel to get up and turn on the radio, and open up the newspaper and fix a pot of coffee, to sit around in my bathrobe and fix scrambled eggs and cinnamon rolls for my family.  Or, I wonder what it would be like to go the bookstore instead of the sanctuary on Sunday morning, to commune alone with books and other people and a gourmet coffee.  I don't say this with judgment, and not a wistfulness either.  It is not that I wish for anyone else's life.  I am just curious sometimes, about how it would feel to have a different rhythm, with no preaching.

Lex orandi, lex credendi -- as we pray, so we believe -- I learned this saying long ago in seminary, but I wonder if it applies to more than prayer, or if prayer is perhaps more expansive than I used to think.  How do the rhythms of my life define what I believe, who and what I trust, and what are my priorities?

All these questions I am considering in the darkness of a Saturday evening, when tomorrow I am not preaching.

The Story of the Quilt

I met my mother for lunch on Wednesday.  It was the anniversary of my father's death, but that wasn't why we were having lunch together.  It just turned out that way.

While we were eating, my mother unfolded an 8 1/2 by 11 piece of paper and gave it to me.  She said there was something she never told me about the quilt that she had made and given to me a couple of years ago.

My mother has always been good at sewing.  She made most of our clothes, and even a spring jacket for my sister and me.  She made a pants outfit for me once, and matched the plaids so well that people commented on it.  But it is only recently that she had gotten interested in quilting.  It was my grandmother, my mother's mother, that was the quilter.  She was famous for her beautiful hand-stitched quilts.  Everyone tells me that she had an eye for putting together colors.  I have one of her quilts, but I don't remember ever seeing her put one together.  By the time I was born, it hurt her hands and her eyes too much to do the close work necessary.

Recently, though, my mother has begun quilting.  And two years ago she gave me this beautiful lap quilt.  I thought the colors were amazing.  It holds a place of honor in our living room.

But it turns out that I did not know everything about it.

On the piece of paper that my mother gave me, she told me that this quilt was a collaboration, in a way. After my grandmother died, my aunt discovered some pieces that my grandmother had cut out, and a pattern for a quilt square.  She took half of the pieces, and gave my mother the other half.  But neither of them knew what to do with them.  They had a pattern, but were not sure how to put it together.

One day, one of my mother's friends took a look at the pieces and the pattern, and she could figure it out.  Then my mother could begin to make the squares that would form the quilt.

It took a long time; in the process she decided to divide the pieces and make two quilts instead of one; my sister just received the other one.  Until Wednesday, though, I never knew that my grandmother had a hand in the quilt I received from my mother.

I see it differently now.  It is not just a quilt.  It is a story.  It was always a story, but until Wednesday I did not know the language that the quilt was speaking, even though I loved it.

My mother's quilt makes me think of the church these days, what has been passed down to us, what we value, what we know.  I know many of the older people in my congregation value and love liturgy.  They have been singing and praying in a particular way for many years, as it has been passed down to them.  They have learned some new rhythms along the way, it's true, but they still sing and pray the basic pattern, and they find it beautiful, and comforting, even, at times (although a seminarian friend recently scoffed at the idea of comforting religion).

And yet I wonder if we still remember the stories behind the rhythms and the words of liturgy, the ones that change it from a beautiful object into a story about us, about our mothers and our grandmothers and our great-grandmothers.  I wonder if we still remember the stories that speak about love that pursues us through the ages, that pieces us together, that made us by hand.  I wonder if we still remember the stories of why we sing and say and pray the things we do, and if we are even curious.

For the Fun of It

Tuesday night, I held the second of a short series of Lectio Divina meetings at church.  I pulled the chairs into a circle, put the small candle out and prepared for whoever might show up.

There were four of us in total, practicing silence and listening and imagination.  We read Sunday's gospel reading.

I knew I was the preacher on Sunday, and one thing I didn't want to do is use the time to do sermon preparation.  I wanted this to be listening for its own sake, not with an end in mind.

But it's harder than it looks.  It's hard to put down the schedule that says I need this many insights for my preaching on Sunday.  I caught myself arguing with myself, a little about a word or a phrase:  why are you listening to that? one of the voices in my ear said.  That's not what you are going to preach about on Sunday.

But I couldn't help it, I kept staring at the word 'love' in Jesus' question to Simon, about the creditor who forgave two of his debtors.  "Which of them will love him more?" Jesus asked.

And I thought:  "What's love got to do with it?  I don't associate the word 'love' with relationships that have to do with money and owing."  For the first time it struck me as an odd question.  "Which of them will love him more?"

You are not going to preach about that, the voice in my head told me.

I thought it was interesting anyway.  As we prayed and listened along, the images I saw were of oil, of an unwelcome guest crashing a party, a man with his arms crossed, his lips pursed.  And what's love got to do with it?  Even if our mortgage company tore up all of our bills, and declared us free and clear, I'm not sure what I would call what I would feel 'love.'

So the next morning I was doing some of my sermon preparation, re-reading the story, taking down notes, examining the scripture and myself.  And, I'll admit it:  I digressed.  It wasn't the direction I was heading for my sermon, but I just had to look up some words in my Greek New Testament.  First the word Love.  What kind of love was it, anyway?  I looked up the word love, and then, just for the fun of it, I looked up the word that meant the creditor 'forgave' or 'cancelled' the debts.  Because, as it turned out, it's a different word than the one normally used for forgiveness.  It has the word 'gift' in it.

Later on, I checked the end of the story, when Jesus said to the woman, "Your sins are forgiven", and discovered that we were back to the more common word for forgiveness, which has to do with release, being set free.  I didn't look it up because I needed to know for my sermon, but just for the fun of it.

For the fun of it.

It's a pragmatic world, and in that world, we think of Scripture often as a tool, a means to an end, whether the end is writing a sermon or 'help in living your life.'

But maybe we're not supposed to use the Holy Scripture so much as be in relationship:  argue, ask questions, wonder, imagine, dig in.

For the fun of it.

I realize that many people don't experience reading the Bible as in any way 'fun.'  Maybe it's all of those thin pages, big words, sort of disturbing stories, or proof texts.  Maybe the burden of understanding it, or even trying to make use of it, makes it even harder.  Maybe we need to invent better tools to get at the fun of it, or just to talk more about the fun of reading the scriptures 'just because.' For the joy of it.

For  the joy of discovering more about the uninvited guests who crash parties, the widows who weep after funeral biers, children who share loaves and fish, Pharisees who stand around with pursed lips and meet with Jesus in the dark.  For the fun of discovering more about the one who comes to parties at Pharisees' houses and lets fallen women blubber all over his feet, and says "Your sins are forgiven."

So no, none of this is getting into my sermon on Sunday, at least not on purpose.  Listening for its own sake:  not with an end in mind.  Like spending a lazy afternoon with my husband, or visiting my dad in the nursing home and singing songs with him, memorizing his face.

For the love of it.

epiphanies

I've known the word "Epiphany" (Capital E) since I was a little kid; I was brought up in the proudly liturgical (but not too high-church) Swedish Lutheran tradition, and we had Sunday School books that actually taught not just Bible stories, but what every part of the liturgy meant.

Epiphany:  the end of Christmas, the coming of the Three Kings, the season between Christmas and Lent.  There is something to do with light here.

Then, on the first year of my senior year of High School, my English Literature teacher taught us the meaning of the word "epiphany" (small e).

She taught us by telling us a story.

She told us that when she first went to school, she did not learn to read.  She just did not "get" reading. She didn't understand the connection between all the marks in the books and the words she was hearing.  She actually memorized the lessons every night, with her mother reading to her, and her learning the pages, but not comprehending the connection.

Every day she would get up for her turn, and all she would do is recite.  She was not reading.

Then, suddenly, one day, she said, it all came together.  She was reciting in front of the class, the way she always did, when, instead, she was reading.  She didn't "figure it out".  She didn't logically work through the steps.  It just suddenly occurred to her.

That's an "epiphany", she said.  It's when suddenly, everything comes together, the lightbulb comes on in your head, and you say, "aha!  that's what it is.  that's what it means."

She said that the author James Joyce used the word "epiphany" in this way.

She said that she hoped we would all have plenty of "epiphanies" in her class.

I'm not sure that she meant to, but her class also changed the way I look at scripture, even the way I study scripture.  Reading scripture isn't just (or even primarily) about 'figuring out what it means'.  It's letting the words get down into the soul, the heart, the guts.  Sometimes, I'll be reading along, not even knowing how much I really don't know what I'm reading, or hearing, when a phrase I hear will suddenly shine a light into places I didn't know existed.

epiphanies.

Old Simeon comes to the temple every day.  He reads the Bible, and he even thinks he knows what it means.  He is waiting for the Messiah.

Then one day a young couple walks in, carrying a child.  Suddenly he sees.  He doesn't figure it out.  He doesn't travel from A to B to C to D in his mind.

"My eyes have seen my salvation," he says, in a flash, in an instant, in an epiphany.

We hold a baby in our arms, or we catch the eye of the widower who sits alone in the back of the church, or we see a woman sit down on the bus, and not get up.  And there is this flash when we see:  the face of God, our mission in the world, the work of justice.

In the darkness, the light shines.  In a flash, for an instant, but again and again.

And I am so grateful that this is so.

A Righteous Branch

I know this is not the image Jeremiah has in mind, but when I think of this scripture about the "righteous branch", I can't help getting this picture in my mind:  I am amid the dangerous waves of a churning river, either in a boat or capsized, and I am heading toward the rapids.  Suddenly, I look up and there it is:  a Branch, a strong Branch bending over the river.  I grab it and hold on.

Somehow, that's the picture I get in my mind, even though, like I said, I'm pretty sure it's not what Jeremiah had in mind.  I'm pretty sure that he is using the imagery of a Branch to connect with Israel and Judah's family Tree.  There have been plenty of unrighteous branches -- Kings who has not been faithful, have not worshipped Yahwah and who have not cared for the poor.  There hare been plenty of leaders who were shepherds who led their people astray.  But Jeremiah is saying that there will be a day when the King will be a true shepherd, who will be do justice and love mercy.  This King will not come from outside, but within the flock.  He will be "a shoot out of the stump of Jesse", to use words from another prophet, Isaiah.

Still, I can't get the picture of the low-hanging branch over the water out of my head.

"The Lord is your righteousness," the branch declares, just by hanging there.

It is an invitation to trust:  not my own wiles or wits, not my ability to swim, not my cleverness or even my own piety.  It is an invitation to trust the Branch.  Hold on.

So, on the first Sunday of Advent, the simple message may be this:  Hold on.  Trust that the one who hangs on the cross is your righteousness.  Trust that the one who fed the hungry, healed the sick and cleansed lepers is your righteousness.   Trust that the branch is strong enough to hold you, even though it looks weak.

Trust that the life he invites you to live is wise, even though it looks foolish.  Trust that doing justice and loving mercy is really the only way to life, even though the way leads through death.

Hold on.

Forget it

I've been reading Isaiah 43 all week, even though I had pretty much decided to preach on the anointing story in John 12. I love all of these anointing stories; we read Luke's version at a Bible study on Saturday morning. The trouble with stories I love sometimes, though, is that I don't see the continuing ripples in them.

But enough about John....

I've been reading Isaiah 43 all week, as well, probably because of the phrase, "I will make a way in the wilderness." I was thinking about the desert, connecting the scripture to my trip to the desert last week, and that phrase about the wilderness kept coming into my mind, perhaps too obviously.

But last night, and today, as I read Isaiah 43, this is what I heard:

"Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old."

And this right after God reminds the people of how he saved them from the Egyptians through the Red Sea.

"Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old."

It seems that our faith is built on remembering. The Jewish people remember the Passover; their basic identity is formed by the story of how God saved them from slavery, how God set them apart. Each week we gather to hear the story of God in Christ, and to taste God's love, "The body of Christ, given for you."

But today, instead, we heard, "do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old." Today we were encouraged not to get out the photo albums and reminisce, but to close our eyes and imagine: God is about to do a new thing.

There are so many exhortations in the Bible about remembering. I don't think that God wants us to forget the forming stories, the stories that tell us who we are. I don't think that God wants us to forget the old photographs and the stories of courage and cowardice we find there. But perhaps sometimes when we spend too much time on the past, we forget that the past only serves to prepare us for the future, for the vision that God is creating, that is more than we can imagine.

A wandering Aramean was our father, a humble carpenter is our Lord, the wilderness is where we began, but in the end there will be the river of life, with its streams for the healing of the nations.

God is about to do a new thing. That's what Isaiah promises.

There will be streams in the desert.

Visiting my sister, we were mourning the rainfall. We wanted sunshine only during our brief stay. But my sister, with the perspective of one who actually lives in the desert, was rejoicing. "We've been in a 14 year drought," she told me. They know as only those who live with scarcity know, that water means life.

In the meantime, North Dakota is in a flood watch, reminding us that water can destroy as well as give life. It was water that drowned the Egyptians so long ago, when the Israelites escaped on dry land.

But do not remember the former things, God says. I am about to do a new thing.

Just for a little while, put away the photo albums, and don't think about your ancestors. Instead, close your eyes and imagine the future, God's future, a new thing. Enemies become friends. The lion lies down with the lamb. The dead are raised. Love wins. Waters bubbles up from deep wells, and waters comes down from the sky, and water flows from clear rivers.

Forget all those voices that tell you that the future has to be just like the past, that the things that have bound you will always hold you down, that you'll never change.

God is about to do a new thing.

Sometimes Interpreting the Bible Can Be Like This Too

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to water-ski
across the surface of a poem
waving ath the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

--Billy Collins
The Apple that Astonished Paris

What are some scripture passages you (or others) have tried to torture a confession out of?

Republican Church

A few years ago I was at a church retreat with some of our board members, looking ahead to develop a vision and plan for our church. Over lunch, one of the members was telling us about her visit to a local mega-church, one pretty well known in our neck of the woods.

"What kind of a church is it?" someone asked her.

"It's a Republican church," she replied.

Interesting. She didn't say Baptist, or Methodist, or Episcopalian, or Presbyterian. She said Republican. In doing so, she touched on a trend developing in many churches lately, and, in my book, a troubling one.

As a young adult, nothing insulted my intelligence more than for a pastor or a church to tell me how to vote. I remember being very clear that I knew that was NOT their job; I could figure out very well on my own, thank you, where my faith values were leading me politically. And the denomination I grew up in, and eventually came back to, has conservatives and liberals, Republicans and Democrats. The idea was that it was our faith that united us, our common trust in Jesus, not our politics.

Now, in some ways, it feels that has been turned around. More than Lutheran or Methodist, it matters whether we are Conservative or Liberal. Never mind that those words can have many meanings. And it's not just what we believe in our hearts, but who we choose to associate with, how we organize ourselves, and the pre-conceptions that we bring to the scriptures.

I am always surprised, for example, when I am reading the Passion Narrative for a Bible study, and we read the story of the woman with the alabaster jar, the woman who anointed Jesus. This is one of my favorite stories, especially Mark's version, where Jesus praises the woman and says of her, "What she has done will be told in memory of her." Of course, nobody remembers her name, so the comment is somewhat bittersweet. But I love her wasteful gesture, her pouring out of expensive perfume, because to me it is a sign and a foretaste of what Jesus will do when he pours out his life for the world. And it is a woman who serves as the type of Christ's sacrifice.

Invariably, one of the Bible study participants will say something like this about this story. "Those who are on the left wouldn't like it."

And why would that be?

Because of Jesus' retort to the disciples, who critiqued the woman, "The poor you have with you always, but you will not always have me."

Obviously, Jesus' statement was meant to be a tacit endorsement of conservative Republican values, and a repudiation of liberal Democratic ones.

Not.

The problem with going through scripture looking for the statements you agree with is that you miss the larger picture: the picture of the wasteful God who breaks open the jar of his own life for all of sinful humanity.

The problem with going to churches of the like-minded (whether conservative or liberal) is that they might miss the larger picture: a scandalous God whose mission is larger than any political agenda, and who will call any willing sinner to follow.