Things that Should not Be

It was just a little over a month ago that I was in my hometown for my brother's wedding.  My brother asked me to officiate, and I felt honored to be there.  It wasn't a big wedding, but it was such a joyous occasion, to be able to share in the love of my brother and his new wife, and see so many of my cousins come out to be a part of the celebration.  We all grew up together, but we don't get together very often now.

Then, just two days after the wedding, on Monday morning, I was back home in Texas, and I saw a Facebook update from another of my cousins.  He was grieving.  He was telling us about the death of his sister.

My cousin Karen had been fighting cancer for several years.  She had setbacks and she had victories. I have kept up with her life mostly on Facebook these days, but when were children they lived just a few blocks from us for a little while.  She was a few years younger than I was back then, and very shy.  I remember she loved kittens.  She grew into a beautiful and talented young woman.  She grew up and had babies.  She played the harp.  She was also someone who pursued God and faith intensely.    And she had cancer.

For so many reasons, her death didn't seem real to me.  Maybe it was simply because we had lived apart for many years.  We had had only virtual conversations.  Maybe it was the idea that when we were celebrating my brother's wedding, she was dying.  Maybe it was just the memory that she was my younger cousin, the little girl with blue eyes who loved kittens.  How could it be?  She should still be alive.

That's what I believe, that there are things that should not be.

It was just about a week later that I got a message from a colleague.

A young pastor that I knew had just had a serious heart attack.  He wanted me to know, and he wanted me to join those who were praying day and night.

I had known this young woman since she was a seminary intern at my congregation.  Bright and articulate, full of passion and clarity about her call:  that's how I remember her.  She played the violin.  She taught us lectio divina.  She worked closely with the youth and the youth director.  After she graduated, she spent a couple of years in the Pacific Northwest, and then returned to our area to be a valued colleague at a neighboring congregation.  She was a fierce voice for justice, for inclusion.

She was the pastor of a vibrant congregation; she had a husband and three young children.

We prayed passionately.  It was just the sort of occasion made for miracles.  And that was what we prayed for.  We prayed for her heart to be strong.  We prayed for a full recovery.

We did not get what we wanted.

It's true.  We don't know the wisdom of God.  But I will also say:  these were not selfish prayers.  Our friend was a gift to us -- but she was also a gift to the world, someone who was doing healing work here.

There are some things that should not be.  The world is not yet what it should be, what it will be.

If you do not believe me, these are the words of the prophet Isaiah, longing for a different world,

"For I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered
or come to mind....
no more shall there be in it
an infant that lives but a few days,
or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;
for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,
and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed."

Brothers and sisters,
do not be afraid to grieve.
We long for a new world.
It is meet and right so to do.

There are some things that should not be.

Saturday Night Stream of Consciousness

It's Saturday night.  Sermon is about ready for preaching.  I've been looking up verses for a Bible study which begins tomorrow.  Actually, it's not so much a Bible study as it is a Study of the Christian Faith.  We will be studying theology.  So I've been thinking about theology this evening, both the basics that I've learned, and the experiences and questions that I've had.   I've got the movie "2001: a Space Odyssey" on in the background.

May I say it?  I have never understood this movie.  I don't remember seeing in the theatre because I was only about 9 or 10 years old when it came out.  But I remember my dad and my uncle having a conversation about the movie, and what they thought it meant.  It was a theological conversation, that's all I remember.  They were talking about things that were beyond me, but I was curious.

My uncle died just after Christmas, so he's been on my mind.  I've got "2001" on in the background, and I'm still not sure what it means, and I'm thinking about my uncle, and theology.  It's that part at the end of the movie, where the old man becomes a baby, that I think my uncle and my dad were talking about.

It's funny what you remember, on a Saturday night

My uncle was one of the forming influences on my life.  I thought he was a smart adult, and I always got the impression that he thought I was smart too, and that made a difference.  He was interested in a lot of things, and one of those things was theology.  He talked about Bonhoeffer, Niebuhr, Barth.  He knew about the historical critical reading of the Bible.  He was passionate about grace, I think because he knew he needed it.

So, tomorrow I'll be starting this study of Theology.  A lot of people think that theology is boring.  I think theology has to do with everything in life.  So if you do it right, it can't be boring.  Ordinary life and extra-ordinary life,  questions and certainties, whoops of joy and sobs of sorrow, everything goes into the theological mix.

I couldn't go to my uncle's funeral this week.  I have been thinking about that too.

Tomorrow morning, when we introduce the study of theology, perhaps the music of the movie "2001" will be playing in the background of my mind.  And maybe the music of my uncle's life.

And then we'll go to worship, and we'll remember the baptism of Jesus, and dip our fingers in the water, and remember our own baptism too.  We'll dip our fingers in the water and maybe we'll remember the other times we dipped our fingers in the water, or how we never learned to swim, or how we were scared of the water or how we loved the feeling of it.  We'll dip our fingers in the water and wonder what it means to be children of God.

Tonight I'm thinking about my uncle, and theology, and "2001" and the water.  And theology.

It's funny what you think about, on a Saturday night.

The Trinity, Creation, and World War II

This week I was having a conversation with other pastors over coffee about the Trinity.  Specifically, Trinity Sunday was coming up -- again -- what were we going to preach about?  We read together from Matthew 28, from the end of 2nd Corinthians, and finally found ourselves staring at the creation story from Genesis, chapter 1.

Well?

What are you going to preach about this Sunday?

We got to talking about the Days of creation, and God separately Night from Day, and Light from Darkness, and saying that it was good.  We talked about the generative nature of the story -- everything is for the sake of life, night and dark, darkness and light -- even rest.  We moved back and forth from the images in creation to the relationship of the Trinity:  Father, Son and Holy Spirit, all participating with one another, forming community.

For some reason I couldn't help thinking about something I had heard many years ago, while I was living in Japan.  I didn't say anything, because I couldn't think of any way this had to do with Trinity Sunday, although whenever I read Genesis 1, this particular story and image comes up.

I remembered one of the missionaries told me about a Japanese military man who, after World War II, had become a Christian.  The details of the conversation become hazy now, so many years later, but Pastor Luther Kistler told me the story and that this gentleman (I believe was a member of his church).  He said that this man became a Christian because he was impressed by the story of creation from Genesis.  He said that Japanese mythology only has a story about the creation of Japan.  But Genesis -- there is a story about the creation of the whole world.

So.  I was thinking about this story while I was supposed to be thinking about the Trinity (what are you preaching about this Sunday?).  One of the things I was thinking was, "This doesn't have anything to do with the Trinity."  I was also thinking, "You can use a story like this to assert superiority in a sort of tribal way, I suppose.  You know, Our God is better than your God."  Perhaps it is this sort of tribalism that causes "Christians" to go out and kill Muslims in the Central African Republic, in the name of God.

But I was also struck by something else, perhaps for the first time.

There is something anti-tribal about the creation story from Genesis, something that pushes against the old "our god is better than your god" thinking.  If God created the whole world, if that is really true, there is something really expansive about that.  This God does not just care about my tribe or my corner of the universe.  Maybe this is why Jesus said, "Love your enemies."  Maybe it all goes back to the creation story, in Genesis 1.

I still don't exactly know what this has to do with the Trinity, although it seems to me that our talk about God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit can either expand or contract our views of God.  We can speak of God the Trinity in a way that draws the circle smaller or wider, that turns us inward or outward.  But which will it be?

On Monday I will be having another funeral, another funeral of one of our World War II veterans.  This community was founded just after the war ended, and I have been privileged to hear just the tip of the iceberg of their stories, those they can bear to tell.

This particular man served in Europe during the war.  He saw and experienced a lot of unspeakable things.  But one thing his family told me when we met to prepare for the funeral:  He said that he hated how people used the word "nazi" to talk about the Germans.  He said he knew there was a Nazi regime, and that there were SS troops and true believers, but, for himself, he never met a nazi.  He just met soldiers.  He just met human beings, like himself, created in the image of God.

In the Central African Republic, some Christians are killing Muslims.  In the meantime, other Christians are giving them refuge.  It all depends on what you hear and see and imagine when you read Genesis 1.

What are you preaching about this Sunday?

What if we said, "Jesus rose for you" instead of "Jesus died for you"?

Maybe it was because it is Easter.  Maybe that's why I wrote it.  It is still Easter, you know, and we are still hearing these resurrection stories.  Today, at our early Matins service, I told the one about Jesus appearing to the disciples, and breathing on them, and later to Thomas, and letting him touch his hands and his side.

Because it is still Easter, when I went to visit Oscar at the nursing home, I took two Sunday bulletins with me, which contained the very same gospel story. I took the two bulletins because it seemed like a good thing to do, and because Oscar is deaf.  I mostly converse with him by using his white board, a marker and eraser.  We do pretty well that way.

After visiting for awhile, finding out that he is moving to another care facility (which is happy about), and that it's no fun to get old, I asked him if he wanted to have communion.  He said yes.  We said the confession together, and then I gave him the bulletin so that we could read a portion of the gospel reading, the resurrection story from John, just the part where Jesus came into the room and said, "Peace be with you."

Afterwards, I wrote the main points on Oscar's white board:  "Jesus is with us.  He rose from the dead for us, to give us life and forgiveness.  Because he loves us."

Maybe it was because it is Easter.  Maybe that's why I wrote those words, "Jesus rose for you".  And after I wrote them I just looked at them for a long time, something settling and unsettling in my head, but not just in my head.  But maybe that was because it is Easter.

Or maybe it was because the familiar phrase "Jesus died for you" was stuck in my mind, had been stuck in my mind ever since that morning, ever since Matins.

Actually, it was right before Matins.  I was getting ready for the service, finding my place in the book, turning on the microphone. A couple of people were early, one 90 year old woman who always sits near the front.  She caught me as I was going down the aisle, showed me her iPhone (do not ever underestimate or stereotype the 90 year olds in your congregation).  A young woman she knew had posted this status update:  " I wonder if the history of christianity would've turned out differently if our central image of it was Jesus healing the sick and feeding the hungry rather than being violently tortured to death (because God loves you!)"

She seemed upset that her young friend had said something so cynical.  I reminded her of what Sarah Palin had said recently about baptizing terrorists by torturing them.  I said that some people find it hard to understand how God torturing God's only Son could have anything to do with love.

Here's what I believe.  God didn't kill Jesus.  And God certainly didn't kill Jesus because God couldn't forgive us without first extracting his pound of flesh.  After all, what did Jesus do?  He just went around giving away forgiveness, mercy, food, healing.  He just went around loving people, eating with them, setting them free.  No, Jesus died because human beings put him to death, because human beings were threatened and scandalized by him, religiously and politically.   And when he died, even the people who loved him, abandoned him.  Even the people who loved him, betrayed him.  Even the people who loved him, denied him.

But he rose.  He rose from the dead.  He came back.  And when he came back, did he come back vowing revenge?  Did he come back to even the score?  Did he come back to make sure that his enemies paid for what they had done, that his friends atoned for their failings?

No, he rose for us, to be reconciled to us.  He rose to make friends out of enemies, create life out of death, build a future out of dead ends and regrets.

What if we said, "Jesus rose for you?" instead of 'Jesus died for you"?  Because he loves you.

Theological Themes in Children's Literature: The Hundred Dresses

I read Eleanor Estes' book The Hundred Dresses for the first time just a couple of years ago.  I had read all of the Moffat books as a young girl and saw this one in the bookstore one day, attracted by the lovely cover art by Louis Slobodkin.  I took the book into the bookstore's cafe, read it in about thirty minutes, and then bought the copy.

The story is about a little girl named Wanda Petronski.  She wears the same faded blue dress to school every day, but she claims that she has a hundred beautiful dresses at home -- all lined up in the closet.   Of course the other students don't believe her, and even make fun of her.  Wanda Petronski doesn't have any friends.  She lives with her father and her brother in a part of town that the other students are afraid to go.

The Hundred Dresses is about Wanda, but it is also about two little girls:  Maddie and Peggy.  Maddie and Peggy are best friends.  Peggy is one who teases Wanda about her hundred dresses.  Maddie does not join in but feels guilty because she doesn't stand up for Wanda.  In part, she is afraid because she is poor, too.  She wears hand-me-down clothes, and she fears that if she says anything, Peggy will begin to tease her as well.

The story is told from Maddie's point of view, and, at least in part, backwards, beginning from the day that Maddie and Peggy first notice that Wanda has not been coming to school.   There is something gentle and truthful and simple about the way the story unfolds, the expected cruelties and the unexpected kindness.

In the end we find out that Wanda is not just a poor girl with one faded blue dress.  There is more to her than meets the eye, and in the course of the small book her true worth is revealed.

Maddie struggles with knowing what is right and not doing it, with not standing up for Wanda, and later with feeling that she will not have the opportunity to make it right between herself and Wanda, never be able to do something good to make up for her misdeeds, never be able to say she's sorry, because Wanda has moved away and she will never be reconciled.  But as it turns out, it is Wanda who makes it right -- in a small, poignant act of grace.

The mystery of each person, the repentant heart, and the free gift of grace -- all these themes are effortlessly present in Eleanor Estes' graceful story.

A Few Misconceptions about Repentance

Because we heard the Parable Commonly Known As "The Prodigal Son" this weekend, I've been thinking about repentance more than I usually do.  Especially I've been thinking about the whole argument about whether the younger son was "repentant" or not, when he returned home.  So, I thought I'd clear up a few common misconceptions  about repentance.

1.  Repentance is primarily about how you feel.

Actually, the word repentance means "to change your mind."  It doesn't mean "to feel really sorry or guilty."  Certainly, we may experience a deep sorry associated with the act of repentance.  There also might be a deep joy about it.  But what's more important is change.  To repent is to change your mind, to change your direction, to turn around.  A lot of the conversation about whether the younger son "repented" or not has to do with whether he turned around and went home out of genuine sorrow, or if he was just hungry and thought he would get a better deal from dad.  Was the big speech he practiced the way he really felt, or was he just reciting a speech?

What if it's not that important how he felt?  What if what's most important is that he just went home?


2.  Repentance is a dramatic, life-changing event.

You know, it's the one moment, when your whole life turned around and you saw things differently and you were never the same again, ever, after that.  It's like conversion, similar to a conversion experience.

We like to think that life works that way.  It would be simple if there was one flash of insight, one moment where we turned around, and then, after that, everything was different, forever and ever.  amen.  But actually, repentance is a daily event, at least, in Lutheran terms.  Martin Luther, in the small catechism, called repentance a daily return to our baptism, a daily dying to sin and rising to new life.  Daily we turn away from sin, from our illusions that we can make it on our own, from our self-absorption.  Daily we rise to trust the promises of God, and the identity that God has given us.  If there is one moment, it is the moment that God claimed us, the moment God threw his arms around us, not the moment we saw the light.  Because the truth is, we need to see the light again, and again, and again.

So, it matters more what happens every day after the younger son returns home, and learns to live in his father's house than what happened in that one moment.  Every day does he return to that moment when his father embraced him?


3.  You have to repent in order to get forgiven.

If this statement were true, the relationship between God and us would be a transaction.  If you repent, then you will be forgiven.  Those are the rules.

Instead, the opposite is true.  We repent because we have been forgiven.  When we hear God's words of forgiveness, and new life, we turn toward that promise, and at the same time turn away from the old life.  God has already promised to set us free, to give us life, to feed us, to heal us, to never let us go.  Again and again we turn toward this promise.

I'm thinking about the two sons again:  the prodigal and his bitter older brother.  We know the prodigal returned home, whether he "felt sorry" or not.  He went in to the party prepared for him, where day after day he would experience the presence of his father.  If the older son did, finally, decide to take his father's invitation and come to the party, maybe he would come in grudgingly.  Maybe he would come in to the party with a chip on his shoulder, saying, "dad always liked you best."  But still, he would be in his father's presence, and maybe that's the point.

Maybe it is really true, after all, that we are being changed, from one degree of glory into another.  We are turning, and turning around, daily astonished by the love of God, happy and sad and amazed all at the same time.

Around my Office

Some of my colleagues have been posting some information about their offices, although, most specifically, they've talked about the resources they turn to most often in the daily course of their ministry.  Their answers got me thinking about my office, too, though not exactly in the same way.  Not that the Book of Concord isn't important to me and all that.  But my most cherished, most necessary objects are more eclectic than that.  

1.  Hymnals.  Maybe I'm a closet Anglican.  I have a lot of hymnals, the current crimson one, as well as the green one, the red one I grew up with, the blue supplemental, a lime green contemporary hymnal from the 1970s (groovy, baby), and a couple of old, black sort-of musty smelling hymnals from the Concordia and Augustana traditions.  I also have the Methodist hymnal, an old Gather accompaniment book, and feel that I should get a Presbyterian hymnal, too.

2. Devotional books by Gerhard Frost, a Lutheran pastor and teacher.  I think most of them are way out of print.  But I turn to them often, for stories and poetry.  "Bless My Growing" was the first book I owned, way back in college, when being a pastor was almost (but not quite) the furthest thing from my mind.

3.  A hand-made bowl, with a shiny green bottom.  It was given to me by one of my confirmation students.  It holds my microphone and a few miscellaneous items.  Unfortunately, it is broken; there is a huge chip in it now.  I have the chip, and think I may be able to glue it back someday.  In the meantime, it is still a treasure, not because it is perfect, but because it's a gift.  Reminds me of me.  and everyone else.

4.  A note from a parish member asking whether we could have a blessing of prayer shawls sometime before Lent.  The answer was 'yes.'  We blessed the prayer shawls last week.  Oh, and I also have a couple of prayer shawls in my office as well.  One is purple, and belongs to me.  I used it for a Biblical monologue once on Passion Sunday.  The other one is always around, in case I need to give a prayer shawl to someone.

5.  Though I have Luther's essential writings in my office, I confess that I most often turn to a small hardcover book which just contains The Large Catechism.  I just find the Large Catechism fun to read. I also turn to a little book called "The Freedom of a Christian" (aka "On Christian Liberty").

6.  Children's books migrate in and out of my office.  I think every pastor should read children's books. The three that I know are in my office right now are Because of Winn-Dixie, by Kate DiCamillo, Holes, by Louis Sachar, and The 100 Dresses, by Eleanor Estes.  You should read these books.  I mean it.  There's some deep theology in there.

7.  A really old, small stuffed clown doll.  I say that it is "really old" because it is my age.  It was a gift to me when I was a baby, given by one of my dad's customers.  for the past several years I've been using the doll in confirmation.  They get to name the doll at the beginning of confirmation, and when they say their 'highs' and 'lows' of the week, they pass it around the group.  My group of boys has named this small clown doll with the pink and white outfit -- "Dark Bob."  go figure.

8.  A book called "Holy Conversations."  I bought it a long time ago, just because I was intrigued by the thought that strategic planning could be a spiritual practice.  Now, we are actually reading and using the book, and having holy conversations with one another.

My office is crowded, over-full, actually.  But there it is, the tip of the iceberg, the treasure in earthen vessels.

Come and visit sometime.  There's a teapot in here somewhere, too.

Dog and God

I've been reading a book called The Divinity of Dogs lately.  It was a Christmas present from one of my stepsons, an astute giver.  The book is full of stories about dogs, dogs who have known what to do and what to give in moments of crisis, dogs who were patient and loved without limits, dogs who have sacrificed to make a connection with us humans.

In one story, a dog befriended a young boy with a terminal illness.  At the hospital, the dog was allowed into the room and leapt up on the bed just before the boy experienced his first seizure.  In another story, a dog became the confidante of a young autistic boy who was being bullied, and helped him to know he had a friend in the world.

Reading this book, I couldn't help thinking about our own beloved dog, Scout, she of the one ear that flops and the other that doesn't.  I couldn't help thinking of her serious brown eyes and how she stares at us, sometimes, in the morning, and how, when I call her to come in from the back yard, she often stares at me, and doesn't come in.  I couldn't help thinking about her and how recently, when I called her to come in and have her dinner, she was trying to squeeze her head under the fence back yard.

That's right.

It was just before Christmas on a Friday night when my husband called and told me that he had let our Scout out in the backyard, but she seemed to have found a method of escape.  He couldn't find out where.  He said I would have to find her when I got home, as he had to practice for a piece in a Christmas concert.

I drove home in a dark and sort of desperate mood.  Scout is light-colored and hard to find in the winter when it has snowed.  I worried that she might be hit by a car.  When I rounded the corner to our house, I saw her right away.  She was walking down the middle of the street, possibly sauntering, even.  I could tell she recognized my car, so I stopped in the street and rolled down the window.

She jumped up on the window and I grabbed her collar and held on.  Now I had her, and I didn't know what to do with her.  I tried to unlock the door and unfortunately made the window start rolling up again.  Also I realized that I would have to disentangle myself from my seatbelt.

Now Scout was whining, a little, but I knew that if I let go she'd be running down the street, and would not come to me if I called.  So I kept working until I could hold her collar with my other hand, and open the door enough to slide out.

That's our divine dog, if dogs are divine.  Are dogs divine?

It depends on what you mean.

When I read the stories of the comfort dogs who visited Newtown, Connecticut, I know that dogs are divine, in some way or another, that they carry a presence within them, that somehow they are able to be ministers of divine love.  I know I don't think that "Dogs are God", any more than I am, but I do know that dogs have a place in God's world.

The thing is, even though I have no stories about how Scout rescued me, and many stories about how she has been a sort-of pain in the neck sometimes, I still believe that Scout is a creature of God, and that she somehow is a minister of divine love.  Despite her quirks, despite her "failings" (if you can call them that), she does good.

And I too, despite my failings, despite the fact that I don't always come when called, do good.  I am an instrument of God's peace.  I don't always believe this, but I look at my dog, and I know that it's true, and it can be true, too.

Advent Anecdote

So, the other day I was getting ready for my noon Bible study, which entails going over to the local grocery store and buying lunch (usually soup and an orange).  I got to the check-out counter, where they know me almost too-well, and the older gentleman who was bagging my lunch remembered to put it in a small bag, instead of a grocery-shopping sized one.

"Well," I said, making small talk, "I considered buying a few more things besides lunch, but I changed my mind."

"You can change your mind," he said.  "It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind."

"It's anyone's prerogative," I replied.  "You can change you mind, too, is you want to."

He smiled.  "Yes I could...... but it would be painful."

Then I drove back to the church to consider John the Baptist, and Advent.

"I Don't Know", part II

So, I just finished reading (rather quickly, I'll admit) Rob Bell's book, Love Wins.  In his short, passionate book, he entertains several questions:  what is the natural of eternal life?  Who is going to be saved, after all?  A few? Many? All?  Only those who have explicitly given their lives to Jesus and can name the date?  What does the idea of billions of people suffering in hell for ever have to do with the reality of God's love?  Does "Love Win"?  These questions, I gather, are pretty controversial.   I just read that a Methodist pastor got fired for expressing some doubts about hell.

Is Rob Bell a Universalist?  That is the question.

First of all, I have to say that I consider there to be (at least) two kinds of universalism.  The first kind says that there are many paths to God, and one is just as good as any other.  That view may be respectful to the various forms of religous beliefs, or it may not be, lumping together different and unique ways of expressing devotion to God as essentially interchangeable.  There is another kind of universalism, though, which says, that God has revealed his love for us most perfectly in the death and resurrection of Jesus, and that somehow, through this action, all people will ultimately be drawn into this love. 

That being said, I'm not sure that Rob Bell is a Universalist, really.  He just expresses doubts about Hell, and he expresses a universal hope that all the people God loves will end up embracing God's love.  He has questions.  He doesn't have all the answers.  And I'm not sure what is wrong with that.

"I don't know."

I don't know what God will do in the end.  I know that God loves the whole world, the whole suffering, insufferable world, the whole mean and compassionate world.  But I don't know what God will do in the end. 

I lived in Japan for a few years many years ago.  My work was to teach English as a second language.  My work was also to share the love of God in Christ as well as I could.  In my three years two or three people were baptized.  And, in all humility, I don't think the failure of masses of people to suddenly become Christian is because they are worse people and more deserving of hell than people living in the United States.  I don't think that most of the people who were swept way in the tsunami there deserve hell more than I do. 

I'm not sure that I am a Universalist, but I do have a universal hope -- I hope that in the end, love wins over destruction, that all people will be embraced by the love that embraces them.  And why is that a bad thing? 

"I don't know."

"I Don't Know"

On Friday, an earthquake and then a tsunami hit the northeastern shores of the country I called home many years ago.  The news has only gotten worse after that.  My heart hurts as I keep seeing and hearing and seeing more devastation.

A preacher wants to say something at a time like this.  But honestly, there are some questions that I don't have the answers for.  If someone were to ask me "Why did this happen?", the most absolutely honest answer I would have to give is "I don't know."

That's not true in every aspect, of course.  I know just a little about geology and I know that this earthquake had to do with tectonic plates and fault lines and things like that.  The words "I don't know" also don't mean that I think human beings need to remain wilfully ignorant about the world.  The "fall" in Genesis 3, was not a fall into knowledge.  "I don't know" does not imply a kind of wilfull ignorance, that I think it's better to be 'know-nothings' about the world and how it works.

But theologically, I mean, I don't know why this happened.  Unlike Glenn Beck, I don't know that God was trying to tell us something.  I'm not even exactly sure what Glenn Beck might mean, except that I think he means to sound ominous. 

On the other hand, I don't want to go so far as to say, "God didn't have anything to do with this."  I don't want to say that because it seems to imply that God is absent in the face of tragedy.  And I know that God is not absent from Japan.   God is suffering, dying, redeeming, loving the people of Japan even now.  I believe this, just as I believe that God is present with the man I know who is living with cancer, the woman I know who has forgotten who she is, the man whose funeral we will hold on Thursday. 

On Sunday we heard Jesus reject the devil's temptations to use his power by making stones into bread, by jumping off the temple, by taking over the world.  "I'm not going to take the easy way out and do miracles just to make people believe in me," he seems to be saying.  But to be honest, when I see the kind of destruction I have seen this weekend, I wonder if that would have been so awful.  I am tempted too.

So Jesus is not using his power to stop tsunamis, or even swoop down like Superman and save people from them.  Once in awhile you hear of a miraculous cure for cancer, but most of the time Jesus does not swoop down then either.  But still,  He is there, yesterday, today, tomorrow.  Jesus is there in Japan, Jesus is at the funeral, walking among the people, touching them, loving them, weeping 

And I know that there is a miracle in there somewhere.

Before He Was a Saint....

So, we are in the Big, Lah-Di-Dah city in the South, visiting family and staying at a nice hotel and sightseeing.  And eating.  There is eating involved.

Last night we stopped to see the house of the family member we went to visit.  It's a nice place, we decided.  (Which is to say, we approved.)  He wanted to take us to a fun place for dinner, something that would give us a taste of the  unique "foodie" atmosphere in the city where he lives.  (Have you ever heard of a "gastro-pub?  I hadn't.)

He settled on a place called "Young Augustine's."  On the way over, my husband and I had fun imagining just what sort of place a joint called "Young Augustine's could be.  Because we are both theologically trained, we made a few cracks about St. Augustine, (you know, of City of God fame), and mentioned his prayer, "Lord, give me chastity, but not yet."  We also mentioned about Augustine's mother, Monica (that she prayed for him), I think in part just to show how smart we were.  We were pretty sure that the restaurant wasn't named after THAT Augustine, though. 

It turns out, the restaurant WAS named after that Augustine, as the picture on the side of the restaurant clearly showed, as well as the quotation at the bottom of the menu, "Lord, give me chastity and temperance, but not just yet."

I told said family member (the one we were visiting) that we were having a Theological Experience. 

He smiled.  I am known for saying these things, and for suspecting that God is in gastro-pubs, where young Augustines are eating and drinking, and know more than I give them credit for.

Where Do You Draw the Line?

I've never been known for being hard-nosed. 

I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

For example, when I got to my first (rural) congregation, I found out that they liked to sit down for the songs before and after the sermon.  I personally think that people sing better when they are standing up; standing for hymns is also a part of my piety.  However, I didn't think it was worth fighting about.  So, we sat.  (Except, on occasion, when I would choose "Stand up, Stand up for Jesus as the Hymn of the Day.")

Though strictly speaking, there should not be any secular songs in a worship service, our contemporary service pianist has been known to play "Lean on Me" once in awhile for the offertory.  And when a woman insisted that the soloist sing the World War II song, "I'll Be Seeing You" for her mother's funeral, I just insisted that we move it from the end of the service (where she wanted it) to right after the Eulogy, before the Scripture readings.  Then in my sermon I could make a connection between the hopes of the people living during the War to our Christian hope for the Kingdom of God, and a place of nor more death and crying, war and separation.

Several years ago, I had a situation where I found that I could not be so accommodating.  I was asked to do a funeral for a woman who was related to our faith community by marriage.  They did not have a shared religious background, so when her husband came in, he mentioned a song that they had heard the Mormon Tabernacle choir sing.  I thought, well, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings a lot of hymns, so I said I would take a look at it.

The tune was easy enough, but when I saw the words, I got a sort of queasy feeling in my stomach.  If we sang this song, it seemed to me that I would violating my ordination vows.  It is one of the few times that I have thought I understood the term another gospel.  It's been several years now, but I think the song requested was this one.  

I did not look forward to this conversation, but I knew that I couldn't allow those words to be sung in a Christian funeral service.  I discovered that the tune was also set to different, more theologically orthodox set of words, and suggested that we sing the tune with those other words.  Fortunately, the woman's husband understood my concern and agreed. 

I've been thinking about this lately because of the recent popularity of TV commentator Glenn Beck.  Thirty years ago, when I was hanging around with Evangelicals and Charismatics, they would have had Certain Opinions about his religion.  However, lately it seems that we are drawing lines in different places than we have done in the past.   Do we draw lines based on theology (sin and grace, Christian hope, the Trinity, ) or moral and ethical concerns (abortion, homosexuality), or political concerns, whether of the right or of the left?   And what does it matter where we draw our lines?  Does theology really matter much any more?

Let me know.

As for me, I think I draw the line on hope:  where do we find our hope? If I can't tell the truth about that, not much else matters. 

Book #15: The Last Week

I'm only a week late finishing this book, which was one of the Revgals' book discussion books. I had read bits of it last year, but not the whole thing. I'm glad I did.

I didn't expect to like it as much as I did. I have read other things by both Borg and Crossan (my husband is a Crossan fan, actually more than I am). So I thought the book would be treading old ground for me. There was a little of that, but I found some really insightful discussions. The chapter on Holy Saturday and the "harrowing of hell" was especially intriguing to me.

One of my favorite quotations, from the chapter, "Thursday": "the point of Jesus meals -- from the loaves-and-fishes ones to the bread-and-wine one -- is to insist on shared meals as the mandate of divine justice in a world not our own. if, as God asserts in Levitucus 25:23, "The land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants," then or course the food the land produces belongs likewise to God. If we are all tenant farmers and resident aliens on an earth not our own, then we are also invitees and guests at a table not our own." (p. 118.)

As for me, Jesus is more than a personal Savior, but also more than a political Messsiah to me. Neither the therapeutic model or the political model of Jesus' salvation quite does it.

I'm also trying to figure out how a passion for God's justice fits together with a passion for and a recognition of the need for overflowing, abundant mercy.

Around the Web

It's getting to Lent, and I have quite a few posts simmering around in my head, but they aren't quite done yet. So, in the meantime, I'd like to direct you to some people and places I have found fascinating lately:

I keep coming back to Gartenfische's recent post on Thomas Merton and the desert. Is it because I just came from the desert or because Wednesday is Ash Wednesday? Maybe a little of both.

I really enjoyed this story/joke over at Katherine's Meaning and Authenticity. I know it's been awhile ago! It took me this long to get around to linking!

I have been enjoying both the serious posts and the laughter over at Paul's place lately. Check out his insightful post on his "emergent" theology (or is it simply classical Christianity, believing in a living God?) Plus, he thinks my dog is beautiful.

My friend Eric (who, by the way, lives in one of my favorite towns) has started an Evangelism blog.

I love Crimson Rambler's way with words, and her descriptions of the cold where she lives. (Ah, somewhere colder than where I live.) P. S. She has posted a great poem by Marie Howe today.

Lindy has a great picture of Rowan sleeping over at her place.

Grendel's mom wrote a sonnet about him recently! I'm so impressed! I can't believe I got through all that English Literature and I never attempted to write a sonnet! Could it be that I'm chicken? Or just untalented?

And occasional reader Nancy pointed me to her friend in Japan Tanya, who has lived there for thirty years. If you are longing for some cultural exchange (or, like me, nostalgic for memories from my youth), check out this post. (I have eaten squid, but never never never cooked it.)

Happy reading!

and yes, I know that I used this photo before, but I couldn't resist!

Luther on Dogs, part II

This post is dedicated to Rowan, Cub, Molly, and Grendel (who begged me). Also, Scout, and Diana over at Wounded Bird. And All the Other Dogs.

Two more quotes from Luther about dogs. These I found in Table Talk, one of the last volumes in Luther's Works. It's called Table Talk because after Luther got married, he always had students and other guests over to his home (the Black Cloister); some of them were semi-permanent guests. Oftentimes, these students would jot down Luther's remarks as he was speaking. The Table Talks contain remarks that are often funny, sometimes earthy, sometimes offensive. Imagine if you were speaking off the cuff, and had admiring fans recording everything you said!

Luther's household sounds chaotic to me. In addition to his wife, six children, his wife's aunt, and several children, the household included students and a wide array of animals, including a little dog, Tolpel (called Clownie in the previous post.)

Dog Provides Example of concentration:
"When Luther's puppy happened to be at the table, looked for a morsel from his master, and watched with open mouth and motionless eyes, he (Martin Luther) said, "Oh, if I coud only pray the way this dog watches the meat! All his thoughts are concentrated on the piece of meat Otherwise he has no thought, wish, or hope." (# 274, pp. 37-8)

A Dog Suggests a Topic for Comment
Dr. Martin Luther played with his dog and said, "The dog is a very faithful animal and is held in high esteem if he isn't too ordinary. Our Lord God has made the best gifts most common. (from #2849b, p. 175)

Personally, I think what Luther might mean in the second quote is that the dog would be held in even higher esteem if he wasn't so ordinary (so common). I love that he says that "God has made the best gifts the most common." To me, that's one of the main points of Luther's theology.