RequiesCat for Akasha

Akasha in Redlands, California
July 3, 2009


Today was a very painful day. I took Akasha, my feline companion, to the vet to be euthanized. Since early last week, she had been very low energy and was not moving much. She spent most of her time laying on her mat in the kitchen and occasionally moved in and laid by her water dish in my bedroom. She also occasionally would get up on the bed, but with great difficulty. She was not eating much, and when she did, only ate a few bites at a time.

By the end of last week, I noticed that she was not having regular bowel movements. I noticed Sunday evening and Monday morning that she was trying to, but was unable to produce results. Monday morning I took her to the vet. The doctor’s preliminary diagnosis was kidney failure, and he ran some blood tests. I talked to him Tuesday and he said that the lab results are suggestive of kidney failure, although they are still functioning – not unusual for a cat of her age (17). She was suffering from anemia and had an elevated white cell count, indicative of some sort of non-specific inflammation (could be cancer or any number of other things). In short, there was a lot going on but nothing conclusive.

The vet said that all we could really do would be to subject her to all sorts of treatments in hopes of clearing up some of the problems, but there were no clear answers. Given her age, and not wanting to subject her to the trauma of continuous medical procedures with no certainty of any significant improvement in her health, we decided to do nothing of the sort. I told him Monday that I don’t want any heroic efforts. After talking it through with him, we were in agreement that the best thing to do under the circumstances, the most compassionate thing for her and for me, would be to let her go.

Since I did not want to just drop her off at the vet and have her spend her last moments of life alone, I opted to be with her when she is euthanized. The earliest I could get an appointment to do that was Wednesday. However, since I had a packed schedule, I would have had to clear my calendar to do it, and since there was no immediate urgency, I made an appointment for Thursday morning. That way, I would have a little more time with her, and I then take the rest of Thursday off, knowing I would be in no condition to work. Then I would have Friday (usual day off) to pull myself together.

This was a very difficult decision for me. I didn’t want to let her go, but know it is the best thing for both of us and was as prepared for it as I can possibly be. She was obviously uncomfortable and may well have been experiencing some pain. And I hated seeing her like this. I just couldn’t let her linger too much longer.

Last night, Akasha spent most of the night on my bed, lying up near my head – very unusual for her. She usually slept farther down on the bed. It was almost as if she wanted to be near me, that she knew something was up. This morning, I got up as usual and spent the last few hours before going to the vet with her. Before we left, I fed her a little bit of turkey – her favorite.

I got to the vet just before 9:40, the time of my appointment. When I arrived, my parents were already there, having driven over from Riverside to be with me. When I got into the exam room, the vet said she was going to give Akasha some “happy juice” to calm her down before the actual shot to put her down. I asked Dr. Blanchard if she could get something for the father, too. She said she is not allowed to treat priests. A couple minutes later, Dr. Blanchard came back and gave Akasha a shot of tranquilizer. Akasha calmed down, but after a couple minutes, started becoming agitated. Dr. Blanchard said that she thought she gave her enough given the fact that she was so scrawny, but apparently she needed more. So, she gave her another shot. Akasha calmed down again and we spent out last few minutes together, with me trying to comfort her and letting her know how much I love her.

After a few more minutes, Dr. Blanchard came back into the room and gave Akasha the final shot. She went peacefully and quietly, nestled in my arms. I spent a few more minutes with her before saying my final good-bye. Although she was gone and looked so peaceful, in death she looked so much more like her previous self.

When I left the room, I ran into Dr. Blanchard. We talked for a few minutes and she said that she hoped I would remember them when I was ready to get another cat. She said they occasionally have cats that they rescue or that people drop off. We talked about some of the cats they currently have. Then we went back to look at them. I think it was helpful to see some live cats. There were two there, just little guys, that were so adorable. I would love to have them, but know that I will need some time before getting any new companions.

After leaving the vet, the folks and I went back to my house and we talked a little bit before they left. It was a little strange coming home to an empty house. There have been a few times when she has been away, like at my parents’ house while I was on vacation. But to come home to an empty house and know that Akasha no longer lived here was kind of strange. The first time in 17 years that I have been truly alone in my own house.

After the folks left, I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house – cleaning out the litter boxes and food and water dishes, cleaning the hardwood floors, and mopping the kitchen and laundry room. All during the cleaning I was fine and at peace. Only afterwards did I occasionally have moments of breaking into tears and really missing Akasha. It’s the little things that remind me of her. Like going into the kitchen and having a clear spot under the window where her food and water dish used to be. Or going into the laundry room and having an empty spot where her litter box used to be. I know that it will take awhile to get over the pain and get used to not having Akasha around.

Akasha had a good life. She was born on May 2, 1992 in Grand Terrace, California. In September of that year, she and her brother Lestat joined the Fincher family. During her life, Akasha traveled to various parts of California, Illinois, and points in between. During her life, she lived in Highland, California; Riverside, California; Evanston, Illinois; Los Angeles, California; and Redlands, California. She even completed three years of seminary. She was a great and loving companions. She was preceded in death by Lestat (who died July 12, 2007), and is survived by her loving human companion, who will miss her greatly.

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Glory: Throne or Cross?

Twentieth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 24) – Year B (RCL)Isaiah 53:4-12; Psalm 91:9-16; Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:35-45
Sunday, October 18, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


Sometimes when I’m watching a movie or TV show, I find myself feeling really embarrassed for the character on the screen. It’s almost as if what were happening on the screen were happening to me. Even if the situation unfolding is not one that has ever happened to me, nor ever would likely ever happen to me, I still get very uncomfortable, as if I were the one in that situation. Well, I find myself feeling the same way whenever I read or her today’s gospel lesson – I always feel so embarrassed for James and John, the Zebedee brothers.

First off, they come in and have the gall to tell, not ask, but tell Jesus that they want him to do whatever they ask of him. But Jesus handles this open-ended demand with great tact. Then the Zebedee Boys come out with their real request. They demand that they be given the places of honor at Jesus’ right and left in the Kingdom of Heaven. In so doing, in the eyes of the other disciples, and in our eyes, they come off as brazen, opportunistic, self-centered, and uncouth. Again, Jesus uses great tact and finesse in responding. He doesn’t rebuke them for making such an outlandish and downright self-centered request. And he doesn’t flat out say “no.” Instead, he attempts to use the situation as a teaching moment. He says to them, “are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” Jesus is referring to his impending passion and death. He is referring to the woe and suffering he will face. But James and John do not get it. These same images of cup and baptism could also carry with them joy and salvation. And it is this latter interpretation that they latch onto. They still think they are going to have an easy road to glory. So Jesus must flat out deny their request, because what they request is not for him to grant. And he needs to further educate them as to what the Kingdom of God is really about. He says, you think the Kingdom of God is about being great, about being exalted and adored, about places of honor, about being fawned over and served. Wrong! The Kingdom of God is about service. It’s not about being served, it’s about serving others. And frankly, the service that is sometimes required will not be pretty. It requires humility. It requires loving others even when they may seem unlovable. It means sacrificing yourself for the sake of another.

Poor Sons of Zebedee. Brazen, opportunistic, self-centered, uncouth, and thick-headed to boot. But I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt for a moment. There’s no denying they are opportunistic and operating out of selfish motives. But we instantly assume that they are making a grab at power. That’s certainly what the other disciples seemed to think. Or maybe they were just upset because James and John had the nerve to act on what they had only thought about – that they beat them to the punch. But what if their motive wasn’t power per se, but something else? What if they were motivated by fear?

What we don’t hear in today’s gospel lesson is what happens immediately before this scene. Jesus tells the disciples for the third time that he will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, tried, condemned to die, handed over to Gentiles who will mock him, spit on him, flog him, and kill him. This is the third time he’s had to tell them this. Up until now, it just hasn’t really sunk in. But what if this time, it did sink in, at least for James and John? Maybe the Zebedee Boys finally got what Jesus was saying lay in store for him. I’m sure they would have been concerned about what would happen to their friend and trusted leader. But humans being who they are, they would have also naturally begun to have some concerns for themselves. They may have begun to fear for their own safety, to become concerned for their own security. After all, three years before, they had left everything – their fishing business, their family, to follow Jesus. And now, if what Jesus was saying was right, this was all going to come to an end. What would become of them? What would they do after Jesus was gone? Would those who sought Jesus’ life turn their attention to his disciples and start picking them off?

If all this were the case, James and John would have immediately started working on figuring out how to take care of themselves, on finding a way to insure their own safety and security. Jesus had done a lot of talking about this wonderful thing called the Kingdom of God. It sounds like a pretty safe place, right? Well, if they could get in on the ground floor of that proposition, they would surely be taken care of, be protected. In their minds, they had found a way to continue to be with their master, thereby providing the ultimate security, at least for themselves. And that way would also provide for their personal glory. Not a bad fringe-benefit.

Of course, as we know, their logic was a little faulty. James and John thought the greatest security, not to mention the greatest glory, would be achieved by being seated at Jesus’ right and left at his glory. But what they do not yet understand, despite hearing all of Jesus’ teachings on the subject of the Kingdom of God, was that the Kingdom was not like any earthly kingdom. The rules are completely different. In the Kingdom of God, the rules have been turned around. They have been turned upside down and inside out, so that they are not recognizable. Despite what Jesus had tried to tell them, James and John did not realize, could not comprehend, that the glory that Jesus speaks of is not a throne, but is, rather, the cross. They did not understand that Jesus would not be exalted with pomp and circumstance, but with the sound of hammer against nails. And perhaps the greatest irony was that in his glory on that cross, Jesus would not be flanked by two of his faithful followers. He would not be flanked on right and left by two pious, devout saints. No, he would be flanked, on his right and his left, by two criminals.

We should not be so quick to condemn or criticize James and John. They were operating out of fear. They were merely looking for a way to provide a secure future for themselves. That’s something we all want. Particularly in difficult economic times such as our world is in right now, personal security is of concern to all of us, to one degree or another. As a result, we often find ourselves in the grip of fear, making decisions based on our fears, operating out of a place of fear.

And the church, being a human institution, is no exception. The church (and here I am talking about the church in general, not necessarily this particular parish) is a place gripped by fear. For decades, the mainline churches in this country have experienced a decline in membership. Gone are the glory days of the 50s and 60s when churches were bursting at the seams, when they had multiple services on Sunday, each filled to capacity. Yet, so many churches try to hold on to the glory days of old. We used to be the biggest church, the best church. We just don’t know why people don’t want to come be part of our congregation. But if we work hard enough, we might just get more people in the doors. We just might be able to recapture the glory that we once knew. With this attitude, we are operating out of fear – fear for our own security. Because the unspoken message, which no one would admit to, is that if we don’t somehow recapture that glory, we may be doomed. So we need to get more people in the pews. We need to get their pledges so we have enough money to keep the doors open.

This is focusing on a mistaken sense of glory. This is focusing on the glory as seen by James and John, not the glory as seen by Jesus. And to this, Jesus has a message for us all. Glory is not what we think it is. It is not sitting on a throne. No, the true glory of the Kingdom of God is to be found in the cross. That’s what Jesus tells us in today’s gospel lesson. “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be [a] servant.” Whoever wishes to truly experience the glory of the Kingdom of God must give up notions of sitting on Jesus’ right and his left, and instead, be willing to take their place with him on the cross. “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.” And we, his children, his brothers and sisters, likewise, are not here to be served but to serve. We are called not to be a church seeking glory but to humble ourselves and to serve our neighbors. This is true greatness in the Christian life – the generous, sacrificial, serving of others out of genuine love, even when some of our neighbors may not be so easy to love.

This is what is behind the strategic planning process this parish is currently engaged in. Over the next few weeks, the planning team will be discerning where God is calling us to go as a parish, discerning what God is calling us to do, not only within our own walls, but more importantly, what we are called to do out in the world, to provide service to others. After all, we are the Body of Christ. And like him, we are not called to be served but to serve. And when we boldly step out in mission to the community, we are not operating out of that place of fear that can paralyze us, but rather are operating out of the sense of glory promised to us by our Lord – a glory that not only benefits us individually and collectively, but also benefits the broader community of which we are a part. For as one commentator notes, “The promise of the gospel is that in the sacrifice of self for others, not only will a higher and better self emerge, but the reign of God will continue to unfold” (Thompson, 192).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Thomson, James L. “Mark 10:35-45, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 4, Season After Pentecost 2 (Propers17-Reign of Christ). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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Divine Economics

Nineteenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 23) – Year B (RCL)
Amos 5:6-7,10-15; Psalm 90:12-17; Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31
Sunday, October 11, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


Let’s be honest. How many of us got just a little uncomfortable when we heard the Gospel lesson read just now? Well, maybe we should feel uncomfortable when we hear such words. If we feel uncomfortable, maybe there’s a reason for it. Because in addressing the rich man, Jesus is addressing us.

And if you didn’t feel a little uncomfortable, how many found yourselves thinking, “well, that doesn’t really apply to me. Jesus was talking about being wealthy, and I’m certainly not wealthy”? Guess again. The reality is that among the roughly 6.7 billion people on the planet, we are the wealthy. The median household income in Redlands is just over $58,000 per year. Someone with that income level is in the top 1.6 percent of the world’s population. Over 98 percent of the people on Earth earn less money than is earned in the average Redlands household. Even if you used the city’s per capita income figure of just over $24,200 per year, that would still put the average Redlands resident in the wealthiest 8.5 percent of the world’s population.

Pretty sobering when you stop to think about it. So what does this mean for us? What do we do with Jesus’ injunction to the rich that they need to sell what they have in order to follow him and to obtain eternal life? To answer that, we need to put the whole subject of wealth into its proper context.

The subject of wealth and the proper use of money is a common theme in the Bible – both in the Old and New Testaments. Our Old Testament lesson from the Book of Amos has some particularly harsh things to say about the use of wealth. This passage specifically deals with the treatment of the poor. At this point in Israel’s history, the rich have gotten richer by acquiring land from the poor in less than ethical ways, thereby depriving them of their means of livelihood. Amos’ prophecy is a not so subtle reminder to the people that not only is exploitation of the poor a grave sin, but so is the people’s complacency in allowing it to happen. Now, I seriously doubt any of us could be accused of making our livelihood through exploitation of the poor. I’m sure someone could try to make that argument, but no, we are not out there purposefully depriving the poor for our own gain.

But that does not let us off the hook. Jesus has a little more to say on the matter in today’s Gospel lesson from Mark, which explores the subject of wealth from several angles. To really help us understand what is going on here, we need to jump into the middle of the story, where Jesus is talking to the disciples, who are perplexed by what he has just told the rich man. You see, there is a fundamental misunderstanding between Jesus and his disciples about the nature of wealth. Jesus sees wealth as having an exploitative aspect, not unlike the prophesies of Amos. The disciples, on the other hand, see wealth as a blessing, the fruits of righteousness. Now in all fairness, this was the common notion of the day.

In that day and age, scholars studied the scriptures to figure out what they needed to do to gain God’s favor. They believed that life was a filled with blessings and curses. Do the right things, and you would gain blessings and avoid being cursed. Of course, everyone wanted to be blessed, and they believed that God’s blessing was manifest in material ways, through wealth. So, rather than sit idly by and trust that God would bless them, people attempted to dissect God’s covenant promises to find ways to get ahead. If you succeeded, so they thought, you were blessed. If you were down on your luck, hit a rough patch, you were cursed. Everyone knew this was how the system worked – the disciples, and the rich man. That’s why he came to Jesus, to try to get a new angle on the system. But Jesus had news for both the disciples and the rich man. That’s not how things really work in the kingdom of God. It’s not a patronage system.

But Jesus was not only concerned with wealth, but also the general view of salvation. When the rich man comes to Jesus with concern for his own salvation, Jesus immediately turns attention away from this concern to the concern for others. This raises not only questions about wealth but also questions about the rich man’s, and our, attitudes toward salvation. The connection between the two may not be readily apparent to us, but remember that under the prevailing notion of the day, there was a direct connection between wealth and salvation. According to this understanding, if a person was blessed, as signified by wealth, that person must also be assured of salvation, or at least have easy access to it, right? That’s what people of that day thought. And there are still people in our own day who hold this notion.

Yes, there is a connection between wealth and salvation, but not necessarily in the way one might think. We have all heard sermons about how money is not bad in and of itself – it’s how you use it that really matters. And I would have to agree. But the part that is not explored quite as often is the general attitude about money – what money can do for us. I think that what Jesus was decrying in his challenge to the rich man, and in his challenge to us, is how we view money. Jesus saw that money so often becomes a substitute for God. We are tempted to trust more in our financial resources than we trust in God. We are tempted to rely more on our ability to earn money, through our work and through our investments, than we rely on God. We are more concerned about the standing of our portfolios than about where we stand with God. Our secular society tells us that money is the source of our security and comfort, not God. Wealth becomes the source of our salvation, not God.

The irony is that our modern economic system was supposed to be the corrective to love and worship of wealth over and against the love and worship of God. “Sociologist Max Weber wrote that Christianity – particularly Protestant Calvinism – gave rise to modern capitalism because, among other things, it motivated Europeans to restrain their immediate desires and save money, thus creating the capital necessary for investment and economic growth. This worldly asceticism combined the discipline of people who could delay gratification for the hope of something better with the social vision of a world redeemed by its Creator. The Protestant ethic made it possible for people to put their treasure where they wanted their heart to be” (Wilson-Hartgrove, 23). While the motives were not completely altruistic, there was certainly an element that was geared toward making money not for self but to provide for the needs of others and to help further God’s work here on earth. But somewhere along the line, the experiment went awry. The focus shifted from wealth as a means to further God’s kingdom to obtaining wealth as a means of personal salvation. We stepped backward from Jesus’ understanding of wealth to the rich man’s understanding.

In this respect, Jesus’ message to the rich man is also a message to us. As one commentator noted, wealth is not a sin. It is more of a weakness – a captivity to possessions that prevent the rich man, and us, from living into the full life of the kingdom of God. It is a temptation to rely on something transient for our salvation, as opposed to relying on the one true thing that can insure our salvation – God’s unlimited grace.

Does that mean that in order to get back on track we need to do as Jesus told the rich man, to sell everything and give it to the poor, in order to truly be his followers? No. That might be the ideal. That might actually work for some people. Some people do manage to do this. Some people feel called to do this. Those who are called to monastic life must give up all their possessions. But for most of us who are not called to such a life that would not be prudent. Quite frankly, giving away everything we have would not be good stewardship. How would we survive? How would we take care of our families? In our society, giving away everything would merely be contributing to the problem. It would land us on the streets, hungry and homeless, in need of assistance from others, adding to the burden already placed on our over-taxed relief agencies and aid organizations.

So the good news is, we get to keep what we have. But that doesn’t absolve us of responsibility. Because the other part of Jesus message, in turning attention from the rich man’s concern for his own salvation to concern for the needs of others, is that we have a responsibility. If our primary concern is for our own salvation, we have missed the point of both faith and works. The point is not to focus on our own salvation, but to focus on God and on our neighbors, on those in need of our help. And in our society, that, of necessity, means being concerned with our wealth. More specifically, with how we view our wealth, with how we use our wealth. This means we are called to educate ourselves and to be examples of what it means to be good stewards of the wealth we do have, so that we may be better able to work not for our own purposes, but for God’s purposes – to help the poor, the widows, the orphans, the homeless, the hungry – the least of these among God’s beloved children, those who are our neighbors, our brothers and sisters.

This is what the youth of this parish are doing. Our senior high students are currently engaged in study of the economics of poverty. They are learning what it means for those who do not have the wealth they all take for granted. They are learning what those who must do without need to do merely to survive. They are learning how little help is truly available, and of that which is available, how frustrating it can be to locate needed assistance and how demeaning it can be to have to ask for help, to fight for limited resources, just to do something as basic as feed their children and put a roof over their heads. Our youth are learning what the basic needs are for mere survival, and how this truly compares with what they have. They are learning how truly fortunate they are and how they have more riches than they really need. By beginning to understand their own wealth in relation to the needs of others, they will be in a better position, as they grow into adulthood, to assess what their wealth truly means to them and to discern how they might use their own resources for not only their own but also for God’s purposes.

Maybe we can take a cue from our young people and begin to evaluate our own relationship with our financial resources. Rather than being like the rich man and asking what we can do to inherit the kingdom of God, maybe we can be a little more proactive, and use some of our riches not for our own salvation, but for the salvation of others – to help make the kingdom of God a reality here and now.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Wilson-Hartgrove, Jonathan. “Economics for Disciples.” Christian Century, September 8, 2009, 22-27.

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Tearing Down Fences in the Name of Jesus

Seventeenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 21) – Year B (RCL)Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29; Psalm 19:7-14; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50
Sunday, September 27, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


As many of you know, I grew up in a military family. I was 16 when my father retired from the Marine Corps and we moved to Riverside. It may seem kind of strange, but one of the things that I particularly noticed in my transition from military life to civilian life was fences. In most of the places I had lived, on military bases and in various places in the South and the Midwest, fences were not all that prevalent, at least not for homes. On bases, the yards were not fenced. And in other places, about the only time you saw fenced yards was if someone had a dog they wanted to keep in. And there are lots of fences out in the vast rural expanses of Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas – fences to keep animals such as cattle and horses, confined. But when we moved to California, it seemed as if virtually every house had a fence.

I guess what struck me most was the purpose of those fences. Some definitely had the purpose of keeping something in – usually dogs or children. But most seemed to be there out of the sense of exclusivity – purely for the purpose of keeping something, or someone, out. And unlike most of the household fencing I had seen as a child, which tended to be chain-link, most of the fences I now saw were wood, block wall, or masonry. They seemed to serve an even more important purpose than just keeping something or someone out. They serve to protect privacy, to protect and preserve a personal sense of identity.

More often than not, fences in our society, particularly in our urban and suburban environment, are boundaries with the specific purpose of maintaining and insuring exclusivity. They are boundaries to keep others out, and to protect our privacy, even our identity. We humans love our sense of exclusivity, in its various forms. And it’s one we’ve been struggling with for millennia. In fact, both our Old Testament lesson from Numbers and our Gospel lesson from Mark both deal with the subject of exclusivity.

In the lesson from Numbers, we have the people of Israel grumbling as they make their way through the wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. Moses is fed up with it and seeks help from God. God tells Moses that he needs some help in dealing with the people and suggests that he select 70 of the elders to fill the job. God’s spirit is then given to the 70 to assist them in doing their job. The 70 begin prophesying, indicating to the people that these were chosen by God to help in the administration of the traveling band of Israelites. To the amazement of some of the people, two additional men, Eldad and Medad, who were not among the 70, also begin to prophesy – indicating that they, too, have received a call from God and have been given a share of God’s spirit. Now this really upsets some of the people. Seventy elders have been specifically chosen to be the inner circle – to be an exclusive group among the Israelites – and here are two more men engaging in activity reserved for the 70 alone. Eldad and Medad are perceived as challenging, even breaking, the boundaries of exclusivity the people presume to be set by God.

Similarly, in today’s Gospel lesson from Mark, we see John, one of the Twelve, getting all upset because he observes someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name. And this guy is not one of the Twelve, not one of the inner circle. After all, Jesus had commissioned the Twelve, specifically giving them authority over unclean spirits. John perceives that only those in the inner circle are authorized to do anything in Jesus’ name, particularly something as significant as casting out demons. This guy is encroaching upon the boundaries of exclusivity presumed to have been set by Jesus.

In both the Old Testament and the Gospel, those upset by “outsiders” breaching the boundaries of exclusivity complain to the boss. In both cases, it is one of the inner circle who complains about the actions of those outsiders, of those pretenders. Joshua complains to Moses. John complains to Jesus. Both Joshua and John are hoping to appeal to the notions of hierarchy and authority, to get Moses and Jesus to intervene and set things right, to restore the boundaries of exclusivity. Both Moses and Jesus patiently listen to the complainers, and then both give the same response. “Someone from outside the inner circle is doing what you think is reserved for you alone? So? Just get over yourselves.”

That’s where the Old Testament lesson stops. But in the Gospel lesson, Jesus takes it one step farther. Jesus moves from the issue of exclusivity, broadening the concept by looking at the flip side of the equation, to looking at the issue of inclusivity. While he doesn’t specifically say so, Jesus is implying that in the actions of the community, there needs to be a balance between exclusivity and inclusivity.

Exclusivity is important, to a degree. Part of exclusivity is maintaining a sense of unique identity. If a group or community is going to be able to stay together and to function effectively, there needs to be a clear definition of who the group is, of what it is meant to do. Certain standards need to be upheld. Otherwise, you run the risk of developing an “anything goes” attitude, of embracing any whim that might come along, and of spiraling into anarchy as each member of the community goes about doing whatever he or she thinks is right. So, you do need some boundaries.

But there is a difference between having boundaries and building fences. Boundaries provide for a clear definition of identity, of standards of behavior. Fences, while allowing for the maintenance of identity and acceptable codes of conduct, also serve to keep others out. Fences prevent others from coming in and testing out the community, to see if it is right for them, to see if it might be what they are looking for to add meaning to their lives. Boundaries are permeable. Fences are not.

For us humans, tension between exclusivity and inclusivity brings with it the balance between retaining power and giving up power. When operating under strict exclusivity, authority is centralized and maintained within the group. Without some semblance of boundary, authority is dispersed. Clashes may then occur over what should be done, what is acceptable. And in the extreme, authority deteriorates.

But what Jesus is implying in his rather cryptic analysis of community and individual, of exclusivity and inclusivity, is that he is concerned not so much about identity, not so much about power. If anything, Jesus is really saying that exclusivity, while maintaining human, earthly power, is actually counter to heavenly power – attempting to maintain power through exclusivity actually serves to deny divine authority. God is the ultimate authority. Jesus Christ is the ultimate authority.

No, for Jesus, it is not about authority, at least, not human authority. It is not about earthly identity. It is not about who is inside and who is outside the inner circle, the chosen elite. What Jesus is really about is serving, about meeting the needs of others. This is particularly exemplified in the Gospel lesson. A person had a demon. It needed to be cast out. What difference does it make if it is cast out by one of the Twelve, or by someone else? The only real criteria is that what is done be done in the name of Jesus.

We see what this means through the life of Jesus. His is the ultimate example of humility and service. His entire life, from start to finish, is about humility and service. That is the whole reason God became incarnate in the form of Jesus – out of love for and to be of service to humanity. During his life, this service took the form of teaching, healing, helping, befriending the marginalized. In his death, this service took the form of forgiveness, reconciliation, and salvation, of proving and imparting God’s unlimited grace upon all of humanity.

As Jesus demonstrates, therefore, the key to providing the balance between exclusivity and inclusivity is through humility and service. Humility is dying to self, putting aside our own needs and desires, for the sake of others. Humility leads to service.

As I said earlier, exclusivity has its place. It provides us with certain boundaries, with a certain identity, that allow us to develop a sense of humility, that allows us to, out of that humility, to move into a place of service. But what Jesus is telling us is that the sense of exclusivity needs to be redefined, to be broadened. To allow for humility and service, our concept of exclusivity, of identity, cannot be so limited, so restrictive as to presume that the way we do things at Trinity is THE way to be a Christian. Or that the way The Episcopal Church does things is THE way to be a follower of Christ. Don’t get me wrong. Those things are important on a personal level. For those of us in this room, Anglicanism is the expression of Christianity that works best for and speaks to us. Being members of Trinity Parish in Redlands fills a need and provides that expression that speaks to us in terms of worship and mission. But at a broader level, it is not what we do in the name of The Episcopal Church or what we do in the name of Trinity Parish that truly matters. What matters is what we do in the name of Jesus. What is most important is how this place called Trinity operates in the name of Jesus, acting in a manner consisted with Jesus’ character, acting on behalf of Jesus, being the hands and feet and heart of Christ in the world.

Moving from a place of exclusivity to appropriate levels of inclusivity, not that anything goes, but rather, that all are welcomed, all are served in the name of Jesus, is something that every church struggles with. It is an ongoing process. We are seeing this process unfold through our strategic planning process. When we started the process last spring, the focus of people’s comments centered around what goes on within our own walls, around concern about how to get more people to come to Trinity. But the purpose of the planning process we are using is to focus not so much on what goes on in our own walls, but rather what we are doing outside these walls. Through the process, we have seen a slow and steady shift in perspective. The focus is more and more becoming, what is our mission? How do we serve those outside this place? How do we do service not in the name of Trinity, but in the name of Jesus?

This is humility. This is dying to self. This is dying to our own perceived needs. And as we do that, we are assured of new life. For we know that death leads to resurrection and new life. As we die to self, to our own perceived needs, we will be reborn to something new and glorious, to what God is calling this place to be in the name of Jesus.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Adiaphora

Thirteenth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 17) – Year B (RCL)
Deuteronomy 4:1-2,6-9; Psalm 15; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
Sunday, August 30, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


I find it interesting how some things stick with us, despite seeming to be insignificant or inconsequential at the time we learned them. Yet, despite the seemingly insignificant nature, they continue to come back, periodically popping into mind – proving they are not so insignificant after all. One of those things for me is the Greek word adiaphora, which literally translates as “things that do not make a difference.” I first heard this word during my second year of seminary. The infamous Windsor Report, the Anglican Communion’s rather harsh response to The Episcopal Church’s consenting to the election of an openly gay and partnered priest to the episcopacy, as well as to the Diocese of New Westminster (Canada) approving rites for the blessing of same-sex unions. As soon as it was released, our theology professor required that we read the Windsor Report in preparation for a class discussion on its theological implications for The Episcopal Church and the entire Anglican Communion.

My first encounter with the term adiaphora came a mere 11 pages into the reading assignment. But I would become much more familiar with the concept, as this term popped up periodically throughout the document. In fact, the Windsor Report eventually devotes nearly three full pages of single-spaced, 10 point text to discussing the finer points of adiaphora as related to the disagreements on sexuality that were and continue to plague the Church. Those finer points are gone from my memory, and besides, they are not germane to my point. Or, if you will forgive me, those points are adiaphora to my point. What is important is the broader concept. In Christianity, adiaphora refers to matters not regarded as essential to faith. This does not mean such matters are not permissible, they are just not essential. They are not absolutely necessary to who we are as Christians.

This week as I have reflected on Professor Wondra’s explanation and our class discussion of adiaphora, I kept coming back to the thought that the concept of adiaphora is not as insignificant as I had originally thought. In fact, the concept is hugely significant. I kept coming back to the fact that the Church has taken on so much stuff that is not really essential to what we do. And for many Christians, we have taken on so much stuff in the development of our personal faith perspectives that is not essential. But it was obvious from reading the Windsor Report, there is not always agreement on what is essential and what is not. What one person views as adiaphora, another may view as essential. So, rather than attempting to define what does or does not constitute adiaphora, as does the Windsor Report, it seems to me the more valuable exercise is to approach it from the other direction, to define what is essential. What is essential to living a life of faith? What is essential to being Church?

And that’s precisely what today’s scripture lessons are about – attempting to address the tension between what is adiaphora and what is essential, defining what is essential to our lives of faith, and what is not.

We see the beginnings of this in the Old Testament lesson from Deuteronomy. In this lesson, we have Moses talking to the Israelites, who are about to enter the Promised Land. Moses is reminding them that their identity as a people is based on their relationship with God, that they are God’s Chosen People. This is based on the Covenant established between God and Abraham, and continually renewed through the Patriarchs, up to Moses. And a critical part of that Covenant, of what it means to be God’s Chosen, is to live according to the Torah, to follow the Law. This is what was essential. This is what continues to be essential to this day for devout Jews.

Pretty cut and dried. But when we get into the New Testament, we start to see the tension between essentials and adiaphora coming to light. And this tension is, in part, because as Christians we believe that there is a new covenant between God and his people. The old covenant, the Covenant between God and the people of Israel, has been superseded. Through Jesus Christ, the covenant has been extended to include all of humanity. And the terms of the covenant have been re-written. The New Covenant is no longer based on the Law, but rather, is based on the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and what that means not just for Christians but for all humanity. The only problem is, at the time of the covenant being re-negotiated, it was a little unclear as to what conditions were being placed on humanity. Sure, we have such key provisions as the Golden Rule: “Do to others as you would have them do to you” (Luke 6:31), and the Greatest Commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” (Matthew 22:37a-40). But how those key provisions get fleshed out, how we live into them, is another matter. And there are other provisions that seem important, but on which we are not entirely clear if they are essential.

We see this most readily in the gospel lesson from Mark. In short, the scribes and the Pharisees, the leaders of the Jews, are calling into question the devoutness, the religiosity, of Jesus’ followers, merely because they didn’t wash their hands before supper. For the Jews, the purity laws were very important. You had to follow them to be a good Jew. They were essential. They were, in fact, as we noted earlier, a way of identifying who was Jewish. The purity laws, as well as other legal requirements, were, if you will, a boundary, set up to identify the Jewish people. Ever since the Exile in Babylon, the Jewish people were faced with how to maintain their identity as God’s Chosen People in the face of encroaching political, social, cultural, and religious ideas from the advancing Greco-Roman world. Such purity laws, such boundaries, were seen as a way of protecting who the Jewish people were.

But Jesus saw these boundaries as a way of limiting, as a way of keeping people out. If you did not follow the proper laws, you were on the outside. You were not one of the Chosen. The Jews withdrew from that which they saw as unclean to avoid contact with those who were not like them. Jesus sought contact with the “unclean,” sought to include them within his own circle, within his loving embrace.

So, Jesus challenged the established purity laws. He saw what was essential. Was it essential to have clean hands when you eat in order to be a devout and faithful person devoted to God? No, of course not. Washing your hands before supper is adiaphora. (Unless your mother tells you to, but that’s a whole different matter, completely unrelated to faith). In challenging this one purity law as adiaphora, Jesus was, in effect, challenging the Jewish leaders to stop and consider what is essential to their life of righteousness, faithfulness and devotion to God. Was it following a bunch of laws, or was it something else, something more?

He goes on to tell those assembled that it is not eating with clean or dirty hands that determine if a person is good, righteous, and faithful. Rather it is what is in their hearts. It is what people do with their lives. It is how they chose to act that determines if they are good, righteous, and faithful. It is what they do to live out their faith, it is what they do to show their love for God that really demonstrates if they are good, righteous, and faithful, or not. For Jesus, this whole encounter was about stripping away what is adiaphora, what is non-essential, and focusing instead on what it truly means, what is truly necessary, to be a follower of God.

James, in his epistle, takes Jesus’ general thoughts about stripping away what is non-essential one step farther. James, instead of attempting to discuss what is adiaphora, goes for the jugular, laying out, from his perspective, what is absolutely necessary. James provides his assessment of what is the absolute essential for a faithful life in Christ – works, as he terms it. Now this whole notion of works can be a thorny issue. Since the Reformation, James has been viewed with suspicion, equated with “Popish” works righteousness. But I think James is, at times, taken a bit too literally. The central theme of his entire epistle is that faith requires visible expression. In other words, it does not do anyone any good to keep our faith to ourselves.

For James, our faith is an integral part of who we are. He says, “welcome . . . the implanted word that has the power to save your souls” (James 1:21). The implanted word – the Word of God that is innate, inborn. The word of the gospel is an inborn reality. It is a gift from God given to all of us. But having the gift of the Word, having faith, is not enough, as far as James is concerned. As he says, “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves” (James 1:22). I don’t think that he means that we have to be doing good works in order to “buy” our way into heaven, to buy our salvation, as is sometimes argued. That is already assured through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Rather, I think, for James, works are an organic process, the results of faith, the manifestation of a life faithfully lived. Or put another way, actions speak louder than words. Our actions add value to our words. They establish truthfulness to what we profess to believe. Our actions, done from that deep place of faith, lend credibility and authenticity. Our actions reflect what we truly believe.

An essential, as far as James is concerned, our actions, the way we live out the Gospel message in our daily lives, the way we share it with those we encounter, is the corrective to the adiaphora, the non-essentials of our life of faith, which can bog us down and prevent us from focusing on what is truly important –loving the Lord our God with all our hearts, and with all our souls, and with all our minds, and loving our neighbors as ourselves. It is up to each of us to determine, to discern with the help of the Holy Spirit, how we are called to manifest those essentials in our daily lives.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Spiritual Warfare

Twelfth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 16) – Year B (RCL)
Joshua 24:1-2a,14-18; Psalm 34:15-22; Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6:56-69
Sunday, August 23, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

“Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil” (Eph. 6:10-11).

Today’s lesson from Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians is a well-known passage among Christians, but is, at the same time, a very confusing, and I think, an often misunderstood one. Particularly so for us contemporary Christians. In our modern world, the imagery of armor, breastplates, shields, and helmets do not have much meaning. We don’t see people dressed as such in our daily lives, unless you happen to be at the Renaissance Faire. For us, more apt imagery might be that of modern military personnel, with helmets and flak jackets; or riot police, with helmets, clubs, and shields; or football players, with helmets, faceguards, and shoulder pads. Regardless of the specifics, the imagery is the same – wearing of safety equipment to provide protection from whatever may assail the wearer. But even so, this is not equipment many of us wear. It is the equipment of trained professionals. But this is not the cause of the confusion.

What I think is the potential cause of confusion is the nature of the assault one is protecting him or herself against. Paul talks about the armor being protection against “the wiles of the devil,” about struggles against rulers, authorities, “cosmic powers of this present darkness,” and “spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Some Christians, and particularly some allegedly Christian governments, have latched on to Paul’s words as a way of justifying going to war against those viewed as enemies of God, against those viewed as being forces of evil bent on destroying our Christian way of life.

But even more generally, many Christians have latched on to this discourse from Paul, and the entire Letter to the Ephesians, in an attempt to address the question of theodicy – why bad things happen, or more specifically, how, despite an omnipotent, omnipresent God, evil and suffering exist in our world. The explanation that is seen in Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians is that such evil and suffering exist precisely because of dark and evil forces bent on tempting humans and preventing the reign of God. And more specifically, the passage we have today is an attempt to explain what we as Christians can do about it all – how we can take on the forces of evil and do our part to insure God’s continued reign. The term that is used by many contemporary evangelical Christians, particularly some of the Pentecostal and charismatic movements, is “spiritual warfare.” The concept is that we as Christians are engaged in a battle between good and evil, a war between God and the forces of darkness. And these forces of evil use all sorts of tricks, tempting us, possessing us with demons, in an attempt to prevent us from following Christ. Paul’s words to the Ephesians are seen as a military operations manual for use in this ongoing war.

Lest you get the wrong idea, I am not advocating such views. I am merely explaining how some interpret Paul’s words. Within the Episcopal Church, you do not generally hear talk of spiritual warfare, at least not in the classical sense. If anything, the term is used by the radically conservative break-away elements as a call, a battle cry, for taking the Episcopal Church back to their way of thinking. But in general, we Episcopalians do not place a great deal of emphasis on the traditional notion of spiritual warfare. Now, that is not to say that individuals may not hold such views. I know a number of Episcopalians, whom I love and greatly respect, who do hold such views. And if that is their understanding, I respect that and will not argue.

But I think Paul’s message is a bit misunderstood. There is much debate among biblical scholars as to the real meaning of this section of Ephesians. Several interpretations have been put forth. Most of this centers around Paul’s statement, “take up the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to withstand on that evil day.” What “evil day” is Paul referring to? Some scholars think that Paul is referring to the evils of the time to come before the end, as allegedly foretold in the book of Revelation. Some feel that Paul is referring to specific instances of temptation. Others feel that Paul is merely referring to everyday life in the present age. While all have valid arguments, I think the important thing is to look at the overall scope of the Letter to the Ephesians and to the social and historical context in which it was written. While seemingly apocalyptic in nature, similar statements elsewhere in Ephesians are generally mere descriptions of present reality. Paul relates such seemingly apocalyptic statements to what is going on in the life of the Church at Ephesus – to their current circumstances. And the early Christians in Ephesus, as well as elsewhere in the Roman Empire, had a lot to worry about. At that time in history, Christianity was still essentially an illegal religion, often operating underground. This was a time when Christians in the Roman Empire faced daily religious persecution, harassment, and discrimination, just for being Christian.

This being the case, I tend to be most persuaded by the view that Paul is not addressing “warfare” against nebulous cosmic forces of evil out there bent on destroying the church, as much as he is talking about those very real, everyday things, everyday life events, that challenge our faith. Why do I believe this? One simple fact. In the broadest of terms, the battle to which Paul refers, the war against “cosmic powers of darkness,” against “spiritual forces of evil,” is a war against two things: sin and death. These two, sin and death, are the results of work of the powers of darkness, the forces of evil. When we are tempted by and give into the forces of evil, whatever those may be, we sin. And the death that we talk about in such instances is the permanent end of our existence. A death in which life comes to an end and there is no more.

But you know what? We don’t have to worry about these, about sin and death. That war is over. Through Jesus Christ, the incarnate son of God, who lived among us, walked with us, ate with us, taught us, healed us; who was crucified for us, and resurrected for us, all of this, the ravages of sin and death, are inconsequential to us. We don’t have to worry about them. As we extol at our annual celebration of Easter, through his death and resurrection, Jesus has done two important things. First, he has broken the bonds of sin. By the very act of taking our place, by taking our sins, all our sins, upon himself and presenting them to God on our behalf, all our sins have been forgiven. Through Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice, our sins are no more. We have been forgiven once and for all. Sin no longer controls us. Sin no longer determines our fate.

And second, through his resurrection, Jesus has conquered death. Death no longer has dominion over him. And we, by being incorporated into the Body of Christ, by following him, by abiding in him and he in us, we are likewise not limited by death. Death no longer has dominion over us. Death is not the end, the final word. Death is merely the beginning. Death is the transition to new life, to a new and eternal life made possible through Jesus Christ.

So the good news is the war is over. At least, as far as we are concerned. It may rage on at some cosmic level, between God and the forces of evil. But we have been removed from the war. We have been shipped home from the front. Jesus Christ has seen to it that we don’t have to face the horrors of this war – the tortuous results of sin, the permanent end of our lives. He has broken the bonds of sin, conquered death. For us.

Now that doesn’t mean that there is not still evil in the world. That sin does not happen. It does. We see it every day in the news. All around us we see chaos, dehumanization, corruption, oppression, crime, war, threats of war, genocide, poverty, disease, degradation of our environment, degradation of our society. We live in a broken world. These things are, unfortunately, a part of our reality. They may not touch us directly, but we still feel their effects. But what does touch all of us directly, that which is most pervasive, is fear. I think this is the twenty-first century equivalent of what Paul was talking about. This is what we are called to do battle against – the fears we cannot help but have because of all that is going on around us. There’s no denying their existence. There’s no sweeping them under the rug and pretending they don’t exist. We’re human. Our fears are part of who we are. But being people of faith, we have ways of even dealing with these fears.

That’s where Paul’s words of advice to us come in handy. In amongst the imagery of armor and breastplates and helmets, Paul provides us with the virtues that are needed to help us deal with even our own fears. “Stand therefore, and fasten the belt of truth around your waist, and put on the breastplate of righteousness. As shoes for your feet put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. With all of these, take the shield of faith, with which you will be able to quench all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” To illustrate his point, Paul uses the image of putting on the armor of God to illustrate basic Christian virtues.

Armor is just another set of clothing. Changing into new clothing is sometimes used as a sign of conversion, of new life. In one of the rites for private confession, the penitent acknowledges, “Through the water of baptism you clothed me with the shining garment of his righteousness.” At our baptisms we were given new clothes, or armor, if you will to symbolize our new life. Unlike the ancient church where the newly baptized got a new white robe, today, the clothing is more metaphorical, just as Paul implies. As Paul notes, this new clothing consists of a number of Christian virtues – truth, righteousness, proclaiming the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, the Word of God. This may sound like a lot to take on. But we already have. We’re already doing it. Through regular attendance at worship, and particularly partaking of the Eucharist. Through reading of scripture. Through regular prayer and other spiritual practices. Through proclaiming the gospel and living it out in our lives. Through acts of compassion and mercy, in reaching out to others. And even in fellowship and being part of this community of faith and support.

These provide us with the hope that we need, the assurance that the war is out of our hands and in the hands of the only One who is truly equipped to do battle against sin and death. All that is asked of us is that we be faithful. That’s what all of this is about. All of this, all of what we do here on Sunday, what we do in our private devotions and practices, the works of compassion that we do in the community during the week, are the armor of God. This is what will protect us from sin and death. This is what will protect us from the fears that plague each and every one of us. This is what allows us, as is Paul’s challenge to all who follow Christ, to “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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You Are What You Eat

Eleventh Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 15) – Year B (RCL)
Proverbs 9:1-6; Psalm 34:9-14; Ephesians 5:15-20; John 6:51-58
Sunday, August 16, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

The Romans of the first century often thought that the early Christians were downright savages, that they were cannibals. After all, their religion required that they eat flesh and drink blood. While the Romans may have been a bit misguided in their understanding of Christianity, it is certainly easy to see where they got their notions when we read the sixth chapter of John’s gospel – the portion we have been examining for the last few weeks.

Over the last several weeks, we have been looking at Jesus’ “bread of life” discourse. At first glance, it may seem rather tedious that we keep having Gospel lessons with the same imagery week after week. And I warn you, we get even more of it next week. But it is important to realize that the reason John portrays Jesus making such lengthy and seemingly repetitive discourses is twofold. First, what is being said is incredibly important to John’s Christology, to his understanding of who Jesus is. That being the case, John gets somewhat repetitive to allow the concepts being presented to fully sink in, rather than just wash over us. And second, such discourses are lengthy precisely because the concepts being presented are complex and need a systematic explanation in order for us to begin to fully comprehend both the meaning and the implication for our lives of faith. Hence our protracted Gospel readings for the month.

To recap, two weeks ago, we had Jesus merely saying that he is the bread of life. Last week, he provided more explanation – that this bread of life has come down from heaven, and that whoever eats of this bread will live forever. We are beginning to see a slow and systematic building of intensity – in the nature of the imagery and in the depth of its meaning. So, not surprisingly, this week’s portion of the on-going discourse has Jesus taking the imagery to a whole new level – “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” While this statement was included in last week’s lesson, it provided this somewhat cryptic statement without exposition. But today, more of the total image is revealed, and we receive more explanation as to what it all means.

The explanation is facilitated by the fact that the gathered Jews are obviously grossed out by the image of eating flesh. “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” And rather than try to ease their discomfort, to say nothing of their disgust, Jesus only serves to make matters worse. “Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” Unless you are a cannibal, this statement on first glance is an affront to anyone's human sensibilities. But such a concept is particularly repugnant to Jews. Kosher dietary laws specifically prohibit observant Jews from drinking the blood of slaughtered animals. This is because blood is the essence of life – life is contained in the blood. They believe that the soul is contained in the blood. To drink the blood of an animal would be to take in its life essence, its soul, to have it comingle with one’s own soul. While I have not found any specific explanation of why this would have been viewed as being so bad, my educated guess is that in so doing, the person would take on the soul of the animal, take on the life essence of something lower, more base, something impure, thereby corrupting the person and rendering him or her ritually unclean.

In using the imagery that he does, and all the accompanying connotations for devout Jews, Jesus is for all intents and purposes likening himself to a slaughtered animal, as an animal placed as a sacrifice on the Temple altar. This side of the crucifixion and resurrection, we Christians see that this is somewhat appropriate imagery, foretelling what would happen to him. But for those involved in the scene, it was quite inappropriate, if not downright heretical.

If we keep with the imagery of Christ as a slaughtered, sacrificial victim, we begin to see that such action, if truly come down from heaven, if truly ordained by God, recasts the imagery and the antecedent Jewish dietary restrictions in a completely new and different light. By his implied imagery of eating the flesh of the slaughtered animal and drinking its blood, Jesus is, in effect, overturning the old dietary laws. Not with respect to the physical food that is eaten, but certainly with respect to spiritual nourishment. Eating the flesh and drinking the blood of this new sacrificial being, of Jesus, would no less entail the taking in of the life essence, the spirit of Christ, than would drinking the blood of a slaughtered animal entail taking in the soul of that animal. But instead of taking in the soul of a lowly creature that would taint and render impure the essence of the one partaking of it, taking in the flesh, the blood, the life-giving essence, the spirit of Christ, would result in taking in something even more pure, something more divine. By Jesus being fully human and fully divine, eating his flesh and drinking his blood would mean ingesting and sharing in a touch of the divine, of that which is given by the Creator to provide life to all humanity. The one who eats Jesus’ body and drinks his blood would share in God’s Spirit, would share in eternal life. The Spirit of God and of Jesus becomes inextricably linked with our spirit. God and Jesus become part of us, and in so doing, we become part of Jesus. This is what Jesus means when he says “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them.”

I think further explanation of this is provided in the Old Testament lesson from Proverbs. Today’s reading from Proverbs talks about Wisdom. To fully understand and appreciate the message of this lesson, it is important to understand that Wisdom is often used in Old Testament writing as a personification for the Spirit of God, what we call the Holy Spirit. And while God the Creator is always personified as masculine, Wisdom as used for the Spirit is always personified as feminine.

So, in today’s Old Testament lesson we have Lady Wisdom, the Holy Spirit personified, preparing a banquet, a festive meal, just as Jesus provides on numerous occasions. Throughout his earthly ministry, Jesus centered much of his activity around meals. Jesus provides a meal for his disciples prior to his arrest and crucifixion. Jesus promises that we will ultimately share in a heavenly banquet. Wisdom, in preparing her banquet, even uses the same primary elements that Jesus uses. She invites us, “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed.” Note that this imagery was written some six centuries before Jesus lived in the flesh, before Jesus used the imagery of bread and wine to describe his banquet, to describe himself.

When combined with the Gospel lesson, several things become clear about this banquet. First is that this banquet is definitely ordained by God. The Spirit of God provides a banquet in which all are invited. And then, the Son of God provides greater clarification about the nature of the banquet meal. The bread is not just any old bread, but is the bread of life, the flesh of the Son of God. And the wine is not just any old wine, but is the blood of the Son of God.

And the second thing about this banquet, foretold in the Old Testament, in the history and wisdom of our Jewish forebears, and brought to fulfillment in an earthly sense through Jesus Christ in the giving of the bread and the wine, his body and his blood, and yet to be brought to its ultimate fulfillment in the heavenly banquet in celebration of the victory of the Kingdom of Heaven, all of this points to the fact that the ultimate goal of salvation history is the heavenly banquet, for which Jesus will provide the bread and the wine - his flesh for the bread, his blood for the wine.

And this banquet is to be life changing. We talked about drinking Jesus’ blood as resulting in the taking in of his life essence, of his Spirit. While the Old Testament does not use this imagery, it certainly indicates that the banquet is life-changing. Proverbs tells us that Wisdom’s invitation to her banquet is an invitation to “lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight.” The banquet provides transformation, the opportunity for new life.

Jesus’ invitation in John provides the same thing – the opportunity for new life. Not only new life, but eternal life. And that life is embodied in us, as we live in Christ and Christ lives in us. This life is embodied in us as we share in the intimate relationship with Christ, only made possible through partaking of his body and his blood. Through the Eucharist, Christ becomes part of our very being. As one commentator puts it, “today's rather scandalously carnal, incarnational gospel reminds us that Jesus intends to have all of us, body and soul. His truth wants to burrow deep within us, to consume us as we consume him, to flow through our veins, to be digested, to nourish every nook and cranny of our being” (Willimon, 361). This is only made possible through the partaking of the Eucharist, the foretaste of the heavenly banquet.

And for us, the most important thing is that this intimate relationship that Jesus talks about, this abiding, is not something passive, that we just let happen. Abiding is active, current, here and now. It requires something of us. It requires determination. It requires action. It requires that we boldly walk up to that altar rail, that we joyfully hold out our hands to receive the bread and the wine, that we confidently claim our share of the heavenly banquet. And in so doing, we take our place at the table, and are not only given bread and wine, body and blood. We are given, we are assured, new and eternal life. That is Lady Wisdom’s invitation to us. That is Jesus Christ’s invitation to us. That is Christ’s promise to us.

So come. Let us partake of this banquet, this holy meal of bread and wine, of body and blood, that Christ may nourish us, may abide with us, may give us the gift of eternal life he yearns for all to have.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


Reference
Willimon, William H. “John 6:51-58, Homiletical Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

NB - The title of this blog post was not my idea, per se. During the Peace at the 8:00 service, one of my LEMs said, "I guess your sermon just shows that you are what you eat." I couldn't help using Roger's comment as the title for the sermon.

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Spiritual Nutrition

Ninth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 13) – Year B (RCL)
Exodus 16:2-4,9-15; Psalm 78:23-29; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:24-35
Sunday, August 2, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

In recent decades, our nation has undergone some paradoxical shifts in our perception and awareness regarding the food we consume. By this I mean that, as a whole, the shifts we have made are downright contradictory. On the one hand, we have become a nation increasingly dependent on fast food and junk food – things we can eat on the go because we are just too busy to sit down and have a proper meal. On the other hand, we are increasingly concerned with what we eat – the nutritional value of the food, whether it’s organic or raised using growth hormones.

The government has established Recommended Dietary Allowances for certain nutrients, as well as maximum recommended levels of such things as fat, sodium, etc. These requirements are now collectively referred to as Dietary Reference Intakes (DRIs). In addition, they have established the food pyramid, which gives us guidelines for eating the proper amounts of certain types of foods to promote growth and to maintain healthful living. We are provided with additional guidance through the nutrition labeling that is provided in most every food product sold in this country.

When we are young, we tend not to pay too much attention, if any at all, to such things as food pyramids, DRIs, and nutrition labeling. Except when we have to learn about such things in school. When we are young, we are invincible and can eat whatever we want, at least that is what we think. And many have metabolisms that permit them to eat as much of whatever they want with no apparent problems. But as we get older and our bodies and metabolisms change, we have to be more conscious of what we eat. Our bodies require certain things, and certain amounts of those things, not to mention less of other things, in order to maintain, or to at least try to maintain, some semblance of health. As a result, we become more aware of what we eat, or at least, our doctors tell us we should be. We find that we do more research on nutrition. We read those nutritional labels more carefully.

In a way, today's scripture lessons, taken in total, could be viewed as the scriptural equivalent of the food pyramid and the DRIs. Today's lessons could be viewed as nutrition labeling, of sorts – nutrition labeling for the health of our spiritual lives and for proper nourishment of the Body of Christ, of which we are a part.

All three lessons are about the giving of gifts. Specifically the giving of gifts, of nutritional elements, that promote some aspect of health. As we move thought the lessons, not so much in the order read but in the order in which they appear in scripture, in which they chronologically recount the story of God’s people, we find that the nature of the gifts, and the type of health they promote and maintain, shifts from the physical to the spiritual.

In the lesson from Exodus, we have the account of how God provided for the physical health and wellbeing of the Israelites as they traveled from Egypt to the Promised Land. In this story, the people are hungry. Without food, they will not be able to continue on their journey. So God provides for their physical needs. He provides quail and manna –physical food to sustain the Israelites on their journey, to allow them to fulfill their mission and enter into the Promised Land, to fulfill their destiny and become the Chosen People from whom the fulfillment of salvation history would proceed.

In the Gospel lesson from John, we find Jesus beginning to make the transition from, the connection between, physical sustenance and spiritual sustenance. He does this when he says, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life.” At this point, we don’t know what this “food that endures for eternal life” is. I find it interesting that the disciples immediately respond with “What must we do to perform the works of God?” While we aren’t told what led the disciples to do so, they seem to connect this spiritual food that Jesus mentions with the work of God.

In response, Jesus tells them that “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he sent.” The work that they, that we, must be about is the work of faith. The work of God is to believe in Jesus Christ, and not only to believe it, but to live into it. The work of God is to be the Body of Christ in the world, to all those whom we encounter, day to day.

And Jesus begins the transition from physical nourishment to spiritual nourishment when he says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” This statement links Jesus with the manna, with physical sustenance needed by the Israelites to carry out their journey. This statement proclaims that Jesus is the spiritual sustenance that first the disciples, and then we, require in order to carry out our journeys of faith.

And finally, in his letter to the Ephesians, Paul completes the transition from physical to spiritual sustenance and provides us with more definitive guidelines to help us achieve what Jesus has asked of us – to do the work of God. In writing to the church at Ephesus, Paul discusses the gifts, talents, and graces that the people need for their journey – not just the people of Ephesus, but all who follow Christ. Paul provides us with a clear statement of our goal. He says, “we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body . . . is equipped.” Paul has moved completely away from the physical journey to the Promised Land where God’s Chosen People will establish their earthly home, and on to the spiritual journey involved in the building up of the Body of Christ, of preparing for the Kingdom of God, the eternal home of us all.

Paul goes on to state that in order to achieve this goal, “each part [must be] working properly, promot[ing] the body’s growth in building itself up in love.” This is the result of proper spiritual nutrition. Earlier in the epistle lesson, Paul tells us that what is needed to achieve and maintain this spiritual nutrition, that which promotes the growth of the individual and of the Body as a whole, are humility and gentleness, patience, bearing with one another in love, and maintaining unity in the bond of peace. In some respects, these are the equivalent of strong bones and teeth, the skeleton on which the body is built, on which the muscles and ligaments that allow us to do the work of God are attached.

Paul then goes on to give the spiritual equivalent of the food pyramid and the Dietary Reference Intakes required to promote spiritual growth, to allow for the development of our lives of faith, and in so doing, to promote the growth of the entire Body of Christ. Just as in the human body, each part needs different nutrients to maintain proper health and functioning, so too in the Body of Christ, do we need different attributes, different nutrients if you will, to make for a healthy body. Each of us plays a different part. Each of us has a different purpose that contributes to the overall functioning of the Body of Christ. Paul tells us that “each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ’s gift.” Each of us is given the gifts, the nutrients, that we need to contribute to the Body. Paul goes on to spell out what these gifts are. “The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers.” Through these gifts, these nutrients, we have what we need to achieve the goals established by God through Christ – “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”

Paul uses very broad categories to describe the gifts required to nourish the Body of Christ – apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, teachers. This is like the general categories for nutritional elements needed by the physical body – vitamins, minerals, amino acids. But we know there are much more specific functions, much more specific gifts that provide for the nourishment of the body. Just as we have various types of vitamins, minerals, and amino acids that serve very specific functions, so too are we each given very specific gifts to provide for the nourishment of the Body of Christ. Just as no nutrient can provide all of the needs of the human body, Paul implies that we are not called to be all things for the nourishment of the Body of Christ. We are each called to specific ministries that promote the health and wellbeing of the Body of Christ.

We see that here at Trinity. Not all are called to be clergy. Not all are called to engage in outreach work. Not all are called to be teachers. We each have our specific functions, our own unique way of nourishing and building up the Body of Christ and of ministering to the world. Some are called to be on the Altar Guild. Some are called to feed the hungry. Some are called to visit shut-ins and those in the hospital. Some are called to work to educate our children and youth. Some are called to be Eucharistic Ministers. Some are called to be lectors. Some are called to be on the Vestry. I could go on and on, but you get the picture. The bottom line is that what you are doing for the parish and in the world is just what God is calling you to do. What you are doing is integral to providing nourishment for and thereby building up the Body of Christ in this place.

In the Old Testament, manna is a sign of God's presence in the wilderness. In the New Testament, Jesus is a sign of God's presence in our lives. In our own time, we as the Body of Christ are a sign to the world of God's presence through Jesus Christ. Each of us, no matter what we are doing, as long as we are doing something, is providing for the health and maintenance of the Body of Christ, for, as Paul said, “promot[ing] the body’s growth in building itself up in love,” for helping nourish the Kingdom of God, here and now.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Plumb Lines in Our Midst

Sixth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 10) – Year B (RCL)
Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29
Sunday, July 12, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands

You know how you have a conversation or an experience in the distant past that somehow manages to stay with you? It’s not like it is always in the forefront of you consciousness, but is nonetheless a permanent part of who you, with the experience occasionally popping into mind, even years later. One of those conversations for me happened when I was a senior in high school. I was in the youth lounge at our church, sitting on the couch. There were only two other people in the room. One was Bobby, a dear friend who is about three years younger than me. The other was Bobby’s sister. I don’t recall now why we were the only ones there, why there weren’t other members of the youth group present.

While I don’t remember what we were specifically talking about, I do remember somewhere in the course of the conversation I said something that included some rather colorful language. I don’t even remember now what it was. But that isn’t important. What I do remember is that Bobby’s whole demeanor, usually very easy-going and jovial, changed in an instant. His face went pale. He sat there on the floor, staring at me with his mouth open, in a look of shock. And then he started crying. Not sobbing, but just a few tears rolling down his face. I asked what was wrong. He stammered a little and said he couldn’t believe that I had just said what I did. And then his voice took on a blaming tone. He went on about how he looked up to me, how I was model for him as to what it meant to be a Christian, how he had wanted to be like me, until now. While I don’t remember verbatim what was said, I do specifically remember Bobby saying that I was always straight parallel lines and right angles. He was using imagery that both of us could relate to. At that time in our lives, we were both fascinated by architecture and he knew that I took a lot of drafting classes in school, requiring the use of such tools as t-squares, triangles, and architect’s scales to draw exact lines according to precise geometric principles. So his simple imagery conveyed a wealth of information – and criticism.

In uttering whatever comment I did, in Bobby’s minds, his mental image of me, that image of precise lines and right angles, had gone askew. The lines were no longer straight and parallel. Those lines no longer met at standard 90 degree or 45 degree angles. He no longer knew who I really was. The reality did not match his carefully constructed model. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I was dazed. While I know we went on to talk about Bobby’s feelings and I tried to justify that I was still the same person he had always known, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, the details are lost. But what is permanently fixed in my mind of that conversation, of that experience, was the image Bobby had built of parallel lines and right angles, and how that had been destroyed, or at least cast into doubt – how in the mind of my friend, my very character was being called into question. How would I be able to salvage what, in that moment, seemed to be a rapidly crumbling relationship? The only thing that seemed reasonable in the moment was that to salvage the friendship, I would have to reestablish the image of straight, parallel lines and right angles.

It didn’t occur to me at the time, and I seriously doubt it occurred to Bobby either, but what had happened in that conversation, what had happened in our relationship up to that point in time, was that Bobby had set up an equivalent of a plumb line against which I was being measured – against which our friendship was being measured and evaluated. To refresh your memory, a plumb line is a cord with a weight attached, used to create a vertical line. This vertical line is used as a reference in building a structure, such as a wall, to make sure that the structure is exactly vertical and perfectly aligned. While Bobby did not use this exact analogy, his use of references to straight, parallel lines and right angles was the design equivalent.

Today’s Old Testament lesson from the Book of Amos has God setting a plumb line in the midst of His people. Just as Bobby was using straight parallel lines and right angles to assess my character and to evaluate our relationship, so too, God is using the plumb line to assess the character of the people of Israel and to evaluate the straightness and trueness of their relationship with God. The questions being asked in such evaluation is “are they conforming to the standards set for them? Are they traveling the straight and narrow, or have they deviated from the path?”

The implication in the story of Amos is that, no, the people of Israel are not following the specified path. In this lesson, God has set a plumb line against a wall built that had been built according to exacting standards. The wall, a metaphor for the life of the Israelites, had been built square and true using a plumb line – the law given at Mount Sinai. But over time, the people had slipped, and are no longer living according to the square and true measure of the Law. They have wandered off, deviating from the straight path of the plumb line. The course being followed is no longer one of straight parallel lines and right angles.

When a brick layer or stone mason builds a wall, he evaluates its alignment using a plumb line. If the wall is not straight and true, not perfectly vertical, the worker has no choice but to tear it down and start all over again. This is the implication in today’s lesson. God has warned that if corrections are not made, if Israel does not return to the straight and true path of the Law, Israel will need to be torn down and rebuilt.

What is important to remember, however, is that the plumb line is not just a tool of measurement, to determine if a structure is square and true. It is also a tool of construction. And, if used regularly throughout the building process, can even be a tool of adjustment, an indicator of how things need to be changed in order for the structure to be brought back into alignment. If deviations are caught in time, the plumb line is not just a tool of assessment and of condemnation. It can also be used as a tool of restoration. In the case of Israel, the plumb line is a tool to bring the people back into alignment with God’s law – to bring them back to faithfulness.

Unlike our Jewish forebears, the measure of our faithfulness is not based so much on the law. Rather, our faithfulness, the structure that comprises our lives of faith, is built on the image and likeness of God. For us Christians, the plumb line is Jesus Christ. It is his image and likeness, the image and likeness of God made flesh, that we can look to and assess how far we miss the mark, how far off from the straight and true the structure of our lives of faith really are. And it is that image that we can look to in order to assess what corrections need to be made in our lives to bring us back into alignment with what and who we are called to be.

This is not always easy work. We see this in today’s gospel lesson about Herod Antipas and John the Baptist. In our tradition, Herod is vilified for executing John the Baptist. He is condemned for giving into his passions, for not having the backbone to stand up to his wife, for being overly concerned with what his guests will think of him if he backs out of his promise to do whatever his daughter asks of him. And maybe this criticism is well-justified. When measured against the plumb line established by our faith, Herod certainly was not following the straight and true in his actions.

But for a moment, I’d like to give Herod the benefit of the doubt. Mark tells us “for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him” (Mk. 6:20). Herod recognized that John was righteous and holy. He recognized that there was something to what John the Baptist preached. While he was still operating out of a place of fear, a place of confusion, there seemed to be that deep part of him that was drawn to John’s message. There was that part of him that recognized the truth in what John proclaimed. There was that part of him that wanted to believe the message. There was that part of Herod that saw the plumb line that John represented, and saw for himself that he was not straight and true. But I think deep down inside, he really wanted to be. He really wanted to be able to conform to the plumb line.

Herod found himself caught between competing standards and expectations: the Roman Empire versus the Kingdom of God, secular versus religious, political versus spiritual, the comfortable versus the uncomfortable, acceptance versus rejection, retribution versus justice, damnation versus grace. I think Herod saw the plumb line hung in his midst. He saw how, in many ways, his life was out of whack, not in keeping with the truth proclaimed first by John and then by Jesus. I like to think, given time, Herod may have come around. If he had had more time to listen to John, to absorb what was being said, to contemplate the truths John proclaimed, Herod might have had a genuine conversion experience. But, we will never know. His hand was forced before he was ready to admit to and stand up for the truth.

I dare say that in many ways, we are not all that different from Herod. We live in a world and society with competing, often contradictory standards and expectations. We hear the words of the prophets raised up by the Church. We see the plumb line set in our midst by our God. We find them enticing, yet perplexing. We know what we are called to do, yet we waver, even resist. But that’s why we do all this in community. We need each other to help us make sense of the plumb lines in our midst, and to help hold each other accountable.

My friend Bobby had an image of me, erroneous thought it may have been, that became a plumb line against which he assessed his own life. The irony was that he used that same plumb line to assess me, and I came up lacking. In so doing, Bobby then became the plumb line for me. Through this mutual exchange, we were both able to assess, to change, and to grow in our lives, as human beings, as people of faith, and as brothers.

Such is the awesome responsibility we carry as Christians. We have Christ as our plumb line, but that plumb line is exhibited and lived out through us. Many times, we are called to be the plumb lines for others – for our fellow Christians, as well as, and particularly for, those who may not know Christ firsthand, but only know of Him through us.

Sure, we’re not always going to get it right. When measured against the plumb line of Christ, we will, at times, undoubtedly come up lacking. But the Good News is that God doesn’t put plumb lines in our midst just to judge us, to find us lacking, and to condemn us to destruction. Rather, God gives us a chance. God puts plumb lines in our midst to help in self-evaluation, for us to assess how we are doing. These same plumb lines give us the opportunity to make corrections along the way, allowing us to be more straight and true in the practice of our faith. That is the grace of God made possible through Jesus Christ. That we are always given a chance – as many chances as we need – to correct the way we are going, to make our lives new again in Him.

So keep your eyes and ears open. You never know where, or how, or in whom, a plumb line may be revealed. But they are there, in the most unexpected places, in the most unexpected people. And while it may not seem like it at the time, they are gifts from God, intended to help make us better Christians, to be more faithful, and to become who God is calling each of us to be.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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What Kind of Sandwich Would You Like?

Fourth Sunday of Pentecost (Proper 8) – Year B (RCL)
Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15, 2:23-24; Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43
Sunday, June 28, 2009 – Trinity, Redlands


What we have here is a sandwich. Seriously. That’s what Biblical scholars call the literary style represented in today’s gospel lesson. A sandwich consists of a story that is interrupted by another seemingly unrelated story, like in today’s gospel. We have the story of Jairus coming to Jesus to beg him to heal his daughter, to which Jesus agrees. On the way to Jairus’ house, that story line is put on hold while we hear about the woman with hemorrhages. Only after that story is resolved do we get back to the story of Jairus and his daughter, which then plays out to its joyful conclusion.

When used in scripture, this style is also a theological device, with the story in the middle serving as the theological key to the sandwich as a whole. While all the synoptic gospels contain sandwiches, Mark is particularly masterful at the art of, shall we say, sandwich making, employing this device in unique ways to highlight and emphasize major themes of the Gospel. In fact, Mark uses the sandwich technique a total of nine times in his short gospel.

In some ways, the middle story might be considered the more important and more interesting bit – just like when you order a sandwich, you are probably more concerned about what goes in it than with the type of bread being used. That’s not to say the “bread” part, the story on either side of the central “filling,” isn’t important. We need it all, bread and filling, to make a theologically tasty and satisfying sandwich.

That being the case, I want to focus primarily on the story of the woman with the hemorrhages, but not completely forgetting the story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter, as it does provide some nuances that only serve to enhance our understanding of the meaning of the central theological themes Mark is attempting to convey through the use here of the sandwich technique.

So let’s start with the woman herself. Suffice it to say, she’s had a rough life, as indicated in the scriptural account. But when we really consider the implications of what is told about her, it is safe to say her life is worse than rough. Given all that she’s had to suffer and endure, the woman suffering from hemorrhages is, cursed, at the very least, four times over. First, she obviously is experiencing a physical illness, one she had had for 12 years. Since she is a woman, and the affliction entails hemorrhaging, the affliction is in all likelihood gynecological in nature. Second, as Scripture tells us, she has depleted her financial resources in multiple attempts to obtain relief from many physicians, who, by all indications, were probably quacks, taking advantage of her for financial gain. Third, these quacks did not only leave her destitute, but also left her worse off medically, thanks to ineffective and even injurious “remedies.” And fourth, while not specifically mentioned, but as would certainly be the case under Jewish levitical law, she is undoubtedly considered ritually unclean – one, because she has an illness, and two, because of the nature of the hemorrhaging she experiences.

As a result of all this, the woman experiences illness and poverty. She experiences isolation and social alienation. She experiences powerlessness and vulnerability. This is quite the opposite of Jairus, who is a wealthy and powerful leader in the community. Because of his status, Jairus is free to walk up to Jesus and ask for his help. Because of her status, the woman should be nowhere near a crowd of people. Because of her circumstances, it is her duty to stay away, living on the margins of society. And if anyone should come anywhere near her, she is obligated under the law and by social convention to warn them that she is unclean, warning them so that they not risk being made ritually unclean by their contact with her.

Despite being beset by such horrendous circumstances and despite her obligation to her fellow humanity, what does this poor, marginalized woman do? She breaks all social, legal, and religious convention and enters into a crowd. And to make matters worse, she willfully and blatantly touches not only a ritually clean and healthy person, but a man, no less. Three strikes against her. But to her defense, and what is of paramount importance from our perspective, is that she does this, she reaches out to Jesus, because she has faith – faith that if anyone can help her, he can.

We’ll get back to the woman, but I want to turn to Jesus for a moment. One of the questions that troubles me every time I hear this story is why does this woman cause Jesus to feel the power flowing from him, while others pressing in upon him on this and countless other occasions, do not have a similar effect?

While we’re not specifically told, I believe it has to do with the way she touches him, with what motivates her to reach out, even just to touch the hem of his robe. I believe it is because of her faith – a faith so profound, a deep knowledge that he is her only hope. Now, I don’t personally think that the power leaves him per say, as much as he feels a connection with her because of her profound faith. I believe he feels his spirit, the power within him energized by the Holy Spirit, connecting with her spirit, as if his and her spirits are rushing to greet each other, as two friends who have not seen each other in ages rush to greet each other and to embrace. It is as if her spirit says to his, here I am, and I recognize you as my life and my hope, and his spirit turns and rushes toward hers, shouting, “my beloved.” This is all made possible by the woman’s faith in Jesus, that he is the channel to the healing power and presence of God.

I think another thing that is equally important is the fact that the woman could have just as easily taken her gift of healing and gone on her way. She could have slipped through the crowd, undetected. Jesus and those around him would have been none the wiser. Instead, when Jesus senses the connection between them, the touching of spirits, the resulting healing, and attempts to discern the reason, she stops and confesses that she is the one who touched Jesus. She falls down in fear and trembling, presents herself before Jesus, confessing her faith.

So too, Jesus could have just as easily continued on his way after he sensed the power flowing from him. With so many people around him, it could have been anyone. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And chances are, the person responsible would not step forward. So why bother to find out? Chalk it up as one of those strange experiences, the cost of being the Son of God. But no, he stops and diligently attempts to figure out what has happened, and more importantly, to determine who is the cause. This is incredibly important. In doing this, in seeking out the person who has touched him in faith, Jesus is attempting to reciprocate. He is seeking relationship with this person of faith.

In falling at his feet in fear and trembling, the woman is undoubtedly afraid. She has violated all sorts of social, religious, and legal taboos in daring to touch Jesus. But instead of chastising her, Jesus calls her “daughter” – yet another sign of relationship. And in falling at his feet in fear and trembling, she is experiencing “the fear of one who knows that she is coming into relationship with God” (Edington, 192).

The question occurs to me, would the woman have been truly, permanently healed if she had not stopped and confessed her faith in Jesus? We will never know. But I do know that in kneeling before Jesus, she gives a physical, tangible sign of her belief, of her faith. She gives a physical, tangible sign of relationship with Jesus. And in return, Jesus gives a physical, tangible sign of his relationship with her. He proclaims “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

Being sandwiched within the story of Jairus and his daughter provides the story of the woman with the hemorrhage with even more detail. Jairus is rich and powerful. The woman is poor and on the margins of society. The fact that Jesus interrupts his travel to Jairus' house indicates that wealth and social status are of no importance to Jesus. The woman is in as much need as Jairus. The fact that he has money and power make no difference to Jesus. It's not that she has a more immediate or pressing need. Jesus could have had her make an appointment with the disciples and he would get back to her. After all, she had gone for 12 years without relief. What difference would a few more hours make? If anything, the fact that Jesus stops to be with her, putting Jairus on hold, indicates that in his mind, the needs of the marginalized take precedence over the needs of the wealthy and powerful. But in the end, all are worthy of healing. Regardless of who we are, all are worthy of being touched by Jesus, of being made whole, of being called Daughter or Son.

Now all of that being said, it’s time for the disclaimer. Such stories as the healing of the woman with the hemorrhages and the healing of Jairus’ daughter can be a bit precarious for us modern-day Christians. We see how the faith of a woman results in her healing. We see how the faith of a father results in the healing of his daughter. We may be tempted to think that if we just have enough faith, our desires, our prayers, for healing will be answered. And then if those prayers are not answered as we would have hoped, we may be tempted to question whether we have enough faith. We may be tempted to question whether God really hears us, and if He does, does he really care about us, about our needs?

As your pastor, I implore you never, never, entertain such questions. God does hear us. God does care about us and about our needs. The Gospel assures us of that. The very fact that God sent his Son to live among us, to die for us, to be resurrected for us, is proof of that. It is proof that God desires for us and has literally moved heaven and earth, to provide us with the ultimate healing – with new and eternal life with Him. And while everything will work out fine in the end, that does not mean that the road to get there will always be an easy one.

As one minister so wisely put it, “it may be helpful to remember that prayers for healing are not simply utilitarian. That is to say, prayer is not simply a matter of bending the vector of divine will toward my will, my needs, and my hopes. More profoundly, to ask something of God is to edge into deeper relationship with God. God's mind may or may not be changed, but I—my mind and heart—may be” (Lindvall, 190).

This is so important, so profound, so central to our understanding of our relationship with God, these words bear repeating. “Prayer is not simply a matter of bending the vector of divine will toward my will, my needs, and my hopes. More profoundly, to ask something of God is to edge into deeper relationship with God. God's mind may or may not be changed, but I—my mind and heart—may be.”

No matter the response, no matter the outcome, prayer is useful. Prayer is necessary. Why? Because prayer is a sign of faith. Prayer is a sign of relationship. Prayer is our spirit reaching out and touching God’s Spirit in faith. And in response, God’s Spirit asks “Who touched me?” Our response of faith is to fall down before our God, to profess our continued faith, to enter more fully into relationship with Him. And in response, God’s Spirit cries out “My beloved Daughter, my beloved Son, you took a risk of faith, and now you’re healed and whole. Live well, live blessed!” (Mk 5:34, The Message).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



References
Edington, Mark D. W. “Mark 5:21-43, Theological Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Lindvall, Michael W. “Mark 5:21-43, Pastoral Perspective.” In Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary – Year B, Volume 3, Pentecost and Season After Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16). Edited by David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

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