Tag Archives: Lent

Palms & Passion

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I don’t think there is a more conflicted day in the church calendar than “Palm Sunday”; or is it “Passion Sunday”? Or … both?

I recently heard someone complain about this liturgical challenge: How do we structure the order of worship? This disconnect extends also to the substance of the story itself –Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

From the point of view of the adoring crowd, hypocrisy seeps all over this so-called ‘triumphal’ entry of Jesus on a donkey. How can we wave palm branches and sing “Hosanna!” to the Lord out one side of our mouths when we know all too well that in just a few short days we’ll be shouting “Crucify Him!” out the other side.

Maybe you might want to stay home on Palm/Passion Sunday.

Traditionally, Palm Sunday has been the designation for the Sunday before Easter.

Jesus was heralded as the King who would save the people from Roman domination. The crowds expected the kind of Messiah who would come and make their lives better, who would change their external circumstances for the better. And so he rode in majesty, riding on a donkey. Understandably, the crowds laid palm branches on the royal highway – and the crowds cheered “Hosanna! Hosanna!”

But liturgists and scholars in recent years have challenged the church to insert the title “Passion” to describe this Sunday. “Passion” – not so much how we normally understand the word to describe an intense, positive feeling towards someone or some thing. But “Passion” to describe what Mel Gibson did in his famous movie, “The Passion of the Christ”; that is, the betrayal, suffering and death of Jesus. The “Passion” includes all those stories from the Gospel leading Jesus to the Cross.

And Palm Sunday is only the first day of Holy Week; the triumphal entry into Jerusalem is only the first event of several in the story. It is important to at least attempt a reconciliation of Palms AND Passion in our approach to the beginning of Holy Week. For the two are inseparable. They belong together.

Yet somehow we live in a culture of thinking that is “dualist”; in other words, we tend to solve our problems by going the route of “this or that”, “either/or”, “all or nothing”, “black or white” kind of thinking.

But is that real? Palms and Passion challenges us in our thinking: What about Israelis and Palestinians co-existing, living together on the same piece of land? What about different people belonging to the same community? What if rural values could impact positively urban realities, and vice versa? What about people with opposite opinions on a controversial subject remaining members of the same church?

By denying “both/and” possibilities, and pretending life can be packaged neatly into separate boxes, are we like the seeds that fell on shallow soil, which immediately spring up – but when the sun rises, are scorched? (Matt 13:5-6)

Biblically, Palms and Passion are inseparable. Immediately following Luke’s version of the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, Jesus weeps when the last echo of Hosanna fades from the hillside (19:41-44). Indeed the trajectory in all the Gospels goes from celebration to discouragement, desertion and despair.

Does this liturgy then call us, allow us, give us permission to reconcile seeming opposites? Can we in the practice of our faith truly live, be real and honest? Can we learn to pray when times are tough? Can we find hope in the midst of despair? Jesus was able to hold these seemingly opposite realities; he received the adoration of the crowds and then was able to grieve for their soon treachery — and still love the people of Jerusalem; as he hung on the cross he prayed: “Father, forgive them …” (Luke 23:34). The Gospel shows us that Jesus holds the contradictions of our lives in the unity of his heart and his love for us all.

Psalm 31 is a prayer. Psalm 31 reconnects Palms and Passion; first by letting us hear the Psalmist’s deepening despair, confessing his own misery; the Psalmist gives us permission to search within; to explore the interiority of suffering, and to find hope.

The section of the Psalm we read begins with a request: “Be gracious to me, O God” (v.9). And is the prayer answered? Maybe the more accurate way of asking is – How is the prayer answered?

I was recently reading a little bit about the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa some decades ago now. Apartheid was the racist policy of the government of South Africa that sought to keep separate whites and blacks. Nelson Mandela became president in 1994 after spending three decades inprisoned for his stance against apartheid. How was he able to emerge from such a long time imprisoned to present such a hopeful, trusting vision of the future?

In his book on forgiveness, Desmond Tutu describes Mandela’s attitude the night he came to stay with the archbishop in Capetown after being set free. He says, “I found a man regal in dignity, bubbling over with magnanimity and a desire to dedicate himself to the reconciliation of those whom apartheid had alienated from one another. Nelson Mandela emerged from prison, not spewing words of hatred and revenge. Instead, he amazed us all by his heroic embodiment of forgiveness” (from No Future Without Forgiveness, Doubleday, New York, New York, 1999, p.39).

Is the Psalmist’s prayer answered? How does God answer his request for grace? Well, the answer doesn’t seem to be changing the psalmist’s outward circumstances; life may still bring a betraying kiss, a lonely Gethsemane, a cross, 27 years in a seemingly endless South African prison. Being Christian doesn’t immune us from hardship. Doing good is not a prerequisite for having a perfect, successful life.

Yet, the Lord answers prayer with a gift – the gift of trust. The psalmist confesses, (31:14-15) “I trust in you, O Lord; I say ‘you are my God’ My times are in your hands.”

The Psalmist is confessing a new reality that has broken in upon his suffering: I trust in God. To be able to assert amidst hardship – You are my rock, my fortress, my salvation, and echo the words of Jesus amidst his suffering – Into your hands I commend my spirit.

So, do we have the capacity to celebrate and give thanks amidst our pain and suffering? Are we able to express a profound trust in God when all seems hopeless? Is it okay to be honest about the sometimes vast contradictions of our lives, individually and in community? Can seeming opposites coexist in the same room? Can forgiveness be expressed and received in a culture of retribution, revenge and tit-for-tat?

In the love of Christ who embraced his Palms AND Passion, who reconciled all opposites, divisions, within us, and who died for ALL people – the answer to all these questions is a confident ‘Yes!’

And what happens when we dare follow this path of embracing both the Palms and Passion, not only this coming week, but as a guide for our whole lives? The Promise is clear: You know it. Nelson Mandela eventually experienced it, on earth as a foretaste of the feast to come. But if you’re not sure, you have to stick around for a week to find out …..

But here’s a hint: The Passion is not the end of the story.

Invitation to a Holy Place

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If we had interpreted Jesus’ words, “you always have the poor with you but you do not always me” (John 12:8), to mean we should not concern ourselves with social justice and serving the needs of the poor, we fall for the gnostic trap:

Gnosticism in the early centuries was a belief system that, basically, separated the material realm from the spiritual realm. And, in the gnostic worldview deemed heretical by the early church, this material realm is essentially bad and worthless.

But if we look at the broader context of this text, we can gain a richer and deeper understanding of what is going on here. Especially as this text invites us to experience the senses of sight and smell: “The house was filled with fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:3). This story is very much rooted in the material reality of nard, perfume, feet, friends, the poor, homes, impending suffering and meals.

We cannot spiritualize this text away to mean something other-worldly, heavenly, eternal — basically disconnected from ordinary life. We cannot walk away from encountering this text only saying, “It’s all about sweet Jesus in heavenly glory and I can’t wait to get there!” Because the stuff of earth also matters dearly to our Lord.

To understand a difficult text it is often best to take a step back and see the big picture, what we call literary context. What are some of the contextual points?

First, the Gospel writer places this story at the beginning of Jesus’ final journey to Jerusalem where he will meet with treachery, suffering, torture and brutal death on the cross. Jesus accepts Mary’s extravagant gift of expensive perfume on the basis of his anointing for burial (v.7). Set in the broader context of Jesus’ passion, we begin to understand what Jesus means when he says, “you do not always have me” in verse 8. Because, literally, the time is coming when his friends will no longer see him in human form on earth.

But there is more.

Jesus begins this journey to the cross by coming home. Bethany, in some respect, was the home of his dear friends, Lazarus, Martha and Mary, whom Jesus “loved” (11:5). These are Jesus’ dearest friends. We say home is where the heart is, where we encounter family and friends. Home is a place where we feel safe to be who we are and know that we will be accepted by our loved ones no matter what. Understandably Jesus begins a difficult journey by first touching base in this holy place for him. This text begins with friends gathering around table for a meal.

A holy place, as I have heard from many of you over the past few weeks, is an event, experience or physical place where we have met God and God has met with us. It is, to some degree, a place of comfort, stability and grounding — where we feel revitalized and energized. We want to go there. From this holy place we are able then to re-engage the world refreshed with renewed vigor and commitment.

Holy places are defined by transformative relationships. Even when we are alone, so to speak, in that secret place of our hearts or sanctuary, God is with us. And we are called from that place forward.

The holy place for Jesus is not simply escapism to a Caribbean beach or any other dreamy landscape where we are protected from any discomfort. Our true holy places are not about withdrawal or drugged immunity from challenge and conflict. Otherwise those holy places just keep us addictively stuck; they do not serve to grow us as people of faith.

It gets muddy in those holy places. Judas complains. And the reader knows what he is doing with the common purse: he is a thief, up to no good. We also know that he will betray Jesus in a few days. This is part and parcel of the holy place experience. Holy places in the presence God do not buffer or sanitize us from harsh reality. They keep us on our toes. And they ultimately pull us out of ourselves and challenge us.

Lest we shy away from going to our holy place, be encouraged by the implied promise of this text: From this holy place of Jesus’ emerges a great, extravagant, gracious and valuable gift. And this gift, this treasure, is not discarded and dismissed as wasteful. The gift of Mary out of gratitude to Jesus for raising her brother Lazarus from the dead, the gift about which Judas bitterly complains as ‘wasteful’, this gift is received and accepted by Jesus.

Everything in our lives is valuable to Jesus. Jesus values and deems important those very material concerns of our lives, and the lives of those in need — the poor. When I pray to Jesus for help often the answer may not be what I want. But the affirmations that often come are in the form of material reality. In other words, voices don’t boom from heaven. Lightening doesn’t strike in the moment of prayer. Supernatural responses don’t come so much as does a phone call from the accountant, a letter in the mail, the words of a friend, the seemingly unconnected event — all shed a clear light on the matter of prayer.

Perhaps, if anything, I am called during Lent and by this text to pay attention to the daily, ordinary, earthly matters of my life. Therein Jesus is present, active, and values each ordinary decision I make. Because it’s important to him.

But it’s not just about my material needs. Mary makes a supreme material sacrifice, likely foreshadowing Jesus’ even greater sacrifice of love.

You have the poor with you always. Serve the poor. By focusing on serving others we let go of those distractions and obsessions of life that keep us trapped. You heard the advice given by the new pontiff, Francis, who advised his Argentinian church members not to spend money on attending his installation in Rome but rather to give that money to the poor.

But know this: In that good work, pay attention to the presence of Jesus who is always with us and guiding us and supporting us. We do live in the shadow of the cross. But we also live in the presence of the risen Christ. We may be surprised, in all our work for good.

So here is an invitation to daily companionship with Jesus — at the Table, in extravagant acts of compassion and generosity, in moments of worship in those holy places. (p.145, H. Stephen Shoemaker, Feasting on the Word). Because Jesus will not abandon us.

So, come! Come, eat with us. Come, share this time with us. Commune together with God and with one another. Come, join together with the people of God in holy places defined by relationships of love, to serve those in need and celebrate the great treasure we have and that we offer to the world.

Massaging the text

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It doesn’t help to get tendonitis in my arm in the middle of a Canadian winter. Especially when you rely on arm power to shovel snow.

It does help a bit if you live next door to a massage therapist who is willing to offer free advice and treatment!

My neighbour held my sore arm with one hand, and then began kneading the palm of my hand with the other. “But that’s not where I hurt,” I protested. “It’s my forearm that’s the problem!” He smiled and continued massaging the palm of my hand.

He went on to explain his strategy: “In order to maintain the nerve sheath’s integrity, I used the sustained pressure of gently squeezing your arm to prevent one layer of muscle from moving. At the same time I rubbed the palm of your hand to restore the relative movement between the muscles of your arm thus revitalizing blood flow and neuro- vascular health.”

I pressed him for a lay person’s translation, which goes as follows: An indirect contact must be located to allow for full restoration of the affected area. In order to heal a distressed part of your body you have to access not only the area directly affected (my forearm) but an area indirectly connected (my palm) as well.

When people engage me in bible study, often what they question or query are the difficult verses in a text. It’s those lines that cause confusion, that appear contradictory, that simply do not make any sense on which we first tend to focus.

It’s not different in our Gospel text for the fifth Sunday in Lent — John 12:1-8 — when Mary pours expensive oil on Jesus’ feet wiping them with her hair. When Judas objects for the perceived waste, Jesus accepts Mary’s extravagance and concludes the passage with a statement that has been often misinterpreted: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (v.8).

This is the verse that tends to get traction in conversations. What does Jesus mean?

Employing the massage treatment methodology here, we have to address both the direct and indirect areas of the text. First, the direct. Let’s simply apply a gentle squeeze on the first part of Jesus’ statement: You always have the poor with me.

Most biblical scholars will suggest Jesus is doing here what he often does throughout the Gospels — quoting the Hebrew scriptures. Someone counted 78 times that Jesus cites verses from what we call the Old Testament. So, it follows that here Jesus is citing Deuteronomy 15:11 — “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbour in your land.'”

Contrary to what sometimes is interpreted as a justification for ignoring the needs of the poor, Jesus’ words are actually an injunction to continue serving the needs of the poor, not to give up this good work:

Open your hand to the poor. Be generous in response to the needs of others. Be generous as Mary was in spilling a year’s wages of expensive perfume on the feet of Jesus.

But how can we continue this work when we know the needs will always be there? How can our spirits be sustained in serving the poor when it seems our efforts will never eradicate poverty, slavery, or any other social illness. Despair is a hairline step away from futility.

Let’s now apply the indirect method of dealing with this challenging text, as we look at the second part of Jesus’ response to Judas — “… you do not always have me.”

Like peripheral vision, in bible study we need to look at the broader context of the passage in question — the before part, and after part. Sometimes by looking to the side, we can see better the area in question. If we look only at the point in question, we might not see it. We must shift our gaze to the side in order to get a clearer vision of what is before us.

To be continued in the next post …

The paralysis of analysis

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When I was in university some years ago now it seemed to me that if I wanted, it was possible still, at that time, to read everything that had ever been written about any particular topic.

This sounds like good methodology. After all, in order to write a research paper on some subject you must first master the material and know all there is to know about it, right? Before developing your thesis you need first to gather and consume all the data and information out there.

Today, however, that strategy is impossible. With the democratizing effect of the World Wide Web over the last decades, you can no longer pretend to have all the information you need before acting on a plan. Because there’s always something more that someone has written.

A couple of weeks ago I sat around a table of a group of local Lutheran pastors talking about some of the things being planned for the Joint Assembly of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada and the Anglican Church of Canada this summer in Ottawa.

We were considering the suggestion of the national bishops of both churches to act boldly. One afternoon during the Joint Assembly, both church bodies would be invited to walk together peacefully to Parliament Hill and make public witness of our unity and mutual support of some pressing social justice issues of the day; namely, showing our support for First Nations people and for social/affordable housing initiatives — given the growing disparity between rich and poor and the escalation of child poverty rates, even in our city here.

Well, that was interesting. Some raised concern that before we can act on something like this, we need to have all the information: we need to see both sides of the issue, to gather all the opinions and data and perspectives which exist among our diverse membership — to be sure.

This position, I must admit, appealed to me impulsively. You see, I grew up in a family where, in order to do something together, it felt like we all had to agree on the course of action. I mean, each one of us had to agree to it for it to be okay. Our unity of action depended on conformity. Unless we were all like-minded on a position, we held off acting on it.

Now, there are times in the life of a family or community when waiting to act on something is appropriate. Other times, not so much. And when we hesitate, when we look the other way, because we need more information, we may miss out on experiencing something wonderful from God. And that’s tragic.

At root of this paralysis of analysis, I believe, is fear. Fear of the unknown.

In my life as a pastor I’ve also witnessed families sitting around a dinner table where they argue passionately against each other, expressing with loud words and wildly flying hand gestures their divergent opinions. And yet, each and every one of them around that table could never imagine NOT remaining part of that family. They work it out — together, and openly. They’re not afraid of baring their souls, being vulnerable to one another, laying it on the line — lovingly, firmly, respectfully. They are family no matter their disagreements. And, those disagreements don’t hold family members back from acting on their convictions when those opportunities present themselves.

Notice the action of the father of the Prodigal Son in the Gospel text for today (Luke 15:1-3,11b-32). A younger son leaves home with his inheritance and squanders it. Destitute, he decides to risk going back home hoping he will be received.

You can imagine Jesus’ listeners expecting — as in other parables where rebels are dealt with harshly — that this young son will be severely punished. If the steward who failed to invest was cast into outer darkness (Matthew 25:26-30), how much more will a greedy son suffer!

We may be so familiar with this story that we overlook something that would have surprised its original audience: the father hasn’t even heard his son’s expression of remorse. The father doesn’t first hear what his son had to say for himself. The father doesn’t first demand an apology from the lips of the wayward son. Jesus says that the father was only “moved with compassion” simply upon seeing him. Actions speak louder than words. There’s no analysis going on here.

The father does something wondrous — something that might very well have struck listeners as odd. He runs, undignified, and puts his arm around his son and kisses him -uncalled for. Who could not feel confused by the father’s apparent approval of sin? (thanks to Fr. James Martin, SJ, for this insight). What’s going on here? The father even throws a party for his lost son that has come home.

I find it interesting that the end of the story in Luke’s Gospel does not say how the resentful elder son responded to the father’s invitation to join the family celebration. Perhaps this question mark at the end of the story was intentional – as now each and every one of us is invited to reflect on whether or not we will act.

Will we act, first out of compassion and mercy? Will we join the new thing God is doing in our family in the church? Despite disagreeing on some things, despite feeling miffed or frustrated by something, despite not having gathered all the data and information on something, despite our desire first to feel justified in helping people in need.

But as we must make that decision on our own, remember who is inviting us. And, remember that our Father God desires the healing not just of individuals in our own private worlds. But ultimately, our God desires the healing of the whole family of God. And God promises to welcome each of us around that table, in this world and in the world to come.

What a party that will be!

Wisps of Wisdom — on sin & forgiveness

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How does our perspective on sin and forgiveness relate to the following ‘wisps of wisdom’ on the sometimes heavy topics of sin, judgment — and forgiveness?

It’s Lent, after all! Aren’t we supposed to dwell on these matters?

At a round table discussion last weekend with several senior, committed, lifelong Christians, I heard these kinds of statements:

“Confessing sin is about becoming aware again of my need for and my dependence on God.”

“God will not act toward us in judgment because of our sins so much as for all the gifts we refused from the gracious hand of God.”

“Forgiveness of sins is not a reprieve from a judge but an embrace from a lover.”

“It is not Jesus’ suffering and death that saved us but Christ’s love.”

What do you think? I, for one, am grateful and encouraged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unworthy (and worthy!)

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Remember the “tech bubble” that collapsed thirteen years ago? What about the “housing bubble” of 2007 in the United States, and a second “tech bubble” some see looming now; not to mention housing prices in Canada? Is the bubble going to burst? Again?

But what about another bubble that we may be even more apprehensive to talk about – the decline of “establishment Christianity” North America? One congregation at a time, one closed school, one left-behind building, and even many mega-churches that are shattering like the walls of a bubble.

You may react – that I am being overly negative and it’s really not all that bad so long as we can continue to spin our wheels, try to turn the clock back to 1950 and do things the way they used to be done in the past.

Do we consider the institutional church in 2013 a tree that will stand forever, a house built on solid rock, the very apple of God’s eye?

Jesus told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.” (Luke 13.6)

In our individual, personal lives, bubbles burst all the time. Are you one of the very people whose bubbles are now bursting? Broken relationships. Ill-health. Financial ruin. Underemployment. Shattered dreams. Tragedy.

Indeed, the human condition is broken. Ever since the Fall, sin has steeped into the very fabric of our earthly existence.

According the Lutheran belief, even our good intentions and actions are tainted and ineffectual. In our weekly liturgy, we confess “that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves” (“Evangelical Lutheran Worship”, p.95, emphasis mine). There’s nothing we – by ourselves – can do to make things better. Older liturgies are even more hard-hitting: the “Book of Common Prayer” in the Anglican Church has it: “We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table” (p.83). I am sure Lutherans can point to old prayer and liturgy books that basically suggest we are no better than worms crawling in the mud.

Let’s be careful in how we respond to the question of sin. For one thing, in the Gospel text today (Luke 13:1-9), Jesus rejects the kind of thinking that is easy: focusing on the sins of others as explanation, justification, for the bad things that happen. In response to the Pharisees, Jesus turns the question to them. You must repent for your sins.

In the baptismal liturgy of our church, we renounce the devil and all his empty promises – three times. When we declare together that we “renounce” the devil, we are also renouncing “all the forces that defy God” and “the powers of this world that rebel against God” (EvLW, p.229).

Not only is sin active in our individual lives – but in the world around us: in economic, political, social, religious institutions. Sin is not only individual; it is corporate. Sin is something we can do together in an organization, collectively. Admittedly it’s easier to point to a random, individual act. It’s convenient and easier to explain individual behavior gone bad. It’s much more ambiguous, complex and difficult to see sin as something shared in a group.

What do we, as a church, need to confess?

Are we counting on bubbles? Are we riding on the coat tails of previous generations of the faithful? Are we trying to draw closer to God without allowing God closer to us? Do we try to save ourselves through work and possessions? Do we ration our affections, pulling back from a deeply troubled world, staying inside where it is safe, praying when we feel like it, listening as little as possible, singing our songs and not God’s songs, treasuring our kind and not God’s people? (Thank you to Tom Ehrich for this insight and these words – from his blog, “On a Journey – Meditations on God in Daily Life”, Feb 27/2013).

Amidst the doom and gloom there is hope. The passage ends with hope. In the confession there is the realization of God’s mercy. Amidst the urgency to get things done, to do the right thing, to toil in all our striving, we are invited to pause. To stop, for a moment. Why?

Because we are that fig tree. Barren. Failed. Unworthy – or so it would seem (from the world’s perspective). Jesus is the gardener, who sees in us something worthy of grace. Jesus advocates on our behalf, to give us another chance. A holy, second chance. Jesus continues to work at the root of our lives, applying grace upon grace, getting his hands dirty – for us. Jesus will not give up on us.

In this dependence on God for all good things, we have to realize one, very important truth: It is not we who accomplish our growth, our life. All we need to do, is open our hearts, the ground of our being – as roots – to receive the nourishment of God’s grace. All we need to do, is look up to the sunshine, warming our being, inviting us to reach outward.

It is Jesus’ love for us that accomplishes whatever good that may come from our efforts. It is God’s work of love that accomplished our salvation in Jesus. I heard recently a wonderful quote from a teacher of Christian prayer: that God will not judge us according to our sins and failings, but for all the gifts we refused from the gracious hand of God. Our judgment is not based on our sinning – since we all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) – but because we have refused, rejected and turned from the grace and love that God offers us anew, every day. Because God is giving us a second chance. What are we doing about that?

We yearn for more. Polls and studies reveal that people are hungry for God. Maybe it will take a cascade of bursting bubbles for us to see how little fruit we have yielded, how much God desires of us, and how lovingly God will work on our behalf for real life and love for all, not for bubbles.

The Fox and the Hen: Who’s running scared?

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Richard Rohr claims that “If you or the group to which you belong cannot laugh at yourself, then you are in trouble” (p.197, “On the Threshold of Transformation”). No better time to laugh a little than during Lent and especially on Annual General Meeting Day in the church, don’t you think?

So here’s one that will hopefully introduce us suitably to the animal imagery in the Gospel text today. It’s a chicken joke, but it’s not crossing the road!

Q: Why is it that chickens can’t talk? A: Because God doesn’t like fowl language!

The power of the imagery is indeed not in what is said, but what the mother hen in the Gospel text today (Luke 13:31-35) will do – even in the face of fear and adversity. Actions, in the life of faith, always speak louder than words.

The image of Jesus as a mother hen gathering her chicks reminds me of a common experience I see on the water described very well in the words of Canadian writer, humorist and preacher, Ralph Milton; he writes (in ‘Rumors: Sermon Helps for Preachers with a Sense of Humor’):

“I remember the image in Luke 13:34 every spring as I walk with my wife Bev along our creek, and delight in the clutches of fuzzy ducklings feeding along the edge of the water under the steady eye of the mama duck.

Sometimes at dusk we’d see mama duck tucking her babies under her wings where they will be as warm and safe as it is possible for wild ducks to be.

It is heartbreaking sometimes when a single duckling becomes separated from the clutch and goes whistling frantically for mama who is nowhere in sight. And when it spies Bev and me on the pathway, it goes skimming along the water in a desperate attempt to escape.

We always want to re-unite it with its mother. But mostly that’s impossible because we don’t know where mother duck is either. When we’ve been successful, it is by scaring the little bird to run away from us in the direction of the mother.”

Indeed, sometimes fear will motivate us – like the duckling – to run straight into the arms of a loving God.

But not Jesus. Jesus does not run in fear from Herod – the fox. Personified as a predatory fox, Herod is after Jesus. The Pharisees warn Jesus, tell him to “get away”. When you think about it, of all the artwork and creative depictions of Jesus over the centuries, have you ever seen Jesus “running away”? I certainly haven’t.

In the words of blogger Nancy Rockwell: “In Scripture and in art there are images of Jesus doing so many things – praying, walking, knocking on doors, gathering crowds, climbing hills, calling disciples, writing in the sand with his finger, sharing bread, preaching, weeping – but never running.” (in ‘Bite in the Apple’ 2013)

Because that is not what a mother hen does. Even under duress. Even when threatened by a fox. Rockwell continues: “The homely hen, who has lived in the backyards of humans for thousands of years, is selfless in her devotion to her little ones, even more defenseless than she. She has no defenses against the arts and wiles of foxes except her courage and commitment. She will rush to their sharp teeth and long claws, their looming shadow, their fierce bloodlust, throwing herself upon the bodies of her chicks, extending her wings over them, letting herself be devoured in the hope that they may be spared. She does not run from her fears.”

This is the God we worship today, on the day we review the ‘business’ of the church. We worship a God who is fearless, on account of a great, sacrificial love. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). God’s love in Jesus, Christ’s protective grace and fierce loyalty, these are unmatched in all of creation. Incredible, especially when Jesus rebukes Jerusalem for its misguided ways – and then still (and again!) offers his unconditional love.

Above all, let us remember who is the God of this church. Not a fox, out to get us, out to scare us. But a God who wraps loving arms to hold us up, and be our strength, no matter what.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

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I’ve come to realize that Lent is good for me. And do you know why? Lent is a season for confession. So here’s one of mine: Lent is not exactly my favorite season of the church year.

But that’s precisely why it’s good for me. Because I initially react negatively to it, perhaps there’s something there to which I need to pay attention. It’s the same as saying, the only way for you to overcome some fear, is not to avoid it but to face it. And go there.

I suppose there is some consolation in believing that if we’re never challenged in our faith, if it never means we struggle with it, if it’s always supposed to be sugar-sweet and easy, if the real bad stuff happens out there with other evil people and never within me – well, in all honesty and truth – red flags should be going up all over the place.

Indeed, the kind of sins and temptations are very personal to you and to me. And subtle. And easily missed.

How is Jesus tempted? You’ll notice the temptations are not bad in and of themselves, really (Luke 4:1-13). The devil doesn’t tempt Jesus to commit murder or genocide, or destroy the lives of good people by duping them into some ponzi scheme, or sell drugs, or do some awful, despicable, unconscionable thing we see continually in our media. At the same time, they are not of the trite, superficial variety we hear about in our so-called Lenten disciplines: the devil is not tempting Jesus with chocolate.

The man has been fasting for forty days. Surely a loaf of bread is okay? Even the most rigid of diets and fasts include some basic, regular consumption.

Then, the world. We know the corruption and evil surrounding the rule of Herod in Jesus’ day and age. A change in government would be a good thing, especially one ruled by Jesus, eh? You would think.

And finally, the temple. What with the priests, Pharisees, Levites and religious leaders of the day missing God’s point so often and corrupting the spiritual and worship life of people by their control and manipulative designs – Jesus taking over by displaying the power of God in the temple would go a long way in cleansing the place, turning it around. Wouldn’t you say? Jesus in charge! Yeah! Good idea!

The temptations address the person. And Jesus is the Son of God, not something contested by the devil, you’ll notice. The temptations are meant merely to distract Jesus, throw him off course.

The temptations are essentially given to undermine Jesus’ trust in God the Father. The temptations don’t deal with who Jesus is so much as what kind of Jesus will emerge from the desert: one that acts on his own timeline, or one that waits and obeys the timing and guidance of God the Father.

Because remember, Jesus does make bread to feed the hungry; Jesus does engage the political realm preaching the coming of God’s kingdom on earth; Jesus does let go and hang on the cross trusting the angels and presence of God the Father right to the end. In the end, Jesus does in essence what the devil tempted him in the desert. But with one huge difference: not according to anyone else’s strength and timeline other than God’s.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

I think we can say the same for ourselves: What is truly dangerous temptation for us has more to do with whatever may distract us from God’s purpose for our lives. Careful discernment is required here. It may not be obvious. In fact, it may first present itself as a good thing in and of itself: Some common sense notions we live by day to day. But are they part of God’s purposes? Is it the right time? Humility is also required in this journey.

We are not Jesus. So much in the popular Christian culture today suggests that we should be like Jesus. “What Would Jesus Do? WWJD” – do you wear the bracelet? Yes, Martin Luther said we are “little christs”. But emphasis on little, please.

Because Luther was very clear to say: We cannot presume to be like Jesus in his moral perfection. Because we aren’t! When we try to be like Jesus we lean on our own strength. When we try to be like Jesus we may easily end up believing we must earn God’s favor by our good works. This is not the Gospel. We are missing the point.

Being faithful Christians we will fail in our efforts, in our striving. Then, when we do fail – what do we do, what happens, what do we believe?

Are we unworthy of God’s love and favor? Will be burn in hell for our mistakes? Will God punish us? Will we give up? Will we say, “This is not for me?” and turn our back on church? Will we despair and continue knocking ourselves down in self-rejection? I think we are familiar with this line of reasoning – and where that spirit of obsessive, fatalistic guilt takes us. And that’s not a good place. Because I don’t think that reasoning leads to a vital, energetic and committed ministry to feed the poor and proclaim the Lord’s favor shouting from the rooftops – “Christ is Lord!”

It is simply in trusting Jesus amidst our weakness and imperfection where the Gospel has powerful witness to the world. All we need to do is to accept Jesus is with us, to help us, to guide us. All we need to do, is trust. And not give up on the path.

An ancient proverb is told of a servant whose duty was to draw water from the river at dawn when it was still mostly dark, and carry a bucket-full up a winding, rocky path to the mansion where his master lived. Alas! His bucket had a crack in it. And each time he brought water up the path he lost most of it.

Curiously, the servant noticed his master standing at the door of the mansion watching him every day carry this water up the path, spilling most of it. And yet, the servant was able to see a broad, loving smile on his master’s face. Daily, the servant would drop to his knees when he reached the top.

At his master’s feet the servant would express his remorse at failing to do his job, bringing only half a bucket-full of water each time he climbed the path. The master listened lovingly, invited him inside for breakfast, and encouraged him to try again the next day. Which the servant did, faithfully, for the entire season.

When the river froze over, and the last half-bucket full was brought up the path, and once again the servant expressed his shame, sorrow and regret, the master invited him inside to share in a special feast to mark the end of the season and beginning of a new one. On the table spread with the finest breads, vegetables, cheeses and meats, he found bouquets of flowers of the most wondrous varieties and colors.

The servant gasped at the heavenly sight and asked his master, “From where did you find these beautiful flowers?” “Come, follow me,” the master said, “and see for yourself.” The master led the servant back to the front door just as the sun was rising, illuminating the pathway down to the river. And on both sides of the path the flowers were growing, able to do so because of the water that had daily leaked out from the servant’s cracked bucket.

As we follow the path of our Lenten discipline let’s keep our eyes fixed on our master Jesus. Jesus knows our limitations, our failures, our sins because he walked that path to the Cross and bore all our sins. He knows intimately this rocky, dark path that we tread.

He also sees that nothing is wasted. No effort too small or too great is missed by God’s gracious gaze. Whatever we do, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has eternal implications. And won’t we be surprised when we enter that glorious heavenly feast and see it all!

We made the sign of the cross on our foreheads with ash this past week. Some may think as I once did, “how morbid and negative!”

But the path we tread is not about achieving perfection, but about not giving up. So, continue on the path returning to the Lord day after day this Lenten season, doing what we may. But keeping our vision, our focus, on Jesus even when we fail. And then see what happens.

Hope springs eternal. Surprise!

Crossing Yourself in the Pantry

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One of the rooms that stands out in my memory from childhood was the kitchen pantry. It was a small room that was accessed from the kitchen — like a very big walk-in closet you see in newer homes off the master bedroom. When you walked in the pantry in my childhood home, shelving lined the side walls from floor to nine-foot ceiling.

It wasn’t a room that I often went into. It was rather cool and dark inside, for one thing. The flooring was old and the tiles were curled at the edges. The light switch was a string tied to the a ceiling light bulb, giving off a dingy feel. Once I hid there playing hide-and-seek with my brother; and scared myself sitting in the dark corner on the floor when I leaned into a spider web.

It certainly wasn’t a room whose purpose was to show off to company, even friends. This room was not designed for entertaining. In showing this house for sale, this would be the last place you’d consider “staging” for viewings.

And yet, I considered this room a treasure trove. Because lining the shelves were cans and packages and bags of all kinds of food. And lots of this good stuff that my Mother would convert to very tasty home-made cooking. I revered this room because it had a sole purpose — to store and keep this precious food. And food was something so closely related to the health and well-being of our family. Not a very attractive place. But in many vital ways the heart and soul of our home.

So it is with our hearts — a place often considered as the center of our being. We get to the “heart of the matter” when we arrive at the truth, the essential, what is most important in our lives, who we really are.

Getting at the essential element of our faith is a task that didn’t seem urgent some decades ago when Christianity was pretty well assumed in our culture and “everyone went to church”.

But today, Christians are struggling more and more to discover- re-discover, maybe – what their faith is about and what is really important. To get to the heart of it. To understand who we are as a Christian community and as individuals of faith.

And we do so on Ash Wednesday by first getting to heart of being human. We experience a visceral reminder of our humanity when we feel ashes smudged on our foreheads. Because basically, essentially, our bodies are made up of carbon molecules, and “to dust we shall return”. Nothing like facing our mortality to focus our attention on what is most important in life.

But it’s not only about the ashes. The ashes are imposed in the sign of the cross. We learn to cross ourselves from a young age, in the church. We see professional football and baseball players cross themselves before making a play. We may do it, or at least think it, before going under for surgery, or before doing something scary. Tonight we ritualize the act of crossing ourselves with ashes. This is a good practice.

So, why do we cross ourselves with ashes?

Perhaps we do so in a false humility, which is really a sign of self-rejection. We may make the sign of the cross, or receive it on our foreheads as we do tonight, more out of self-demeaning inferiority.

As I said, “Remember you are dust…” slams home the reality of our definite and eventual mortality. While important to accept and not deny, does our mortality bind and trap us in patterns of unhealthy self-hate? Or can it point to new possibilities for life? Does this reminder of our mortality cement our negative self-regard that we are good for nothing? Or does it keep us grounded in the reality of God’s never-ending love for us? Do we literally cross ourselves into oblivion or into the freedom of God’s grace?

In the traditional Gospel text for Ash Wednesday (Matthew 6:1-6,16-21), Jesus instructs his disciples to pray in their inner room, or closet. This holy place has been likened to our heart — the deep, inner self where God meets us ‘in secret’.

A more accurate description of this place, according to Laurence Freeman, is a root cellar; I imagine that pantry (because folks in Jesus’ day did not have private rooms in which they could close a door).

It may not be a place we normally spend much time in. And so Lent invites us at least to consider going there — to go to this place where we’re not always comfortable going: whether that means starting a new discipline of prayer, or intentionally taking on a new project, an exercise program, giving something up, spending time getting help, counsel. It’s a place that can scare us, make us feel vulnerable. That challenges us to face our greatest fear and confront our imperfections.

What is that ‘room’ in your life? Is it a place of shame, regret, pain, fear, in-healed memory? How often have you gone there? Can you?

And yet, paradoxically, therein lies our greatest treasure, that which sustains and heals us in life despite our imperfections. Saint Paul spoke of a thorn in his flesh (2 Corinthians 12:7-10), and this was his perceived weakness. And yet, he used that ‘thorn’ to communicate the power and strength of God’s grace.

So much so that he wrote at length in his letter to the Corinthian church of the first century about the power of God being shown in human weakness, human limitation.

Normally we see our weakness and imperfection as reason for self rejection and denial. An embarrassment. A shame.

But the road to healing and wholeness is turning it around: by accepting those limitations and imperfections as precisely where Christ is present to us. Not denying that which causes us pain and suffering; not hiding from the “root cellar” in our hearts, but going there boldly as the place where Christ meets us, cobwebs and all, with his love and forgiveness.

This is the very definition of prayer, is it not? Not something we do self-consciously in front of others to show off and display our righteousness before the world. But a communion with God in precisely that place that shows our greatest weakness to the world. Therein lies the power of God.

Indeed, God’s grace is sufficient. The essential element of our faith, for Lutherans especially but for all Christians witnessing to the Gospel of Jesus, is God’s grace, God’s love, God’s forgiveness, God’s gift of Christ in us.

Holy Place: A Lenten Exercise

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A hymn we often sing during Lent and Holy Week, “Beneath the Cross of Jesus”, leads us into an appreciation of physical space.

The title of the hymn suggests that we view Jesus from a certain standpoint, a particular perspective — at the foot of the Cross. It is from this spot on the earth that we look up to Jesus and see what he is doing for us. From this inner stance, we express our faith in the Holy One who died on that Cross to fulfill his Call of Love for us and for the whole world.

The Gospel message of Jesus finds its grounding, its rooting, in the Cross. Of course, we know the end of the story. But even the message of new life, of resurrection, fresh starts, new beginnings emerges from that original place – beneath the Cross of Jesus.

An awareness of where we are, brings us into the holy. The Lenten season is about recognizing a holy place where God meets us and we meet God.

In developing a theme of “A Holy Place”, I invite you to reflect on one space and place in your life you have considered “holy”. Describe it: What surrounded you? Was there anyone with you? What were you doing – being still, physically, or active? What did you sense in this place – smells, sounds, tastes, visions? What happened in the time you were in this place? How did you feel?

And then, consider what about this “holy place” reflects the character of God? Is it quiet or noisy? Funny or serious? Solemn or filled with laughter? Is it in some way gentle and sweet, powerful and overwhelming, or busy and active? Did the holy place come to you quite unexpectedly, like a surprise, or by accident? Or was it the result of an intentional discipline and preparation on your part? What is it about God that this holy place teaches you?

Finally, consider a biblical text, scriptural quote or story from the bible that enhances, converges with and affirms your experience of God in this holy place. Conclude with a short prayer.

Thank God, during Lent, for that holy place.

Once you’ve thought about it, would you, sometimes during the Lenten season, tell someone about your holy place?