O Little Town of Bethlehem (Reflections on Advent 4, Year C 2024)

 

Christmas Lutheran Church of Bethlehem, Palestine

“But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.” (Micah 5:2)

Some years ago, I was visiting my sister who lived in Washington state. My stepdaughter, Sandra, who was living in Seatle at the time, was kind enough to put me up while I was in town. She even treated me to dinner at a really cool Seatle-style sea food restaurant where they dump piles of shellfish on a sheet of butcher paper right on your table and you get to crack the shells with a wooden mallet. We talked about a lot of things that night, but I remember telling Sandra the very worst thing that could ever happen to me would be if something happened to her. If she were to die before her time, I would never know how to comfort her mother. That grief would be overwhelming. Our children are supposed to bury us, but we’re never supposed to bury them.

The gospel lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary for Advent 4, Year C (Luke 1:39-45) has both the exquisite delight of motherhood and the specter of losing a child. It’s this incongruously celebratory family reunion between two ladies both rejoicing in their pregnancies. Here are Mary and Elizabeth sharing that mystical secret of carrying human life within their bodies. Neither of these women should be pregnant. Mary is a thirteen or fourteen-year-old unmarried child. Elizabeth has been thought infertile, possibly post-menopausal, and probably cursed by God. But the real incongruity comes from our knowledge of how this story will play out. The love and rejoicing which abounds in this meeting is under the shivering shadow of the fate we know the baby boys of these mothers will suffer. John will be beheaded. Jesus will be crucified. Both mothers will lose their children to violence.

Last week we heard again the news of yet another school shooting, this time a girl, no older than our Virgin Mother might’ve been, took the lives of two people and wounded six others in a Christian school in Madison, Wisconsin before taking her own life. I have to wonder about the mothers and fathers of those who were killed and injured—as well as the parents of the shooter herself. Again, we see the juxtaposition of a season of joy, family, and togetherness with devastating tragedy. Where is the “peace on earth and good will” we’ve been promised?

I try to take comfort from our gospel lesson. These two mothers are rejoicing because, even in a violent and oppressive world, God is still active. God has come to a woman thought cursed and to a powerless peasant girl and told them they matter. They will be part of healing this sinful, confused, and insane planet.

The prophet Micah predicted this in our First Lesson (Micah 5:2-5a). Out of tiny, insignificant Bethlehem would come the ruler who would restore Israel and be the bringer of peace. Micah would make an excellent Lutheran because his book of prophecy follows a pattern of Law and Gospel, the schema Luther used for preaching God’s Word. First, the Law of God brings us to contrition, and then the Gospel of Christ reminds us we are still loved and valued and capable of changing and knowing the fullness of the joy God desires for us.

If it’s been a while since you’ve read the prophet Micah, let me remind you of his back story. This prophet comes on the scene around 700 BC, just s the Assyrians are threatening both the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah. They gobble up Israel but are just barely defeated before they can capture Jerusalem. Micah excoriates the leadership of both kingdoms for their neglect of the poor, their corruption, and their rapacious greed which he sees as bringing about God’s wrath. But, after each passage of condemnation, the prophet reminds God’s people of God’s infinite mercy. A Savior will come from the little town of Bethlehem.

I take a small amount of comfort in knowing the crucified Messiah is still alive and well in the little town of Bethlehem in the occupied West Bank of Palestine. The website of the Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church proclaims hope in the midst of conflict:

There are about 45,000 Palestinian Christians today who live in the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, and Gaza, making about 1.5% of the population. The Palestinian Christian community continues to decline in numbers, mainly due to the political challenges and the reality of the Occupation. Today, Bethlehem is almost entirely besieged by the Separation Wall and the Israeli settlements, which affect all aspects of life.

Despite the challenges, we are steadfast in the land, building our hope on the Risen Christ. We pray to continue the Lutheran heritage in this land by serving our neighbors and community, through our different Lutheran ministries. At Christmas Lutheran, our vision is “to continue Christ’s ministry of preaching, teaching, and healing in His birth place.”[i]

Our faith teaches us to hope—to believe God is still active even when our lives and our worlds seem hopeless. If there is any possibility for peace between Israel and Palestine it will not come from terrorist organizations like Hamas or Hezbollah. It will not come from Netanyahu and the Israeli government. It certainly won’t come from Donald Trump or his equally unqualified son-in-law.

But it can come from Jesus Christ. Only Jesus teaches us love of enemies, forgiveness, and inclusivity. I like to believe that Pastor Muther Isaac and his congregation at Christmas Lutheran of Bethlehem, by mentoring youth, providing for the poor, and making Christ known, are inching that volatile region just a little bit further from violence and hatred every day, and, perhaps, saving some other mother the grief of losing her child. Out of little Bethlehem a light is shining to illuminate a darkened world.

As we celebrate this season of Our Lord’s coming, we’d be remiss if we didn’t consider those who are grieving, addicted, depressed, or living under the terrors of war, gun violence, and political oppression. Let’s embrace hope, and pray for the coming of the Kingdom when there truly will be peace on earth and goodwill among all people.

PS – I urge you to read Pastor Isaac’s open letter. “Christ Under the Rubble.” All Americans should try to learn and understand the point of view of our brothers and sisters in Palestine. You can read the article here: https://christmaslutheran.org/?page_id=141

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[i] Learn more about this Lutheran ministry by clicking here: https://christmaslutheran.org/?page_id=222 

Just Do the Right Thing (Reflections on Advent 3, Year C 2024)

 

“So, with many other exhortations, (John) proclaimed the good news to the people.” (Luke 3:18)

If the above verse isn’t the punchline of a joke, I don’t know what is! Good news..? In the Gospel appointed for Advent 3, Year C (Luke 3:7-18) John the Baptist just told the people they were a bunch of snakes and warned them if they didn’t get religion in an almighty quick hurry, they were going to be destroyed with unquenchable fire. Is it just me, or does anyone else have a hard time accepting that pronouncement as “good news?”

I guess there’s a certain amount of good news in being warned that there’s going to be some wrath to come. If you can’t flee from it, maybe you can do something to make it a little less wrathful. The children of Abraham knew God had set them apart and blessed them so they could be a blessing to the world. I’m thinking the folks out at the Jordan listening to John preach were just a little too smug being blessed without having to bother blessing anyone else. It’s pretty easy to slither into complacency, don’t you think?

Earlier last week I was listening to NPR and heard a chat with a sociologist named Musa al-Gharbi[i]. This rather impressive fellow was being interviewed to promote his book, We Have Never Been Woke: The Cultural Contradictions of a New Elite. Mr. al-Gharbi maintains that lots of well-meaning people get blessed—that is, make names for themselves—by denouncing the injustices which have afflicted racial minorities, women, the LGBTQ+ community, etc. Yet they have done practically nothing to alleviate the conditions they decry. Al-Gharbi recounted seeing a vast host of “woke” protesters on New York City’s Broadway holding up “Black Lives Matter” signs following the murder of George Floyd in 2020. People drove past this protest parade and honked their horns in support as the protesters dutifully cheered them. What struck al-Gharbi, however, was noticing how the protesters, in their righteous zeal, ignored the community of obviously homeless individuals on the very same street.

The crowds asked John the Baptist, “What, then, should we do?” Mr. al Gharbi suggested that the BLM protesters—most of whom seemed to be affluent members of the Columbia University community—might’ve advanced the cause of social justice less by waving signs and more by purchasing a meal or a pair of shoes for one of the unhoused of Broadway. Doesn’t that sound logical?

The good news might be that doing the right thing, that which is the fruit of repentance and the joy of the Lord, isn’t really that hard. What does John ask of the people but that they care for the less fortunate? If you have two coats, give one to someone who doesn’t have one. Share your food. See that the needs of your brothers and sisters are met. You’ve been blessed, so bless others.

The cool thing about John’s preaching is he doesn’t tell the tax collectors, “Quit your job and stop working for the Roman scum, you traitors!” He knows these guys are just trying to earn a living like everybody else. He doesn’t judge or condemn. He just tells them to do what they do with honesty and integrity and trust that God will provide for them. Similarly, John doesn’t call down opprobrium on the police for their brutality. He offers them the simple exhortation: do your job and don’t abuse your authority.

Is this the good news, that we already know what God asks of us? And that it isn’t all that hard to bear fruits worthy of repentance?

Christ in our hearts answers the question of what we should be doing. Did you know that 40% of all US charitable organizations are religiously affiliated? 45% of churchgoers volunteer their time in their communities, compared with 27% of non-religious folks. 65% of religiously observant folks gave to charity last year, compared to 41% of non-religious. Christians give generously to secular causes as well as to religiously affiliated charities, and the majority of refugee and migrant resettlement is done by Christian charitable organizations[ii]. Faith in Christ makes a difference, a material difference, in this world.

I rejoice to know the little congregation I pastor here in Northeast Philadelphia helps secure food for 3,500 families in this neighborhood. We give Christmas gifts to orphans. We provide fellowship space for senior citizens and a place where the addicted can come for healing. I rejoice to know we are bearing such fruits. This is good news.

The American church is changing. Congregations are closing, but I see this as the chaff being burned away. The old 1950’s notion of church being about our individual salvation is being replaced by a leaner, more socially active church which keeps asking, “What then should we do?” Yes, times change, and so will the church. We may not escape “the wrath to come,” but we don’t have to succumb to it. What then should we, as Christians, do?

St. Paul told us what to do in the epistle lesson assigned for Advent 3, Year C:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

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[i] You can listen to this interview by clicking here: https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510053/on-point

[ii] You can check out the stats by reading this article: https://www.philanthropyroundtable.org/magazine/less-god-less-giving/

Remember the Wilderness? (Reflections on Advent 2, Year C 2024)

 

The Baptist by Titian (Ital. 1540)

“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight…” (Luke 3: 4b)

 Location, location, location.

Martin Luther King told us about his Dream in front of a gigantic statue of Abraham Lincoln—an obvious symbol for the liberation of African Americans. Ronald Reagan called for the liberation of Eastern Europe while standing at the Brandenburg Gate. Barack Obama announced his candidacy for president from the steps of the Illinois State House, the place where his life in government began. President Biden spoke about democracy from Philadelphia’s Independence Hall. Locations have symbolic resonance, and sometimes the place where an announcement is made is just as important as the announcement itself.

Every year on Advent 2 our Revised Common Lectionary gospel pulls out into the wilderness to hear that funky, skin-wearing, bug-eating prophet, John the Baptist. I think John gave some thought to his location. He wasn’t about to stand in the temple of Jerusalem amidst all the noise and hullabaloo of that metropolitan local, and he certainly wasn’t going to preach from some dinky synagogue in some dinky town. Not old John. He’s calling people out to the River Jordan in a wild, uncultivated, and uninhabited place. Why? Because the wilderness (in Greek eremo, which means an abandoned or desolate place) reminds folks of where they came from. John’s calling them out of their place of business or anxiety or apathy and asking them to remember their heritage and the source of their faith and identity.

And John’s not subtle about this. The gospel says he’s the voice of one crying out in the wilderness. He’s not lecturing or discussing this stuff. He’s yelling it out at the top of his lungs. He’s using his passion to afflict the comfortable and startle the stupefied because these folks need a wake-up call. He’s telling them to look at themselves so they can be ready for what God is about to do.

So out they come to the Jordan. Out into a landscape that’s dry and full of bugs and critters where they can remember their ancestors. They can think about that sorry bunch of ex-slaves whom Moses led around a similar environment for forty years. They can recall the stories of hunger and thirst, hardship and battles with the folks who didn’t take kindly to a roving horde of displaced people. They can remember stories about poison snakes and God’s mercy. And they can remember that it was in that location that God gave them the Law and made them who they were—a strong nation, children of Abraham, who would be blessed to be a blessing to the world. Yes, under years of persecution and occupation they might’ve forgotten that promise. But God didn’t.

Maybe you’ve been in a wilderness of your own. Do you remember the time when everything in your life seemed crazy or uncertain? When you didn’t have enough cash or you felt you’d been deserted?

Just before Christmas 1987 two important things happened in my life. I was teaching part-time at a small community college, and I’d finally saved enough cash to move out of my parents’ home (My dad said he’d give each of his kids only four years to complete a bachelor’s degree and then he’d street us. When I returned from graduate school he had changed his mind. He did the same for my two sisters). I paid my security deposit on a nice apartment (nicer than the ones I’d lived in as a grad student, at least) and bought a whole house full of furniture on my credit card. A week later I was informed the college was cutting two thirds of my teaching load—which meant two thirds of my salary was going along with the cut. I had a nice new home and new furnishings and no way to pay for them. Bummer. There would be no Christmas tree in my flat that Christmas.

What to do? Sell everything and move back in with Mom and Dad? Or, just maybe, my choice was to grow up, get another job, and support myself like an adult. I did the latter. I took a desk job with an investor relations firm. It was boring work, and it involved an almost hour-long commute in stop-start LA traffic each way. My 1984 Ford Escort frequently overheated on the 91 freeway. The job didn’t pay much, but it kept the rent paid and the credit card bills semi-current—even though I was constantly charging for car repairs. There was no money for entertainment. I didn’t like it, but it really was the best choice. I struggled through much of 1988, but, by year’s end, I found a new calling as a secondary special ed teacher in the Los Angeles School District. That experience, seeing kids dealing with real poverty issues, led me to consider ordained ministry.

I think back on that unsettled “wilderness” time not to pat myself on the back or recall how crappy it is to take a job just because you need the money, but to remember just how good and faithful God has been to me. Sometimes God has to call us out of our hurried or anxious lives—especially at this time of year when we can so easily be preoccupied with holiday planning—and take us back to the wilderness of our lives to remind and refocus us on God’s steadfast love.

A detail I always liked about this gospel lesson was Luke’s very conscientious naming of all the potentates in verses 1 and 2. I’m certain Luke did this just to set the story in its historic context, but I think it speaks about our time, too. Pontius Pilate and Herod and Caiaphas may figure into the story later, but here Luke uses them only to put John the Baptist on the calendar. Those curious or anxious or confused folks who made their way out to the wilderness by the Jordan to hear the prophet weren’t going to hear a stump speech about how their country should be run. They couldn’t do anything about that anyway. John was calling them to address something they could change—themselves. He called them to this lonely place, away from their distractions, to confess their sins and be forgiven. That way they could make the paths of their lives straight for Jesus to enter in.

It's not a bad idea to look backward at this time of the year. I don’t mean to glorify Christmas Past like Scrooge or to get melancholy for things which aren’t as they used to be. But maybe we can get back in touch with why this time is so special and, at the risk of sounding trite, remember what it is we’re really celebrating—God’s presence among us. Remember your wilderness and the goodness of the Lord.

Happy Advent, my friend! May this season draw you closer to God and to those you love.

No Grasshoppers Here! (Reflections on the Day of Thanksgiving 2024)

 

Yes. We're still here!

 Do not fear, O soil;  be glad and rejoice,  for the Lord has done great things! (Joel 2:21)

Don’t you just hate it when stuff like this happens? Our First Lesson for the American Day of Thanksgiving is a reading from the Hebrew prophet Joel (Joel 2:21-27), and the backstory on this is a total bummer. Now, you may not know a whole lot about Joel. He’s considered a “minor prophet.” That’s not because he’s not an important guy or because he’d get carded if he wanted to buy a sixpack. The term just means that his book of prophetic writing is a lot shorter than the books ascribed to Isaiah and Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Those guys (or their disciples who came after them) did a lot more prophesying and wrote much longer books so they get to be called “major prophets.”

But I digress.

Being a minor prophet doesn’t mean Joel doesn’t have something important to tell us. He comes on the scene around 400 – 350 BCE (or so we think), just as the exiles of Judah (or, more likely, their kids and grandkids) have returned from captivity in the now-defeated Babylon. The Jews are trying to get their act together, rebuild their capital city and its temple, and try to start over again as a vassal nation of the Persian Empire. This must’ve been a real rough patch for them. Here they are back in the Promised Land and there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of promise. Everything is in ruins, but they plow ahead anyway and, just as it seems like they’re becoming a nation again, they suffer a massive setback. Joel chapter 1 and some of chapter 2 describe a very inconvenient and vastly unpleasant interruption to their attempt at revival—a devastating plague of locusts.

I’ve never seen an actual plague of locusts myself, mind you, but I’ve seen that great old movie The Good Earth. It was made back in 1937, but the special effects aren’t too shabby. There’s a scene depicting a massive infestation of these insatiably hungry insects—millions of them in a swarm so thick they black out the sky before descending to munch on the grain harvest of helpless Chinese peasants[i]. The camera gives a close-up of the bugs crawling on the ears of grain and on the bodies of the peasants as they try to fight them off and pray that the wind will change before the bugs can devour their entire food supply. It’s pretty exciting and pretty gross at the same time if you’re not into looking at millions of grasshoppers.

The prophet Joel describes just such an infestation which has devoured everything—grain, grapes, and the olives needed for oil. An attempt to fire the fields to scare off the invading bugs has failed. Joel describes the grasshoppers as a relentless army that passes through the smoke, scales the walls of the city, and is crawling into peoples’ homes. Yuck! And like any good ancient Jew, he maintains this catastrophe is a punishment from God. He doesn’t say exactly why, but he warns the people they better pull their heads out, repent, and turn back to the Lord.[ii]

But Joel’s not all doom and gloom. Our assigned reading for Thanksgiving is actually pretty uplifting. Yes, things were rather crappy when the grasshoppers ate everything, but anything is endurable if you know it’s not going to be forever. God is good and merciful. The crops will grow again, the rain will come again, and maybe there won’t be any bugs this year. A little gratitude to God would be in order.

I feel a little like those ancient post-exilic Jews, don’t you? It’s a crazy time in the history of the world. Church attendance has fallen and attitudes about religion are shifting. We’re just barely back from the Great Exile that was COVID-19 and we’re trying to put a congregation back together again with limited resources.

At least we don’t have to deal with a swarm of locusts.

It may look at times like everything is going against us, but God is still our God. God’s still gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. Normally I don’t do a year-in-review until it’s time to write the Annual Report, but I think practicing gratitude calls for a brief recap right now.

In May of last year, we predicted a deficit which would, we thought, deplete our savings by Easter of this year. Easter has come and gone, and we’re still here. In fact, it’s conceivable we might be around for yet another year.

We have received new, active members this year. Some of our teens have picked up the mantle and have become the third generation of Faith’s Christian Ed Department by organizing VBS, reviving our annual Christmas play, and doing a great job—along with some older adults—with the Kids’ Time on Sunday mornings. We are regrowing our decimated Sunday School program from seed. We also confirmed three youngsters at Pentecost and have three more in our current Confirmation program.

Our AC system has been repaired and we’ve repaid all the money we spent to fix it. We are debt free.

We’re coming together as a family through fellowship meals like we did on Maundy Thursday, Welcome Sunday, and recently our “Football Sunday.”

We have gifted deacons and assisting ministers who can hold down the fort when Pastor is away.

We’re still growing veggies in our garden and providing carloads of food for the food bank. Through nickel and dime monthly donations we’ve given away over $1,600 for various charities—not counting our monthly gift to the Synod and our sponsorship of a Honduran school boy.

But like Joel, I’d say some repentance is in order. The difference is, our change of heart and mind won’t be engulfed in contrition as the old prophet demanded. Our repentance will be more in line with the words of Jesus in our Thanksgiving Gospel (Matthew 6: 25-33). This is a time to take a breath and refocus. Let’s, just for this moment, take our minds off what we don’t have and be grateful for what has been given to us. Let’s see our God as a God of abundance and not one of scarcity. Let’s appreciate our God who never stops being good even when we fail to recognize that goodness.

I’m always moved by the story of this national day of giving thanks to God. As kids we heard the story of grateful British Puritans feasting with generous (if somewhat naïve about what was coming) Indigenous Americans. We might forget those Puritans lost half of their company to hunger and disease the previous year. They were just glad to be alive. When Abe Lincoln declared the November tradition to be a national holiday, our country was right in the middle of the Civil War. Lincoln knew times were bad, but he was grateful they weren’t any worse. When FDR set the second to last Thursday in November as the official date for Thanksgiving, America was just creeping on hands and knees out of the Great Depression while holding our breath as we watched war break out in Europe. Thanksgiving has never been about denying hard times or challenges. It’s about gratefully acknowledging our capacity to meet them. For we serve a good and loving God who is good all the time.

So, let’s celebrate. Let’s replace worry with gratitude and pessimism with faith. Let’s seek after the goodness of God and believe all these things—that is, all the things we really do need—will be added unto us. Hallelujah!

May God’s peace be with you and may you and your family enjoy a loving and peaceful day of thanks.

  

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[i] Okay. Disclaimer. The Good Earth is still a pretty good flick, but it’s not exactly woke by today’s standards. It follows the story of its Chinese protagonists as respectfully as a film based on a novel by a white American author can, but the actors who play the lead roles are white Europeans made up to look Asian. Good actors but still, not cool.

[ii] We use some of this material from Joel in the Lectionary for Ash Wednesday.

Jesus Lost the Popular Vote (Reflections on the Feast of Christ the King, 2024)

 

“Pilate asked him, ‘What is truth?’” (John 18:38)

Leave it to the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary to give us the whole set-up and leave off the punchline. In the gospel appointed for the Feast of Christ the King in Year B (John 18:33-37) Jesus tells Pilate he’s come to bear witness to the truth, and I can just imagine the look on the procurator’s face. Can’t you see this cynical politician listening to this silly, pathetic Jewish rabbi whom, he’s told, is claiming to be a king? Pilate must’ve been shaking his head in mild irritation and asking himself, “What are these Jews wasting my time with now? Look at this dirty peasant standing here! This guy couldn’t rule over a room full of toddlers let alone rule this nation of relentlessly rebellious, superstitious barbarians. What’s all this jazz about a kingdom not of this world? The kingdom of this world is the only one that counts. And he claims he’s come to tell the truth? This crazy fool doesn’t know what truth is.”

If you’re Pontius Pilate, truth is whatever the Emperor Tiberius says it is. That’s how you get along. If the emperor says the Jews are better off under Roman occupation, then that’s the truth. Rome builds roads and aqueducts and provides soldiers for protection. That’s the truth. Anyone who disagrees and wants self-determination is a criminal and will have a date with a cross. That’s the truth. If the emperor says he’s divine and should be worshiped as a god, that’s the truth.

King, emperor, sultan, calif, whatever. There’s only one way royal power works—by declaring how things are going to be and demanding that everyone goes along with that declaration. Power demands obedience. Strangely, we humans always seem to be attracted to that idea.

Just to throw the troublesome Jews a little bone, Pilate gave them a gift at the Passover. They could pick one condemned criminal to be set free, and he gave them the choice between Barabbas, a bandit and insurrectionist, and Jesus. But the folks who sang “Hosanna!” the previous Sunday cheered louder on Friday for the man who wanted to take control by violent overthrow than for the one who came preaching love of enemies and forgiveness. Jesus lost the popular vote.

This wasn’t the only time the Jews voted against their own interest. 1 Samuel chapter 8 tells the tale of how the leaders of Israel, not satisfied with a priestly tradition of leadership, demanded the prophet Samuel anoint a king for them so they could be like other nations.[i] Samuel told them they were rejecting the true kingship of God for false human values. God allowed him to give the people what they wanted but instructed Samuel to warn them they would one day regret giving so much power to an individual. “And on that day,” the prophet said, “you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the Lord will not answer you on that day.”

We get what we ask for, and we pay the consequences.

There are myriad examples throughout history, from ancient Rome to our present day, of people being enamored of earthly power and praying for some super mortal to come along and lead them to glory and dominion. That’s what Jesus’ disciples wanted from him right up to the moment he was nailed to the cross. But glory, power, and dominion as the world sees them are false gods.

The Feast of Christ the King was instituted by Christians after the horror of the First World War, after the world had seen what devastation came from the ambitions of kings, kaisers, and czars. The Church, after such a terrible time of anguish, must’ve yearned painfully for the truth found in the sacrificial love of Jesus Christ—the love which is the only power to change this sinful and deluded world.

Unfortunately, there are still those—especially here in the United Sates—who misunderstand that power. They’d love to turn America into a “Christian nation,” but they forget Christ’s kingdom is not the political or social structures of this world. Christ the King does not mean that Christians rule. It means that we are to be ruled. We are to submit ourselves lovingly to the service of one another. It means we are to practice kindness and be true neighbors. We are to listen to one another. We are to refrain from judgment because judgment belongs to God alone. We are to proclaim a non-judgmental compassion for those in need, and we are to assist the needy whenever and however we can.

You almost have to feel sorry for old Pontius Pilate. He put his faith in earthly power and, for the sake of maintaining it, he was willing to overlook the truth that the man who stood accused before him was guilty of nothing but loving, healing, teaching, accepting, and forgiving people. For the sake of imperial control, he condemned a man he knew to be innocent. Where is the truth in that?

We are living in a time when we have some serious disagreements about what is true and what is right. Our only response is to be honest with ourselves and keep asking: what would our King have us do?

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[i] See 1 Samuel 8:1-18

Don't Be Led Astray (Reflections on Pentecost 26, Year B 2024)

 

The Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem. It stands today where the Second Temple once stood.

13 As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” 2 Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” 3 When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, 4 “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” 5 Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. 6 Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’and they will lead many astray. 7 When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8 For nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs. (Mark 13:1-8)

My stepdaughter never bores me. She is always doing or finding interesting things. A few years back she was studying Hinduism and decided to take her mother and me on a little field trip to visit the Hindu mandir in Robinsville, New Jersey. I must confess I was every bit a-gawk at this magnificent temple as Jesus’ disciples must’ve been when they saw Herod’s temple in Jerusalem. Just about every inch of this house of worship is covered with exquisite carved artwork. If you tried to take it all in at one time your brain would go on “TILT.” I don’t think I’d ever seen anything quite so fabulous. It’s the only mandir made of marble outside of India. When one enters (after piously removing one’s shoes) there is an introductory video in which a lovely young woman dressed in a brilliant sari explains the walls of Italian marble are protected from the New Jersey winter by outer walls of cinder block. This, she tells you, is beautifully symbolic as the true temple lies within.

The Jerusalem temple must’ve really impressed those Galilean fishermen. I’ll bet they’d never seen anything quite like that before. I’m sure they were far less impressed by Jesus’ alarming prophecy that this architectural wonder would, in the not-so-distant future, be reduced to a pile of rocks. It was natural for these boys to be anxious about this and ask their rabbi for a little clarification so they could prepare themselves. Wouldn’t you?

Of course, our man, St. Mark the Evangelist, is writing after the temple has been destroyed so he might’ve been telling this tale in hindsight by putting words in Jesus’ mouth. I like to think that this prognostication is a direct quote from Jesus. It is, after all, quoted by the other two synoptic gospel writers, and the smart guys of the Jesus Seminar seem to think it’s something Jesus probably really said.[i]

I wonder if Jesus foresaw the destruction of the temple because a) he’s the only begotten Son of God and just knows how the future will shake out, or b) he looks at the world and society around him and takes a firm grasp on the obvious. Either explanation will do, but I’ll bet that Jesus is trying to teach these boys a lesson about being awake and observant. Jesus didn’t have to be the Son of God to know what was about to go down. The Roman Empire was oppressive and severe. The Jews were angry, frustrated, humiliated, and outraged. A bunch of knuckleheads would certainly vent their anger in a full throttle violent insurrection against a vastly superior power. You didn’t need a crystal ball to know this wasn’t going to end well. Jesus could see what was about to happen, so he cautioned his friends not to be led astray.

But we so easily let ourselves be led astray, don’t we? It’s so easy to give way to anger or despair and forget to seek the way of Christ. As you read this post, my friend, a situation similar to the Jewish revolt which resulted in the destruction of Jerusalem and her gorgeous temple is going on in Gaza.

I hope you won’t mind my taking this digression, but the whole matter has been on my heart since the barbaric and depraved attack on Israel of October 7 of last year. It seems to parallel the Jewish war of AD 66-70 which brought about so much death and destruction—only this time it’s the children of Israel who have all the military might. It numbs my brain to even try to imagine what the Hamas terrorists thought they could gain by their bloodthirsty assault on innocent Israeli civilians. They had no more chance of achieving liberation than the ancient Jews had against the Romans, and the result of their action is the same devastation the Jews experienced centuries ago.

This situation creates the worst kind of ethical dilemma. It forces us to ask which sin is greater: to let innocent people go on suffering unjustly or to allow the guilty to get away unpunished? Either choice invites catastrophe. If the guilty get away with an act of terror, they will only commit more acts of terror, and others will be emboldened to violent acts as well. If, on the other hand, ruthless punishment is visited upon the offenders, it’s very possible innocent people will suffer along with the guilty and breed resentment, hatred, and a new generation of violent terrorists bent on revenge.

The Hebrew scriptures taught that there must be justice, but that justice must be fair and proportionate:

Anyone who kills a human being shall be put to death. Anyone who kills an animal shall make restitution for it, life for life.  Anyone who maims another shall suffer the same injury in return: fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth; the injury inflicted is the injury to be suffered.[ii]

A life for a life. But the situation in Gaza is now forty lives for a life. As passive watchers of this nightmare, we can only pray that it will end soon, that the leaders of our world will respond with compassion and wisdom, and that we will have the compassion to sacrifice some of our own resources to care for those who have suffered[iii]. We must not be led astray from the way of Christ.

There are, no doubt, some Christians who will see the events in Israel and Gaza as part of a countdown to the end of the world. Don’t be fooled. Jesus has already told us these things will always be happening. In our most dire moments God’s will for us is still life. It is easy to give way to fear and anger, and easier still to give way to despair and apathy.  Yes, the temple was destroyed and very few stones were left on stones. But what happened afterwards was the flourishing of new kinds of faith which didn’t depend on geography or architecture. Christians and Jews discovered, like the Hindus who built the marble mandir in New Jersey, that the real temple—the real dwelling place of God—is within us.

We can’t be led astray. We must believe that every ending is a beginning. If every church in America were to close tomorrow, Christ would still live within the hearts of the faithful. Polling statistics and punditry to the contrary, I don’t believe the American church is dying. It is being resurrected in a new form. I just hope I live long enough to see it.

As we look around at this crazy world let’s not look for signs of the end. Jesus didn’t come to snatch us out of our troubles. Jesus came to walk with us and be within us through all our conflicts, doubts, fears, and earthquakes. Jesus wants us to know that on the other side of terrifying change there is hope and possibility. So, let’s not be led astray. Let’s continue to practice kindness.

Hunter, one of my eighth-grade Confirmation students, recently said the most remarkable thing about waiting for the end times: “We should make the world such a great place that when Jesus comes back, he’ll be happy to be here.”

I couldn’t agree more. Thanks for spending this time with me.

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[i] My reference is Funk, Robert and Hoover, Roy: The Five Gospels, the Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1993) pgs. 108-109.

[ii] Leviticus 24:17-20

[iii] You can make a donation to help those suffering in Gaza by clicking https://community.elca.org/middle-east-crisis

Giving the Right Way (Reflections on Pentecost 25, Year B 2024)

 

He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” (Mark 12:41-44)

My folks were pretty conservative. They didn’t believe in government giveaways, and they thought everyone should just pull their own weight and “yank themselves up by their bootstraps” as the saying goes. They’d lived through the Great Depression, so they weren’t in the mood to hear excuses from folks who couldn’t make their own way into the great American middle class. That is, until my dad lost his job through no fault of his own and our little clan ended up on public assistance.

I have to give my Old Man credit. As embarrassed as he was by using food stamps, he never lost his sense of humor and never lost the faith that some way, somehow, God was going to come through for the Griffiths family and we’d be alright.

And God did. None of us ever got rich by the standards of American capitalism, but we didn’t starve either. We got our daily bread— which is more than a lot of people on this planet get.

Essential faith—a real belief in core values—is what I think about when I read these passages the Revised Common Lectionary has given us for Pentecost 25 (1 Kings 17:8-16 and Mark 12:38-44). Both stories star ladies who aren’t exactly making the Forbes 400 Richest People list. In the First Lesson we have the widow of Zarephath who is just trying to get by as a single mom with a young son when a weird prophet from the other side of the border comes and asks her for a handout.

If it’s been a while since you’ve read 1 Kings, let me give you some back story: The prophet Elijah is on the lamb from his home country (sort of a political refugee, if you will) because he’s been in conflict with the current administration. God is punishing Israel’s King Ahab for his apostacy and wickedness by shutting up the windows of heaven which is causing a draught which leads to a famine which leads to a region-wide economic catastrophe. God provides a little relief for Elijah by letting him hang out by a small stream where he is fed by some charitable ravens who, I guess, drop food on him when they come to the stream for a drink. Unfortunately, the draught goes on, the stream dries up, the birds stop coming, and even the man of God has to go hungry. Yup. The Bible lets us know that sometimes bad things will happen to good, righteous people.

So what’s a prophet of the Lord to do? Elijah skips across the border to the region of Sidon—a land not historically friendly to Israelites—and asks this struggling mother for some assistance. The widow lady doesn’t have two nickels to rub together, and, if you ask me, she should be the last person Elijah should be mooching off of. Nevertheless, even though she is understandably resistant, the widow opens her kitchen to the hungry foreigner. I wonder if she wasn’t obeying an ancient custom of hospitality practiced by folks in the Middle East. There was a custom, still observed by many in the region to this day, that any stranger is to be welcomed and given whatever hospitality can be afforded[i]. I think the widow of Zarephath placed greater honor in doing the right thing by this stranger than she placed on protecting her meager store of provisions. That’s a sign of faith. If she’s going to starve, at least she’ll starve having done an act of mercy.

You have to wonder what was going through the head of the widow lady in the gospel story who dumps all of her pocket change into the temple treasury. What were her values? Did she care more about her relationship with the God to whom everything belongs than she cared about her own wellbeing, or, living as she did in constantly strained circumstances, had she simply learned to trust in God’s goodness?

Jesus contrasts this lady with the scribes who are making some pretty sizeable donations to the temple’s bank account. These guys aren’t living by faith. Instead, they’re making a transaction. They’re saying, “Here’s a ton of money in exchange for social prominence.” Maybe one of them is hoping the priests will add a new wing to the temple and name it after him.

There are good reasons to part with your resources and not-so-good reasons. The scribes were using their temple gifts essentially as bribes. They were showing off and hoping to get prestige, maybe envy, just a tiny bit more power, and some choice seating reservations as a result of parting with cash they could well do without. That’s a pretty unworthy use of the treasure God provides. Of course, I wouldn’t want to ask a poor person to give up her grocery money on the chance that God might bless her more for doing so. Making a sacrifice in the hopes of gain isn’t an offering. It’s a bet—like dropping a quarter in a slot machine. That’s tempting God, and it’s more superstition than faith.

On the other hand, real generosity is a two-fold exercise in faith. First, you’ve got to believe your gift makes a difference. For the widow of Zarephath, she was feeding a hungry man. That’s an act of righteousness in anyone’s book. I like to think the widow with the two little copper coins donated them because she believed in supporting a place of worship where all people, rich or poor, could be told of the mighty acts of God’s love for them. She had to believe what she did was in the furtherance of something greater than herself.

But it’s not enough just to trust your gift will do some good. You also have to trust it won’t do you any harm. The widow who fed Elijah didn’t starve. Neither did her son. I dearly hope the widow who gave the temple treasury all she had was blessed by having her needs met, too. Maybe she had experienced God’s mercy in the past and knew she could trust it in the future.

I’ll have to admit I sometimes question God’s goodness. If you’d asked me in May of 2023 if we’d still be having church this Sunday at Faith Lutheran of Northeast Philly, I wouldn’t have given you good odds based on our financial projections. But God has come through for us. We’ve received new members, and the jar of meal and jug of oil have not yet run out. God has provided resources both financial and spiritual. If ever a time should come when this little congregation must eat its last meal or donate its last coins, I trust we’ll do so faithfully, lovingly, and joyfully.

Keep the faith, my friend, and come back and visit me again.

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[i] For a full discussion of this tradition, check out this link: https://www.thetorah.com/article/abraham-and-lots-bedouin-style-hospitality.