Tuesday, September 19, 2017

"It's Not Fair!" (reflections on Pentecost 16, Year A)

The Workers Being Paid (Rembrandt, 1637)
Have you ever wondered why everyone else seems to catch a break and you never do? That seems to be the complaint of the agricultural workers in the parable Jesus tells in the gospel assigned for Pentecost 16 in the RCL (Matthew 20:1-16). I mean, these guys who’ve been working all day in the hot sun are pretty pissed at their boss. If they weren’t day laborers, I’m sure they’d take it up with the steward of the vineyard workers local. They’ve busted their humps all day, gotten no overtime, and the part-timers who came on at the end of the shift got extra perks for only working a few hours! What the freak is up with that??!!

If the anger these guys feel about being mistreated isn’t enough, the Hebrew Scripture lesson (Jonah 3:10-4:11) is also jam-packed with vitriol and indignation. Just put yourself in Jonah’s place—here the guy’s been righteous and God-fearing all of his life (Well, except for his little act of disobedience in Chapter 1, but he repented his butt off in Chapter 2 so I’m sure he feels he’s made up for it), and these godless feminine hygiene products (metaphorically speaking) of Nineveh get forgiven for all the crime they’ve committed just by repenting one stinkin’ day. Jonah had to spend three days in a fish’s belly before God cut him some slack. Imagine how this guy must be fuming! And to top it all off, not only does God relent and not destroy Jonah’s enemies, but he kills the plant that Jonah was using for shade. How unfair can you get..?

Why do the undeserving prosper when the rest of us get screwed? Why does God let that happen? Ever ask yourself that?

Or have you ever stopped to consider what a powerful, sinful, and poisonous thing is our sense of wounded entitlement? We keep saying, “I’m doing my best, but the other guy keeps getting ahead. It’s not fair!” But that attitude has been the bane of the human race since we climbed out of the slime. Sometimes I think the Old Testament story of Cain and Able might’ve been a more appropriate companion piece for the parable in Matthew’s gospel. Why? Because envy and self-righteousness not only pollute our lives but can lead to violence and destruction.

The big issue in the news here in the US lately has been the question of immigration policy. What do we do about those who’ve come into this country illegally? Are they entitled to the same social safety nets and benefits as law-abiding American citizens? I’m sure there are many who are asking why we pay for healthcare for illegals when good American citizens whose families have been here for generations, are struggling. We keep saying, “But we did everything right and played by the rules. Why do they get special treatment?”

But let’s watch our attitudes. Once upon a time there was a great nation. Many states united to form one country with a single language. It grew prosperous and militarily strong. It was victorious in war and economically powerful. Then it got involved in a long, protracted war it couldn’t win. The economy went south, and the people became discontented until a charismatic man arose and told the people that they had been cheated of their rights. Their government had betrayed them, he said, and a bunch of undeserving folks who weren’t real citizens were responsible for their predicament. If they voted for him, he told the people, he would make their country great again. Many people thought he was full of crap, but many didn’t. In March of 1933, Adolf Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany and the world suffered in consequence.

But the parable Jesus tells is not about leaders. Indeed, it’s not a ruler who corrupts a country—it’s the sin of covetousness, envy, and ingratitude which is in the hearts of the people which is just waiting to be exploited.

I don’t think I suffer when my brother prospers. But we all suffer if our brothers suffer and we remain arrogantly indifferent to that suffering.

God has not wronged me when others prosper or when they receive an act of mercy. Indeed, God has paid me the agreed upon wage. “Give us this day our daily bread.” The key to joyful living has got to be letting go of comparisons and false ideas of justice and fairness, while at the same time cultivating a sense of gratitude for what God has already done. The rottenest day you’re ever going to have in your life will be full of more blessings than you can count. On the day you drive home from work banging the steering wheel in frustration over the mindless jerks you have to work with, you may just want to remember that you still have a steering wheel to bang, a home to go to, and a job where you meet those idiots. God has not wronged you. Rather, he’s blessed you every single day.

Be joyful, my friends, in the love and mercy of God. Thanks for hanging out with me.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

"Perfect" Joe (Reflections on Pentecost 15, Year A)

Joseph presents his brothers to Pharaoh.
Watercolor by James Tissot (1900)

“Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good…” (Genesis 50:20)

I’ve always been slightly irritated by the Joseph story in Genesis. I mean, this kid is just so freakin’ virtuous I almost hate him. For real. Is anyone that good of a person?

Joseph’s only flaw is that he’s his daddy’s pet and he acts pretty cocky because of it. He loves to tell his big brothers about his prophetic dreams in which his older siblings will end up kowtowing to him. This get the boys pretty pissed off, so they decide to throw him into a hole, sell him to Arab traders as a slave, and tell their old man that he’s been eaten by a wild animal—not exactly a sign of brotherly love.

But Joseph always manages to come out on top. Personally, if I were sold into slavery, I don’t know that I’d be so optimistic about it. But Joe turns out to be an A+ slave for the Egyptian general, Potiphar, and gets promoted to head of the household. This would be great for him, except Potiphar’s horny scuz of a wife gets a thing for him, and when he won’t play footsie with her she accuses him of attempted rape and has him thrown in prison. Once again, the kid turns out to be a model prisoner, and soon becomes a trustee. When he uses his prophetic ability to give good news to the Pharaoh’s butler, that ungrateful slob forgets to help him out, and Joseph languishes in the joint for another two years. But Joseph still manages to keep his chin up. He’s so perfect it’s almost sickening.

Finally, Joseph gets a chance to use his prophetic gift of dream interpretation to help out the Pharaoh (the ungrateful butler finally comes through for him), and gets released from prison, made Prime Minister of Egypt, and is given a company car and a bunch of other executive perks. Then, as only this kid’s luck would have it, his rotten brothers come down to Egypt in search of food during a famine. Joseph has the perfect opportunity to get revenge on them for what they did to him, but, instead, he forgives them. The family gets reunited, and all of the children of Israel come to Egypt and get saved from starvation.

You’ll have to admit—betrayal, slavery, and prison are not particularly great experiences for cultivating a forgiving spirt, but Joseph seems to have a faith that somehow God is going to turn all of this around. What strikes me about this story today is the fact that Joseph is not powerless in the situation. He has the ability to screw his brothers as bad or worse than they screwed him. His forgiveness comes out of strength and is the more genuine because he has the option not to grant it.

But where would it get him if he didn’t grant it? Where does it get any of us? In the gospel lesson appointed for Pentecost 15 Year A (Matthew 18:21-35) Jesus teaches about the torture of an unforgiving spirit. Matthew, as I pointed out in a recent post (Sept. 17, 2017), lived in a time when the church was under great persecution and unity was essential. There was no place in the Christian life for resentment of any kind.

I generally like most people. Given the life I lead, that’s a pretty good thing. But I remember back in my grad school days in the early ‘80’s at the University of Wisconsin I had a run-in with my department chairman. I was on a teaching assistantship, teaching undergraduate courses while I studied for my Masters of Fine Arts degree. The department chair and I didn’t exactly hit it off initially. I made matters worse when I decided to give a reprieve to the cornerback of the Wisconsin Badger football team who was failing my class and would be dropped from the team and the university if I gave him the “F” he deserved. I felt sorry for the guy and, being the complete wuss that I am, elected to give him a second chance. The boss was furious over what he considered to be my pusillanimous act of mercy. He called me into his office and chewed my ass to hamburger in front of my supervisor. He later embarrassed me by bringing the matter up in front of my peers during a lecture. I hated his guts for that—and deeply despised his liver, spleen, and pancreas too!

But I needed a role in a show for my master’s thesis project, and the chairman needed a student actor to play the lead in his German expressionist project. We both agreed to put our mutual dislike and distrust on hold for the sake of the production. Looking back, I realize that the cautiousness with which we treated each other allowed us to step back, see where the other was coming from, and gain a new appreciation of each other apart from our past disagreement. I don’t think we ever got to the point where we wanted to hug each other, but we did end the show on much better terms.

(The production, by the way, got great newspaper reviews, pulled in pretty good-sized audiences, and even got written up in a national theatrical journal. It is permanently archived on video at the UW. Best of all, it helped me to grow up and get over myself!)

Resentment doesn’t get anyone anywhere. In today’s polarized America, we need compassion, empathy, and forgiveness more than ever. As Christians, we can’t repay hate with more hate. The example of a crucified Jesus calls us to criticize in love, praise and appreciate when praise and appreciation are due, and to see our own sinfulness mirrored in those we dislike. As Joseph did, we’re also called to look to what God can do with our wounded feelings. Every case of alienation is a possibility for greater reconciliation with both our “enemies” and our own souls.

Hey. We can’t control how others behave or how we are perceived by them. We can, however, control how we respond.

God bless. Thanks for checking me out this week.

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Family in the Time of Cyborgs (Reflections on Pentecost 14, Year A)

Unknown engraver - Humani Victus Instrumenta - Ars Coquinaria - WGA23954.jpg

“For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matthew 18:20)

As a rule, funerals are pretty solemn affairs. I know. I do a ton of them. I’m something of the Barry Bonds of neighborhood funerals. But the one I did this past week was actually kind of fun—if a funeral could ever be called fun. It was for a sixty-seven year-old guy named Jody who played the bass in an oldies cover band. He gigged up and down the East Coast and all around the Philly area and managed to achieve his lifetime goal of never having to work a 9 to 5 job. Granted, sixty-seven is still pretty young measured by today’s yardstick of life expectancy, but Jody got to live his life playing music, hanging with his band-mates, and generally having a pretty good time.

What struck me about this service was the vibe from the folks who came to see Jody off. Even though they loved him and would certainly miss the guy, they had this really funky energy. It was like they were at a big family reunion, and everyone was tickled to giggles about being together. That’s something I’ve always noticed about the whacky gaggle of actors, musicians, dancers and performers of various types who’ve crossed my path back in the day—there’s this great comradery between folks who’ve spent their time working together on something creative or inspiring. They become like a family. As I watched the crowd at Jody’ funeral, I thought to myself, “Damn. I wish Sunday morning church always felt like this!”

There are lots of different ways to be a family. You don’t have to swim in the same gene pool.  The gospel reading appointed in the RCL for Pentecost 14 (Matthew18:15-20) is all about how we are a family in Christ. It’s generally believed that Matthew’s gospel was written in the last quarter of the First Century, C.E. Christianity had spread all across the Mediterranean world, but the Roman Empire was taking a pretty dim view of it. There had already been one official persecution of Christians, and being part of the faith family had lots of drawbacks and dangers. That’s why Matthew emphasizes the need for togetherness and forgiveness. The family had to know how to stick together or the faith would be lost.

Verses 15 through 17 are about discipline within the clan. In fact, this formula for handling family spats is actually part of the Model Constitution for ELCA congregations. When someone screws up, you’re supposed to go to them privately so as not to embarrass them. If that doesn’t work, take a few friends so you have witnesses of what was said. If that doesn’t work, then you can involve the rest of the community. Nevertheless, the goal, as stated in verse 15b is to regain your brother or sister. Chastising someone for pissing you off—no matter how much you think they deserve it—is not as important in our faith as bringing them back into a loving and respectful relationship

BTW: The word the New Revised Standard Version Bible translates as “member of the church” in v. 15a is, in Greek “adelphos” (adelfos), which literally means “brother.” (The NRSV translators just didn’t want to use gender-biased language. I think that’s pretty nice of them, don’t you? I mean, given the times we live in, a little inclusivity is certainly appropriate—especially in the church!) Fellow believers are considered to be blood relatives or siblings. Maybe “brother or sister” would better serve our understanding here.

In verse 17b, Jesus tells us to treat someone who unrepentantly disrupts the fellowship as “a Gentile and a tax collector.” But think of this: Just how did Jesus regard Gentiles and tax collectors? Even though they were outcasts, he always tried to bring them back into his posse. We in the church might—as a very last resort—have to turn our backs on someone who is just causing too much trouble; nevertheless, we never lock the door on them. I’m beginning to think that Jesus’ comment about “binding and loosing” in verse 18 is more of a warning than it is a commission to let dumbass people like us decide who is and who isn’t fit for the Kingdom of God. After all, we keep asking God to forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. I don’t know about you, but I’d hate to approach the throne of Grace having bound a grudge against someone to myself.

And speaking of “binding and loosing,” maybe the church has done just a little too much of this lately. An online Sojourners post quotes a survey from the Public Religion Research Institute which notes that Christian activism against things like gay marriage, decriminalization of marijuana, and abortion has been a pretty big turn-off to younger Americans. The church needs to be the place where we feel sheltered, included, and loved—not the place where we feel judged and ostracized.

I believe the hunger we have for belonging is growing greater every day. Our culture is starving itself for want of family connection. We live in suburban gated communities, drive around isolated in our cars, and have grafted ourselves to our cellular devices to the point that we’ve become cyborgs. Even in places like your local Starbucks, the sort of communal living room, no one talks to anyone. We’ve all got our eyes fixed on our touch screens. Facebook may keep us informed about each other (and perpetually competitive, too, but that’s another subject!), but it doesn’t allow us to have real, human interaction. We need to be together, eat together, sing together, pray together, and love together.

If we want to see the face of Christ, we have to come and see him in each other. We have to want to be a family.

Thanks for being my siblings. I love you guys.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Not Even St. Peter Gets It Right (Reflections on Pentecost 13, Year A)

“For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?” (Matthew 16:26)

Poor Peter.

In last week’s gospel reading from the RCL (Matthew 16:13-20) he was certainly the Man. He was the hero who got the revelation from God about who Jesus is—“the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” (v. 16). Jesus lavished some pretty cool praise on him for getting that one on the nose, but in this week’s gospel lesson (Matt. 16:21-28) Jesus is chewing Peter’s butt for misinterpreting his own revelation. Peter just doesn’t get this whole suffering servant thing. I can’t say that I blame him. It’s not an obvious concept to most people these days either.

Back up in verse 20 Jesus orders the disciples not to tell anyone that he’s the Messiah. Why he’s keeping it a secret is any Bible reader’s guess, but I’m thinking the most obvious reason is this: folks just don’t get it.

All of the pious Jews who have such high hopes for Jesus as the Son of David are ready to put on their red “Make Israel Great Again” baseball caps and kick out those corrupt, tax-and-spend Romans and restore the glory of the long-passed Davidic Kingdom. You know—the good ol’ days when everyone felt pretty peachy about their nation. Then they can enjoy their freedoms and proudly lord it over the Canaanites and the Samaritans. To them, the Kingdom of God means power, victory over their enemies, and pride in their exclusive identity. To Jesus, however, it means love through sacrifice and humble trust in God’s righteousness, love, and goodness.

If you go into any old-fashioned Christian church—not one of these mega churches with the movie screens and the sixty piece praise bands, but an old-fashioned Protestant or Catholic church—you won’t see the image of a victorious general on horseback or a picture of the guy who just hit the Powerball. Pride, victory, wealth, and acclamation are not places where we find God. You’ll see instead the image of a man dying on a cross, because the true love and fullness of God only comes to us when we have put aside all of our human vanities and desires.

Now, as someone not living in an occupied nation, I don’t see that there’s anything particularly wrong with freedom or pride of identity. These things become particularly valuable when they’ve been taken away from you. But before they can bring you joy, you’re first going to have to find yourself in helpless dependence on the love of and mercy of God. Peter and the others might’ve been willing to die so that their people would triumph, yet what good is victory without love?

What does “triumph” mean to you? Recognition? More money? A more prominent job or place in society? The gratitude of your kids or their success? A Phillies World Series Pennant (Good luck with that last one!)? If you don’t know the peace of God without those things, you won’t know God’s peace should you ever achieve what you think you desire.

I’ll say one thing for dear Simon Peter in this gospel story—he sure does love Jesus and he wants to protect him (v. 23). Later, he’ll even promise to stand by Jesus until death (Matt. 26:35, although we know he didn’t make good on that promise!). I’m not so sure, however, that Jesus really needs our protection or our defense. Lots of folks get their boxers wedged up their cracks these days because of the increasing secularization of our society. They’re pretty miffed because saying “Merry Christmas” may not be politically correct, or because there isn’t prayer in public school, or because we can’t send Bibles to our troops serving in Muslim countries. Personally, I don’t see any of this as a threat to Jesus. Jesus endured being stripped naked, publically beaten to a pulp, and nailed to a cross. He was openly ridiculed as he hung there to die.

And yet he rose and lives in our hearts through the Holy Spirit.

Jesus doesn’t need us to protect or defend him. Jesus wants us to listen, love, serve, and obey him. He wants us to give up our cultural vanity so we can be free to experience the joy of his love for us, and find that love by serving others.

God bless you, my friends. Thanks again for reading.

P.S. I don’t think there’s a lot of partisan politics or denominational wrangling going on in Houston, Texas right now. There are literally hundreds of thousands of people left homeless by Tropical Storm Harvey, and things that might’ve seemed really important a week ago don’t seem to matter today. Today we look to Jesus on the cross giving himself away for people he has never physically met, and asking us to do a little giving of our own. Here’s how:

The Gulf Coast Synod Disaster Fund will be used for helping congregations and their people get back on their feet so they can serve their neighborhoods.
·         Give online at https://gulfcoastsynod.org/about/donate/. Click the donate button and give to “Hurricane Harvey.”
·         Mail your donation to: Gulf Coast Synod Disaster Fund / 12941 North Freeway, Suite 210 / Houston, Texas 77060 (Memo: Hurricane Harvey)

Lutheran Disaster Response is a highly reputable ELCA organization that supports case management primarily, through local providers like Lutheran Social Services. They give by need and not by creed. Learn more about giving to LDR at http://www.elca.org/Our-Work/Relief-and-Development/Lutheran-Disaster-Response/

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Who Is Jesus? (Reflections on Pentecost 12, Year A)

“He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’” (Matthew 16:15)

“The church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ, her Lord…” I really dig that old hymn (ELW 654). About twenty years ago, when I was vicar of Grace Lutheran Church in Yorktown Heights, New York, I was assigned to take the high school youth group to one of those youth gatherings with funky preachers and rock ‘n’ roll praise music. One of the bands did a “thrash rock” version of “The Church’s One Foundation” which had hundreds of teens bouncing like pogo sticks, arms at their sides, skulls flopping like they were on bobble-head springs, and hair flying everywhere in a frenzy of adolescent joy—and all while singing the principal doctrine of the church!

I mean, how cool is that? Isn’t it a crazy joyful thing to have Jesus as the foundation of your life?

The gospel lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary for Pentecost Twelve (Matthew 16:13-20) is that famous story we’ve called “The Good Confession.” That’s when Simon Peter answers Jesus’ question, “But who do you say that I am?” by saying, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus’ is pretty tickled that ol’ Pete got this one right, and he tells him that he’s a rock, and on this rock he’ll build his church.

But, truth be told, Peter isn’t much of a rock, is he? He’s impulsive and vacillating and doubtful and downright cowardly at times—just like the rest of us. Okay, so he is said to have been martyred in Rome when he led the church there. All subsequent bishops of Rome, according to our bros in the Roman Catholic Church, are believed to be successors to Peter. Does this make the cornerstone of the Christian faith the incumbent Pope? To an extent, even dear old Martin Luther would see some value in this. After all, the Church must have order, and a centralized authority can be a useful tool of the Holy Spirit. The downside, however, is that it negates the question “But who do you say that I am?”

How come..?

Glad you asked. Because however valuable ecclesiastical authority might be, it isn’t worth a thimbleful of warm spit if the individual believer doesn’t have a deep, personal answer to the question of Jesus’ identity. Who do YOU say Jesus is? What does he mean to you? How is he—or IS he?—the foundation of your life? Never mind what the Church says or what you learned in Sunday School. Who is Jesus to you?

If I try to answer that question for myself—and not as a clergyman but just as Owen, an average white dude closing in on sixty—I can tell you I love Jesus because I believe he is the resurrected God who knows and reminds me that all of my struggles will one day end in victory in the arms of the Living Father. But I love him more because he is the crucified man, and there is no insecurity I have, no pain I will encounter, and no loss I will face which he hasn’t faced already.

(Quick illustrative anecdote: The breeder from whom my wife and I got our new Shih Tzu puppy told us a story about a friend’s three-year old daughter. Three-year-olds are not known for their theological sophistication, but this little girl told her mommy one morning, “Mommy! I had a bad dream last night, but I didn’t call out ‘cause I remembered Jesus is always with me. So I went back to sleep.” Out of the mouths of babes!)

But if I get pressed to answer the question, “But who do you say that I am?” I may have to reply, “You are that person who really pisses me off. You are that dirty, creepy guy with the cardboard sign who is panhandling by the side of the road. You are that shriveled-up black lady in a recumbent wheelchair from the group home who gives a long and incoherent eulogy when I’m trying to conduct the funeral of one of her fellow residents. You are my whining and complaining parishioner who talks endlessly about her ailments. You are even that politician who I can’t freaking stand the sight of on my TV news at night.”

You are, dear Jesus, the one who tells me that I must see you in those whom I consider least. You are the one who keeps pointing out the worst in me in order to bring me to my best. You are the one whom I must see in others, and the one whom I must be for others.

Thanks for stopping by, my friends. I appreciate that you took he time.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

A Mild Rant About Confederate Statues and Other Stuff

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20:2)

Alverta, our church treasurer, has taken it upon herself to replace the warn-out garden flag which adorned the entrance to our narthex. “I hope this flag is okay with you, Pastor,” she said. “If you don’t like it I’ll take it down.” The little banner fluttering about waist high in the flower bed to the right of Faith’s front door simply reads “Welcome.” There’s nothing controversial in that, but Alverta was concerned that the greeting appeared below a five-pointed star set on a background of red and white stripes and a field of blue with white stars—basically the stars and stripes of our American national flag. She was a little worried that I would not want to mix a patriotic symbol with a house of Christian worship.

She has a good point. I’ve always been uncomfortable with the American flag having a place of prominence in the chancel of Christian churches as, however much we love our flag and country, these symbols are not images for worship on a par with the cross of Jesus Christ. Ironically, although it was Martin Luther who first insisted on the separation of powers between church and state, it was American Lutherans who might be responsible for putting American flags in church chancels. German-speaking Lutherans planted the “Stars and Stripes” in their sacred spaces in an attempt to prove their allegiance during the days of America’s involvement in World War One.

I told Alverta that her “Welcome” flag was cool with me. After all, we still have Old Glory in the chancel, and I’m certain there’d be a huge dust-up if I ever suggested removing it. Nevertheless, this got me to thinking about the symbols we use—especially in light of the recent unpleasantness in Charlottesville, Virginia. I was told last night by a neighbor whose daughter lives in the Charlottesville area that a dark haze has descended over the town since the August 12 demonstration by white supremacists carrying Confederate battle flags and swastika banners. These so-called “Alt Right” marchers were protesting the removal of a statue of the Confederate general Robert E. Lee from the town square. Because our symbols matter, there has been much activism recently to remove Confederate war memorials from public places in the US. I’d have to say it’s about time we did so. Why?

I was always taught in school that, although Lee fought for the Confederacy, he was an excellent and gifted soldier, a compassionate leader of men, and an overall fine gentleman who had the respect of his comrades and enemies alike. Unfortunately, much the same could be said of the Nazi general Erwin Rommel—and no one is rushing to put up a statue to him. Both of these soldiers made choices, and their choices were to fight for regimes which existed solely to dehumanize human beings. No gallantry on their part disguises the fact that they put loyalty to their homeland above the Law of God. A statue to Lee or any other Confederate general or statesman is a symbol which says, in essence, “It’s okay to brutalize others as long as you do it for your country.”

Now, as you all know, I’m a big history buff and I believe that the truth should be told about figures of historic significance. Let’s be fair: no one is 100% good or evil, and all of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Nevertheless, there have to be cases were heroic symbolism is denied and reverence and veneration are forfeited. For example:

The trustees of Penn State University elected to remove the statue of the lionized football coach, Joe Paterno. Paterno’s inaction when he knew crimes were being committed against children can only amount to a depraved indifference. The trustees were right to remove his image from the campus.

A pastor in my former synod was discovered to have had an affair with his female vicar back in the 1970’s. Although the affair did not come to light for decades (and you would think the statute of limitations would have run out), the synodical bishop still called for the removal of this pastor from the clergy roster. Why? Because his relationship with the vicar, consentual or not, was an abuse of the pastor’s power and a violation of the trust placed in him by his congregation.

Baseball great Pete Rose has been denied a place in Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame. His illegal betting corrupted the game. A plaque in his honor at Cooperstown would be a symbol declaring illegal activity is forgivable if your batting average is high enough. Similarly, I think there can be no place of honor for a wife-beating O.J. Simpson, a steroid-juicing Lance Armstrong, or a dog-fighting Michael Vick. None of these men are beyond rehabilitation and no one is beyond the mercy of Jesus; however, there must be some penalty given, if only as a deterrent to others whose egos or misguided loyalties lead them to make gods out of something other than God.

Luther would tell us that protection of the weak and punishment of the unrighteous is the first use of God’s Law. I’m certainly all for forgiveness, and no one has a right to judge the soul of another. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel that some actions—although forgiven—should not be excused. Our symbols are important, and we all need to decide where we, as a society, are going to draw the line.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Defiling Words and Annoying Faith (Reflections on Pentecost 11, Year A)

Juan de Flandes, Spanish 16th Century

“…it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” (Matthew 15:11b)

This past week I enjoyed one of the singular delights of the summer season—I had my annual reunion with my buddy and seminary classmate, Pastor Jack. Each year Jack and I meet on Long Beach Island at the Jersey Shore to stuff our faces at the Dockside Diner and indulge in a colloquy on our respective ministries, the state of Lutheranism in America, and life in general. I have to say that my friend is one of the wittiest and most erudite individuals I’ve ever met, and quite possibly the living embodiment of Martin Luther. When we get together, the verbiage always flies in a rhapsody of picturesque expressions which, as pastors, we don’t often get the chance to use around our pious parishioners.

Unfortunately, some of our expressiveness might have been a bit too picturesque for the gentle ears of beach-going youngsters seated close to us at the diner. By mutual consent, we attempted to keep our voices low and not detonate “F bombs” or pronounce epithets which might corrupt the young. After all, as Jesus warns us in the gospel lesson for Pentecost 11, Year A in the RCL (Matthew 15:10-28), what comes out of the mouth defiles.

Which brings me to this point: There was an awful lot of defilement being spewed out of the mouths of so-called “Alt Right” marchers last Saturday in Charlottesville, Virginia. Another friend of mine suggested that, perhaps, the proper response to a demonstration of white nationalists puking hate in the public square would be to ignore them completely, not cover them in the media, and deny them the opportunity to challenge with words or fists any opposition to their sinful and disgusting rantings.
But what comes out of the mouth can defile.

The counter-protestors in Charlottesville and those who have taken to the streets since understand that such defilement cannot be allowed to go unchallenged. It is not enough to ignore the ranting of Satan. We must counter with the words of Jesus. What we say and what we allow to be said matters, and what comes out of our mouths has power to corrupt and degrade or to uplift and liberate. We cannot ignore the words of hate, and we cannot neglect the words of God’s grace.

The main part of our gospel lesson concerns a Canaanite woman who comes begging Jesus for help. She really needs it because her daughter is demonically possessed (Don’t you hate it when that happens..?) and she’s somehow got wind of the idea that Jesus can help her out. Unfortunately, she’s a foreigner. She’s not of the right nationality or religion to rate public assistance from a Hebrew rabbi. Her cries initially go unnoticed. Faithful disciples of Jesus just want her to go away and stop annoying them (v.23). Even Jesus himself tells her she doesn’t signify.

But this lady isn’t going away. Why? Because her need isn’t going away, and she’s not about to be ignored any longer. Her life and the life of her child matter.

Pastor Jack shared with me an issue he’s having with his congregation in New York. The previous pastor was extremely reluctant to allow the local community use of space in the church building. Although 12-step groups had requested to meet at the church, the pastor feared that such meetings would bring in “the wrong element.” I guess this pastor didn’t want to give what belonged to the children to the dogs. Even good Lutherans can be as blind as the Pharisees at times.

(BTW: Jack is very proud to report that his congregation seems much more willing to embrace the outsider than was their previous shepherd!)

Jesus praises the faith of the Canaanite woman. I wonder if he’s impressed by the fact she really believes if she tries long enough and loud enough and just keeps on trying—annoying as she is to the mainstream—she’ll eventually get the mercy she needs. If there’s enough love and mercy for animals, surely there’s enough for suffering human beings.

I see a whole bunch of take-aways in this story. First, Jesus once again goes counter to the culture and crosses the divide that separates “us” from “them.” In Jesus, there is only “us.” Every life matters, and it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak, or of the “haves” to care for the “have nots.”

Secondly, there’s the matter of the faithful persistence of the Canaanite mom. She’s reminding us to believe in the just outcome, and to keep on keeping on—in our prayer life, in our social activism, in our forgiveness, in our relationships, and in the work God has called us to do. Ask and it shall be given. And if it isn’t, keep on asking until it is.

Keep the faith, my dears. Thanks for reading.