Those Who Made it Through (Reflections on All Saints Sunday, 2023)

 

“These are they who have come through the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” (Revelation 7:14) 

As books of the Bible go, Revelation is a pretty weird piece of literature. It really makes you wonder what John of Patmos (whoever he was) was smoking when he wrote down some of the bazzako images we find in this text. I’ll be honest: I can’t even pretend to understand half of the things he wrote. Neither can anyone else—even though there’s been a huge cottage industry that’s grown up around trying to decode Revelation and prognosticate about the cataclysmic end of the world. So, just for the record, even if some TV evangelist nincompoop starts saying the horror we’re watching play out in Israel and Gaza right now is a harbinger of the End Times and Great Ordeal predicted in Revelation, don’t start selling your belongings and heading for some peak in the Poconos while you wait to be raptured. The jury’s still out on the end of the world. So chill.

Having said this, I think we can make an educated guess about those of whom John was referring when he wrote about making it through the Great Ordeal and washing robes in the blood of the Lamb (As referenced in our First Lesson for All Saints’ Sunday, Revelation 7:9-17). I’m pretty sure John was talking about those who had, by his time near the end of the First Century of the Common Era, been martyred for their faith in Jesus Christ. Indeed, if you look at a Roman Catholic hagiology, you’re not going to find a whole bunch of folks designated as saints who didn’t face some kind of ghastly end. It’s our tendency to canonize those who’ve walked through the worst crap storms but did so full of faith, hope, and love.

After my dad passed away I discovered in his personal papers an old and yellowed document declaring he had been awarded the Bronze Star for his service in World War II. He had never asked to receive the medal. My late father-in-law, who had parachuted into the Battle of the Bulge, also never asked to receive his Bronze Star. I found out from an old WWII vet that many of the soldiers who were to be awarded that decoration refused it, believing their very survival had disqualified them from being venerable.

And yet, in or gospel lesson appointed for All Saints (Matthew 5:1-12), we hear Jesus nominate the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, and the persecuted as being blessed by God. The Great Ordeal we saints pass through may not always be life-threatening moments of catastrophe. We don’t need to compare ourselves to those who have faced off against mortal dangers or soul-crushing evil. The Great Ordeal might simply be being human—living on this planet and knowing loss, illness, grief, dissatisfaction, disillusion, or disappointment. We don’t all face the Great Ordeal—just little ordeals every single day.

The culture of our world teaches us to praise and venerate the Taylor Swifts and Travis Kelces, the Jeff Bezos’ and the Elon Musks, the Abe Lincolns, FDRs, and Martin Luther Kings. We look to the talented, the wealthy, the brilliant and accomplished and courageous and think we ourselves are in no way exceptional.

Yet we are to Jesus. He died for us.

So we look back on the last year and give thanks to God for the little saints. These are the saints who weren’t fed to lions, burned at the stake, or given medals for valor. Their passing didn’t rate a mention on CNN. There are no hospitals or college buildings named in their honor. But they meant something to Jesus—and they meant something to us.

Blessed are the poor in spirit. Judy Kiesewetter may have been poor in spirit when she was diagnosed with cancer. Towards the end of her days she could barely lift a cup of water to her lips to moisten her dry mouth. All the same, she made a heroic effort to make those of us who visited her feel comfortable, never complaining about her pain. She was gracious and appreciative and ladylike to the end.

Blessed are those who mourn. Pat Stout was faithful and loyal to her congregation. She thought of us as her family. Pat never learned to drive an automobile so, after the death of her husband, Bob, she was a virtual shut-in. Still, she faithfully kept in touch with her Faith family, remembered her offering, and prayed daily for the health of her church. She also had a plate of cookies ready when her pastor came to visit. I’d ask her how she was doing, and her reply was always, “Well, Pastor, I’m one day closer to being with Bob.” 

Blessed are the meek and the pure in heart. No one was more selfless, obliging, or deferential than Marion Dallago. She was simply one of the sweetest, least self-conscious people any of us will ever know. Nevertheless, that same sweetness and graciousness carried with it a subtle but powerful moral authority. Whenever you were around Marion, you wanted to be a better person for her sake.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. I don’t know if Pat Martinez, Jr. hungered and thirsted for righteousness, but he sure liked things to be right. Part of his legend at Faith Lutheran was a stand he took long before I came on the scene when he said he’d rather see the church close than be without mission. He could be stubborn, but he was honest and sincere in his beliefs, and he called us out on our cowardice whenever we became more frightened of spending money than we were zealous in doing mission.

Blessed are the merciful. I didn’t know at the time I did Lillian Juliff’s memorial how tirelessly she worked for Caring for Friends. Serving others was a mission with her, and she’d get the other mature ladies in her senior living apartment complex to donate food items which she’d cook into “heat-and-eat” meals for elderly homebound. After her husband Neil died at the Delaware Valley Veterans’ Home, she gave back to that organization by becoming a regular volunteer, serving the residents in the canteen on Tuesdays. The source of mercy is compassion, and Lillian had plenty of it.

Our five family members whom we lost this past year lived good, decent, and full lives. I wish, however, to draw attention to a name on our list of the departed whose life was cut short. Billy McWilliams was described as being a good-hearted sixteen-year-old. He liked to ride his bike and skateboard and help out in his family sign business on the weekends. He planned to work for the company full-time when he graduated from high school. Unfortunately, he was killed while riding his bicycle near Woodhaven and Byberry Roads this past year by a hit-and-run driver in a stolen car. I didn’t know Billy, but I know his buddy, Justin Cartledge, and I know that Billy’s death left a hole in the hearts of all of those who loved him. Every life, even the most obscure stranger we pass on the street, is precious to someone, and all are precious to God. Far be it for me to critique our Lord’s sermon, but if I could add to the Beatitudes I would add the phrase, “Blessed are the innocent victims, for they will be remembered.” Today our world is full of such victims. As saints made holy by the blood of Christ, may we continue to pray for them and do what we can to create a world of greater peace and charity.

A canonized Saint, Mother Teresa, is often quoted as saying, “Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.”

May Judy, Patricia, Marion, Pat 2, Lillian, Billy and all the saints rest in peace. May the peace of God which passes all our understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Amen.

A New Reformation (Reflections on Reformation Sunday 2023)

 

No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord: for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.” (Jeremiah 31:34)

I was walking in my local mall last weekend and I suddenly fell victim to one of those curious fits of melancholia which even afflict elderly clergymen. I looked at all of the empty stores—stores I remember as not-so-long-ago being thriving commercial enterprises. What was happening to this suburban bazaar? Why don’t these places stay in business? And, for that matter, where are the crowds of people who used to shop here on a Sunday afternoon? The meandering senior citizens? The screaming toddlers? The roving hordes of obnoxious teenagers? Could it be, I wondered, that this communal marketplace had fallen victim to the age of cyberspace? Does everybody shop online now?

I’m not much into dystopian sci-fi, but I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was already living in a dark and grim futuristic age where nothing is like I remembered it in the good ol’ days. Perhaps we’ve entered the Zombie Apocalypse where we all just wander around staring glassy-eyed at our cell phones. Our kids, who have been brought up on the instant gratification of the touch screen, now have the attention spans of brain-damaged gnats. We’ve been warned that the high-tech tools of communication we now can’t ween ourselves from haven’t brought us closer together. Instead, they make us feel more lonely and isolated. And it seems the only place that’s emptying out faster than the mall is the church.

If you dwell on this stuff long enough it’s going to seem pretty dismal. I’ll bet that’s the way Martin Luther must’ve felt in his day, too. He made a pilgrimage to Rome and discovered the Eternal City was choking with corruption. There was an incestuous relationship between religion and politics. Greed and indifference were rampant, and nobody seemed to know what was in the Bible. He must’ve felt like the whole world was going to hell on a fast horse.

But Brother Martin wasn’t about to roll over and play dead in the face of the world’s dysfunction. He had a vision to reform the church and, by extension, the whole society. You see, he had a working understanding of God’s grace.

The gospel lesson assigned for Reformation Sunday (John 8:31-36) comes right after Jesus has done a radical act of grace—he’s forgiven a woman caught in adultery. Stepping out on your old man was an offense that got a lady killed back in Jesus’ day, and this gal wasn’t just accused. No, Sir. They caught her in the act.[i] But Jesus reminds those who observed this of the truth: everyone sins and everyone can be forgiven. Jesus reforms the rule of vengeance with the rule of grace by showing mercy and granting the woman opportunity to amend her life. That is, after all, what God truly desires—reformation.

Our Revised Common Lectionary glues this gospel tale to the preaching of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah (Jeremiah 31:31-34). Jeremiah and Luther, had they lived in the same place and century, might’ve been best buddies. They both had some funky ways of expressing themselves. Jeremiah liked to use weird object lessons while Luther preferred outright trash talk, but both were willing to get in the faces of religious and political leaders who just didn’t seem to get the point. In Jeremiah 31 the prophet is reminding the doomed Judeans that, even though they’ve screwed up big time, their gracious and merciful God will still be willing to forgive them, heal them, and reform them into a people worthy of God’s blessings. The day can come, should they be willing, when they won’t need to be people of the Law. God’s love will live in their hearts.

Every Reformation Sunday I try to imagine what Martin Luther might try to tell us today in our 21^st Century American context. What would he be nailing to the doors of our churches—churches which are going down like the Titanic? What would Jeremiah preach to the ELCA? What prophetic word of reformation do we need to hear and preach to our cloistered, polarized, and cyber-numbed world?

I won’t claim to be a prophet, but I’ll offer my own theses for a modern reformation:

First, let’s get rid of our 20^th Century church buildings. We no longer need the expensive upkeep of dull, uninspiring worship spaces which were intended to seat 400 people but are now mostly empty. They are obsolete. Very few of our congregations need space for a 30-voice choir, and organ music worship is becoming a thing of the past. Sell the buildings.

Second, since so many of our church buildings have become community centers, let’s build actual community centers—centers which house 12-step programs, day care facilities, food cupboards, etc. Let’s repurpose abandoned strip malls or storefronts and bring services to the community.

Third, let’s focus our gospel proclamation on the healing of neighborhoods, the world, the earth, and lives rather than on individual salvation. It does us no good to be “in the garden with Jesus” when the rest of the world is suffering. We need to find the radical Savior who came to change the hearts of people in the here and now. People who may distrust organizations still wish to be united with a worthwhile cause.

Fourth, why don’t we put small chapels in our community centers? Bigger isn’t necessarily better. Our New Reformation churches will concentrate on both serving communities and creating communities. Smaller, more intimate congregations can be places where the cell phones are silenced, people are known, welcomed, and accepted, and Christians can speak face-to-face with their worshiping family. The Church must be a place that serves as an antidote to the estrangement our cyber society has created.

Fifth, a New Reformation needs new Christians. Let’s encourage our national church to concentrate on campus ministries and new mission starts. Let’s acknowledge that this isn’t our parents’ world, so we mustn’t try to recreate our parents’ church. To this end we’ll have to train a new generation of entrepreneurial mission developers.

Sixth, the New Reformation will explain old things. We’ll have to re-teach the meaning behind our liturgical traditions and our faith vocabulary and not simply assume everyone understands them. As always, we’ll have to find ways to get people to read the Bible, and we’ll have to teach it in a way that is non-threatening, understandable, and inspiring. Luther’s vernacular Bible changed the world and got people reading Scripture. We’ll have to figure out why people aren’t reading the Bible now.

Seventh—as much as I hate to think it—the day of the full-time professional pastor might be over. The New Reformation communities might have to rely on talented lay volunteers. Clergy may need to be bi-vocational so that the resources of the community can go to mission other than salaries.

My last thesis is simply a reminder of God’s amazing grace. Things may look dire, but God is always merciful and ready to restore us. Hordes of devils may fill the land—cynicism, secularism, cyber media, economic uncertainty, violence—but our God is a mighty God. What looks frightening is simply God getting ready to do a new thing.

We tremble not. Unmoved we stand. Thank you again for reading my post this week. Have a blessed Reformation Sunday.

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[i] Why they’re not ready to throw rocks at the guy she’s cheating with is one of those mysteries the Bible chooses not to explain.

Can God Use the Government? (Reflections on Pentecost 21, Year A 2023)

 

Isaiah's image of the "Destruction of Babylon: Dore (19th Cent.)

“I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create woe; I the Lord do all these things. (Isaiah 45:7)

“Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” (Matthew 22:21)

Can God use an ungodly person or government for a godly purpose? The author of Third Isaiah seemed to think so. In the First Lesson appointed for Pentecost 21 in the revised Common Lectionary (Isaiah 45:1-7) the writer refers to Cyrus II of Persia as the Lord’s “anointed.” This is the same title as the Messiah or the Christ. The weird thing here is that Cyrus wasn’t even Jewish. He was a foreign warrior and emperor known for opening huge cans of whoop-ass on less mighty empires and acquiring their real estate for himself and the good folks of Persia. In Isaiah 45 he’s just about to give a smack-down to the Babylonian empire. Our writer thinks this is pretty cool because the Babylonians have been holding Jewish folks hostage for about sixty years.[i] Third Isaiah (whoever he was) is convinced the Almighty, having decided the disobedient Chosen People have suffered enough (and knowing that most of the original exiles have died of old age by this time anyway!), has anointed Cyrus II to kick the snot out of Babylon and free the Jews so they can go back to their ancestral land, rebuild their temple, and try to do things right this time.

In the world of Third Isaiah, it’s obvious Persia’s invasion of Babylon and the defeat of the once-mighty Babylonians is all part of God’s wild and wacky plan for humanity. The writer tells us God “makes weal and creates woe,” so if anything goes down, it’s because God wants it to happen. Bad things happen because that’s just how God rolls.

Anybody have a problem with that?

I guess if you’re a Jew living in exile in Babylon and some foreign conqueror comes along, beats up your captors, and lets you go back to the land your parents kept going on about, you might be pretty jazzed and inclined to offer God a big prayer of thanks. But, if you happen to be a Babylonian civilian and these Persians invade your country in their big chariots and start killing your soldiers, running over your toddlers in the street, and proclaiming they’re the one in charge now, you might not think that was so groovy.

I find it’s a bad idea to try to psychoanalyze God. It’s pretty arrogant of us to think we can assign a divine motive to violence and catastrophe. I’m much more comfortable believing the leaders of Judah, sixty years before Cyrus came on the scene, neglected their responsibility to their people, let their country get weak, and were too arrogant about their military and their “exceptionalism” to listen to God’s prophets or withstand the ambitions of Babylon. God did not punish them. They brought it on themselves. I have a hard time swallowing the notion that God ever wants to see any of God’s children suffer, Our disobedience, however, will have natural consequences.

We’re really stepping into the quicksand whenever we start asking, “Why did God do this?” or “Why did God let this happen?” If we buy into Third Isaiah’s belief that God anointed a Persian conqueror to slaughter Babylonians so the Jews could return to their homeland, we might jump to the absurd conclusion that God anointed Hitler to slaughter six million Jews so displaced Holocaust victims could also return to the land promised to Abraham and his descendants. I think we’re better off not going there. Let’s just acknowledge that weal and woe exist together on this crazy planet. Sometimes things are going to get very ugly, but the people of God have a responsibility to seek God’s loving purpose in the midst of the nightmares.

I write these lines in the aftermath of the terrorist attack by Hamas on Israel. I think many Americans have a stereotypical view of events in the Near East—we see only good, democratic Jews (who are, a after all, the heroes of two-thirds of the Bible) and evil Muslim terrorists.

I have tried to be more sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. My thinking was enlarged by a seminary buddy of mine, now the Reverend Khader El-Yateem, a Palestinian who had been jailed, beaten, and finally released after two weeks in custody by the IDF without ever being told why he was arrested. Khader, like many Christian residents of the West Bank, is a Lutheran. Indeed, we have many fellow Christians living under occupation in Israel, often denied basic rights such as the right to vote or to become citizens. Israel’s record on human rights isn’t the greatest. Nevertheless, nothing can excuse the savage atrocities recently perpetrated by Hamas. It is certain the Israeli government will do what is necessary to protect its citizens, and more bloodshed will follow.

I can’t imagine any of this is the will of God.

I’m guessing the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary married the story of the Persian invasion and deliverance to Jesus’ admonition to “render unto Caesar”[ii] in our gospel lesson (Matthew 22:15-22) as a way of illustrating how God once used temporal powers to accomplish God’s purpose. Jesus isn’t telling us that all secular authority is evil or blasphemous or over-taxing or trying to take away our individual liberties. I think, rather, he’s trying to teach us to give to God what properly belongs to God—our hearts, souls, and minds. If we as a people can choose to be obedient to God’s Law and learn mercy and compassion and justice, then the governments we create and to which we pledge allegiance will be wholesome extensions of God’s purpose.

Sadly, such governments may find, as Israel finds now, that difficult decisions need to be made and unpleasant duties need to be performed in a sinful world. A much smarter fellow than I, Martin Luther, put it like this:

“Since a true Christian lives and labors on earth not for himself alone but for his neighbors, he does by the very nature of his spirit even what he himself has no need of but is needful and useful to his neighbor. Because the sword is most beneficial and necessary for the whole world in order to preserve peace, punish sin, and restrain the wicked, the Chrisitan submits most willingly to the rule of the sword, pays his taxes, honors those in authority, serves, helps, and does all he can to assist the governing authority, that it may continue to function and  be held in honor and fear. Although he has no need of these things for himself—to him they are not essential—nevertheless, he concerns himself about what is serviceable and of benefit to others.”[iii]

There were terrorist acts in Luther’s day, too[iv], and Luther believed the governing authorities acted as God’s instrument when they protected the citizenry and restrained the terrorists (however excessively 16^th century monarchs were inclined to do so!). But Luther also recognized that God’s work could be done when the same authorities created infrastructure for farmers, fed the poor, and educated the children. Governments could, indeed, be godly vessels—but only as godly as the people who comprise them.

This is a scary world, my friends. Let’s be intentional about rendering our hearts to God. Keep praying for an end to violence anywhere, keep alert to what’s going on, and try to be as responsible a citizen as you can.

Thanks for letting me share my thoughts with you this week.

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[i] From 587 BCE to 539 BCE if you’re into history. That’s according to Wikipedia (What else?)

[ii] That’s how verse 21 reads in the old King James version.

[iii] From Luther’s 1523 treatise “Temporal Authority: To What Extent It Should be Obeyed” quoted in Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings (Timothy Lull, editor. Augsburg Fortress Press, 1989)

[iv] Think of the German Peasant’s Revolt of 1524-5 which Luther both inspired and denounced.

Blessings in the Vineyard (Reflections on Pentecost 19, Year A 2023)

 

“What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done in it? When I expected it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild grapes?” (Isaiah 5:4)

The pictures on TV are freaky enough. I can’t even begin to imagine what actually living in some of the cities of Ukraine must be like now. Think about it: one minute you’re on the street going to the market, the next there’s a big BOOM and the neighborhood where you and your neighbors lived is nothing but a pile of smoking bricks and indistinguishable trash. You have to ask yourself where you’re going to sleep tonight, where are you going to get food, and where are your family members and friends—are they still alive?

Or, perhaps, you’re living in a small town in Oklahoma when the sirens go off and everyone heads for the basement. You hear the rhythmic sound of the ferocious wind screaming like the wheels of a freight train. You come out from the cellar and find what was once your house is just a pile of sticks.

These are images which come to my mind when I read the First Lesson appointed in the RCL for Pentecost 19, Year A (Isaiah 5:1-7). The prophet uses the image of the vineyard to foretell the destruction of Jerusalem. The people of Judah have abandoned the Law of God. They’ve neglected to produce the good fruits of justice and fairness and mercy, but have produced the wild grapes (which, in the Hebrew, might actually translate as “rotten” or “inedible” grapes) of indifference, greed, and cruelty. God, in justice, will not protect them from the consequences of their own shallow disobedience and allows their city and land to be overrun and destroyed by an enemy army. If we think of images of war zones or scenes of climate disasters in our own time we might get an idea of the overwhelming sense of loss those ancient Judeans experienced.

In the appointed gospel lesson (Matthew21:33-46) Jesus borrows from Isaiah’s image of the vineyard, but he doesn’t blame the grapes—just the people who tend them. Whenever I read this passage I always feel a certain need to apologize for it—or at least for the gloss Matthew’s gospel puts on it. Let’s not do the anti-Semitic thing and see the wicked vineyard tenants as the Jews and the new tenants as the virtuous Christians. We’d be much wiser to cast ourselves in the role of the tenants and recognize that a church which cares only about individual salvation and not about the needs of God’s children is doomed to wither away.

It might not be that apparent, but there’s actually some gospel in both of these readings. In the Isaiah text, the owner of the vineyard (let’s make that analogous of God) has really done a first-rate job in providing everything the vineyard needs. God does not give us a mission without providing the means of accomplishing it. We have been given stewardship of a beautiful planet, and every day God provides for our needs. Hunger does not exist because of overpopulation but because of under distribution. We may not always appreciate what God has done, but God is always doing it.

In Jesus’ parable, the vineyard owner is also a bounteous giver, but Jesus enlarges this illustration to show that the owner’s great patience and forbearance. No matter how evil the tenants are—and they’re pretty evil!—the owner is ready to give them another chance to repent. Anyone who has ever made repeated overtures to an obdurate child or disloyal or distant friend knows both the pain and the love the owner displays in this story. The prophet Joel sums up the inherent message in a passage which has become part of our Lenten liturgy:

“Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love.”[i]

It always amazes me how many chances God gives us to do the right thing. Our earth faces a huge challenge from the climate we humans have so disastrously effected, but God is still granting us time, creativity, and the resources to be better stewards of our vineyard if we have the faith and obedience to take advantage of such gifts.

God is good even in our disobedience. We might consider that the punishment suffered by the Judeans after the fall of Jerusalem, the terrible time of the Exile, was a turning point in the history of God’s people. Some of the most poignant literature of the Hebrew Scriptures was very likely written during this time. God used this period of mourning and reflection to forge a new identity for God’s people. Trauma and loss will always change us, but we are given the free will to decide whether we’ll turn in on ourselves and become bitter and resentful or whether we’ll course correct and become more grateful, more compassionate, and more open to God’s will. We can’t go back to being who we were, but we can rejoice in who we’ve become.

Finally, we need to believe the vineyard never goes to waste. God’s will is done either through us or in spite of us. For the desolate vineyard of Isaiah’s illustration, the briars and thorns may become home for the sort of creatures that prefer that habitat. New tenants will replace the disobedient lot who produced no fruit in Jesus’ parable. Churches which close will yield funding for new ministries. God’s Word will endure, and we must not lose heart.

Thanks for checking in with me this week. May God bless you and kee

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[i] Joel 2:13