What could make someone quit his or her job? Especially now, when unemployment is so high and money is so scarce?
Last night --yes, I'll admit it--I was watching that gargantuan of all TV talent competitions American Idol, and I was struck by the story of one contestant, a young husband with his first child on the way, who actually quit his secure job in order to pursue his dream of being a professional entertainer. I certainly wish this boy well--after all, he seemed like a nice enough kid--but I'm amazed by the strength of the vision and belief which would inspire him to give up security for himself and his family and embark on a very risky and uncertain career. I thought to myself, This young man must love his music a LOT!
Today as I look at the Revised Common Lectionary for the Third Sunday after the Epiphany, I am again struck by the same courage--or foolishness--which inspired Peter and Andrew and James and John to leave their settled lives, families, and careers and follow an itinerant rabbi from another village into God knows what future.
The story itself, on the surface, seems unbelievable. I mean, I can't see myself going to the Philadelphia Building Trades union hall which is in the process of renovation next door to my church and telling the workers, "Follow me, and I will make you builders for the Kingdom of God!" They'd probably laugh and then tell me to get the you-know-what away from them so they could finish their work. In order to drop everything and embark on a new adventure as Mark's gospel says the fisherman did, one would have to be extremely desperate or extremely inspired or both.
So what was it about Jesus and his message that was so transformational? I suspect that times being what they were, there was most likely a bit of desperation in the lives of these men. They were feeling a longing for change, but had no idea what kind of change to make. Perhaps they never dreamed any change was really possible, and had fallen into despair--a condition which Luther called a "great and shameful" sin.
But what did Jesus tell them?
"The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe the good news" (Mark 1:15)
For our post-modern theology, it might be a good idea to think about what is meant by the "Kingdom of God.' I, for one, do not see the Kingdom as some distant paradise waiting beyond death. Jesus said, "The time is fulfilled," that is, the moment is NOW. The God who IS creation, who IS love, who IS existence is active in this very moment. As the old hymn says, "This IS my Father's world." There is nothing more for which we need wait. The miracle of life and consciousness itself has not ceased to be a miracle. We have not been abandoned. God has not ceased to be with and in us, nor has God ceased to be good simply because we have refused to look beyond our own circumstances. God's moment is always NOW.
So what do we do? We take today and NOW as a moment of repentance. And what is repentance but the constant challenging of our own assumptions. It's the call to change our minds. Whatever it is that you're thinking, can you think it in a different way? Our selfish, sinful nature loves to tell us lies to keep us from being hurt--or so we think. We're full of "I can'ts" or "if onlys." A life of repentance challenges us to challenge ourselves. Is there a new way in which I can see my abilities? My purpose? My relationships with others? Am I telling myself the truth?
Finally, Jesus challenges us to BELIEVE the good news. So what is that? Contextually, I would say in this passage it is the reign of God. But it is the question of belief that offers the great challenge. BELIEF comes from an Old English word which means "to desire." It's not enough to agree intellectually that something might be true. If you believe, you desire that truth. Without belief, there is no action. Without action, there is no change. Without change, there is stagnation and death.
Martin Luther wrote, "When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said "Repent (Matthew 4:17)," he meant for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance." (95 Theses, 1517)
Far from a command for shame and confession, Luther's words are a mandate for constant change and constant spiritual growth.
May God be with you, my friends. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Leave me a comment, and have a beautiful week!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
A Lutheran Shout Out to Cee Lo Green
Happy New Year, my friends!
My wife and I took it easy this past New Year's Eve. We were home by midnight, and, like many millions of other Americans, we watched the New Year's celebrations from New York's Times Square on television. A highlight of this year's broadcast for me was Cee Lo Green's interpretation of John Lennon's classic Imagine.
Imagine my surprise at discovering the very next morning that Mr. Green's rendition of this wonderful song had incensed many music fans and caused a fury of protest over a changed lyric. If you didn't catch it, Mr. Lennon's original lyrics to the second stanza read
Imagine there's no countries;
It isn't hard to do.
Nothing to kill or die for,
And no religion, too.
Mr. Green, in his New Year's Eve version, subtly altered the lyric "no religion too" to "and all religion's true." Personally, I thought the change was an improvement.
Many John Lennon fans, however, were indignant by the switched lyrics and have been burning up the internet with protest. Granted, the late Mr. Lennon has--and deservedly so, in my opinion--achieved something on the order of divine status among rock musicians and their devotees. Perhaps his fans believe that any change to his lyrics is akin to changing a sacred scriptural text--an act of blasphemy and desacration. I agree with this in principle as I'm one of those guys who gets annoyed when people screw up the words to songs I like; however, I also acknowledge that singers have commonly taken liberties with song lyrics for centuries without causing the downfall of civilization.
Now, I'm not really that familiar with Mr. Green or his work (although I will say he has a lovely singing voice), so I can't speak for his motivation in changing the song. He has since tweeted that he was attempting to promote a vison of a world in which all people could believe what they wanted. If his conscience did not permit him to sing the praises of a world void of religion, than I applaud his choice. As the founder of my own denomination, Dr. Martin Luther, so aptly put it, "...it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience." (Diet of Worms, 1521)
Imagine a world without religion. Would we really want a world in which there was no curiosity about ultimate meaning? A world with no quest for ethical behavior based on ultimate meaning? Such a world would have no humbling sense of mystery. There would be no unifying mythology or communal practices. Perhaps there would be no sense of altruism. No abolitionist movement. No civil rights movement. Would you really prefer a world without the music and art inspired by spiritual commitment? No J. S. Bach? No Michaelangelo?
Yes, I know the history of humanity is scarred by relgious abuse. Mr. Green's alternative lyric begs the question: Are all religions true? Certainly there are aspects of religion in history which cannot be validated. Decency demands that no stamp of approval can be placed on sectarian violence, warfare, and terrorism. Human sacrifices and burning crosses are repulsive to any moral person. Nor can we countenance political oppression in the name of faith, and we must acknowledge that an awful lot of pure sham has been built over the foundations of ligitimate spiritual pilgrimage.
But, being a Lutheran, I feel compelled to give Mr. Green the benefit of the doubt (See Luther's explanation to the Eighth Commandment in The Small Catechism). I suspect that he may knowingly or unknowingly be an adherent of the late Joseph Campbell, the Sarah Lawrence professor of mythology and comparative religions, whose great contribution to contemporary thought was his determination to find the similarities among all religions. When one reads Campbell, one can't help but think that all unifying mythologies are an attempt to come to terms with mortality, to seek a harmonious relationship with eternal things, and discover an authentic and ethical way to relate to the world and our fellow humans. And there is something very real, pure, and true about that.
So Happy New Year, Mr. Green! You have corrected the only blemish in an otherwise perfect piece of music.
Thanks for reading, my friends. Let me know what you think, will you?
(Oh! and, by the way, if you aren't familiar with Joseph Campbell, you really should click on the link above and learn more about him. His work will strengthen your own faith, whatever it may be.)
My wife and I took it easy this past New Year's Eve. We were home by midnight, and, like many millions of other Americans, we watched the New Year's celebrations from New York's Times Square on television. A highlight of this year's broadcast for me was Cee Lo Green's interpretation of John Lennon's classic Imagine.
Imagine my surprise at discovering the very next morning that Mr. Green's rendition of this wonderful song had incensed many music fans and caused a fury of protest over a changed lyric. If you didn't catch it, Mr. Lennon's original lyrics to the second stanza read
Imagine there's no countries;
It isn't hard to do.
Nothing to kill or die for,
And no religion, too.
Mr. Green, in his New Year's Eve version, subtly altered the lyric "no religion too" to "and all religion's true." Personally, I thought the change was an improvement.
Many John Lennon fans, however, were indignant by the switched lyrics and have been burning up the internet with protest. Granted, the late Mr. Lennon has--and deservedly so, in my opinion--achieved something on the order of divine status among rock musicians and their devotees. Perhaps his fans believe that any change to his lyrics is akin to changing a sacred scriptural text--an act of blasphemy and desacration. I agree with this in principle as I'm one of those guys who gets annoyed when people screw up the words to songs I like; however, I also acknowledge that singers have commonly taken liberties with song lyrics for centuries without causing the downfall of civilization.
Now, I'm not really that familiar with Mr. Green or his work (although I will say he has a lovely singing voice), so I can't speak for his motivation in changing the song. He has since tweeted that he was attempting to promote a vison of a world in which all people could believe what they wanted. If his conscience did not permit him to sing the praises of a world void of religion, than I applaud his choice. As the founder of my own denomination, Dr. Martin Luther, so aptly put it, "...it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience." (Diet of Worms, 1521)
Imagine a world without religion. Would we really want a world in which there was no curiosity about ultimate meaning? A world with no quest for ethical behavior based on ultimate meaning? Such a world would have no humbling sense of mystery. There would be no unifying mythology or communal practices. Perhaps there would be no sense of altruism. No abolitionist movement. No civil rights movement. Would you really prefer a world without the music and art inspired by spiritual commitment? No J. S. Bach? No Michaelangelo?
Yes, I know the history of humanity is scarred by relgious abuse. Mr. Green's alternative lyric begs the question: Are all religions true? Certainly there are aspects of religion in history which cannot be validated. Decency demands that no stamp of approval can be placed on sectarian violence, warfare, and terrorism. Human sacrifices and burning crosses are repulsive to any moral person. Nor can we countenance political oppression in the name of faith, and we must acknowledge that an awful lot of pure sham has been built over the foundations of ligitimate spiritual pilgrimage.
But, being a Lutheran, I feel compelled to give Mr. Green the benefit of the doubt (See Luther's explanation to the Eighth Commandment in The Small Catechism). I suspect that he may knowingly or unknowingly be an adherent of the late Joseph Campbell, the Sarah Lawrence professor of mythology and comparative religions, whose great contribution to contemporary thought was his determination to find the similarities among all religions. When one reads Campbell, one can't help but think that all unifying mythologies are an attempt to come to terms with mortality, to seek a harmonious relationship with eternal things, and discover an authentic and ethical way to relate to the world and our fellow humans. And there is something very real, pure, and true about that.
So Happy New Year, Mr. Green! You have corrected the only blemish in an otherwise perfect piece of music.
Thanks for reading, my friends. Let me know what you think, will you?
(Oh! and, by the way, if you aren't familiar with Joseph Campbell, you really should click on the link above and learn more about him. His work will strengthen your own faith, whatever it may be.)
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
A Perfect Christmas?
Have you ever had a perfect Christmas?
Me neither.
Of course, as a parish pastor I try very hard to make the celebration of Our Lord's birth as special and memorable as possible. The altar guild decorates the nave and chancel with poinsettias and evergreens. We put up the Christmas Tree and light the candles on the Advent Wreath. We plan special choral music to delight the ears of the worshippers who probably won't be with us again until Easter. And yet, something always seems to go a tiny bit askew.
Last year I took it into my head to memorize the Christmas gospel from the second chapter of Luke. Allow me to confess that I had been--in my wild and misspent youth--a Shakespearean actor. I planned to deliver the gospel lesson with full musical accompaniment, using the text from the King James Bible--the language of Shakespeare himself. I was certain that my stirring recitation would transport the congregation to the lowly stable in Bethlehem on the wings of histrionic revery.
In a voice which John Gielgud would have envied, I began:
"And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Agustus that all the world should be taxed..."
The pianist began to play "O Little Town of Bethlehem." And just as I was hitting my vocal stride, a little girl, about four years old, broke loose from her obviously embarrassed parents and began to run laps around the front pew! I watched as every head in the nave turned in the direction of this juvenile outlaw. I could see her parents squirm--not knowing how to arrest their rambunctious offspring. I pushed on through my glorious recitation.
No one heard a bloody word of it.
It's funny, but the things we tend to remember the most about Christmas are the imperfections. The year the tree caught fire. The year the dinner burned. The year we got lost on the way to the in-laws' house. The year we spent Christmas in the hospital.
No Christmas is ever quite perfect. Indeed, the very first one was far from perfection. It involved an unwed teenage mother in a culture hostile to unwed mothers. It involved a family living in poverty. It involved an oppressive government edict. It involved homelessness. It involved a baby born in the most disgusting and unhygienic conditions--in a barn amidst animal waste and filth. The "family" waiting for the delivery were strangers at the bottom of the social food chain--shepherds, the equivalent of garbage collectors but without the high salary.
And yet, a baby was born, and that was all that really mattered. A little baby--nothing could be more perfect. A baby, tiny and innocent, awakening our spirit of gentleness. Making hope possible.
May the peace and love and joy of Christmas be with you, my friends. A Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year to all!
Me neither.
Of course, as a parish pastor I try very hard to make the celebration of Our Lord's birth as special and memorable as possible. The altar guild decorates the nave and chancel with poinsettias and evergreens. We put up the Christmas Tree and light the candles on the Advent Wreath. We plan special choral music to delight the ears of the worshippers who probably won't be with us again until Easter. And yet, something always seems to go a tiny bit askew.
Last year I took it into my head to memorize the Christmas gospel from the second chapter of Luke. Allow me to confess that I had been--in my wild and misspent youth--a Shakespearean actor. I planned to deliver the gospel lesson with full musical accompaniment, using the text from the King James Bible--the language of Shakespeare himself. I was certain that my stirring recitation would transport the congregation to the lowly stable in Bethlehem on the wings of histrionic revery.
In a voice which John Gielgud would have envied, I began:
"And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Agustus that all the world should be taxed..."
The pianist began to play "O Little Town of Bethlehem." And just as I was hitting my vocal stride, a little girl, about four years old, broke loose from her obviously embarrassed parents and began to run laps around the front pew! I watched as every head in the nave turned in the direction of this juvenile outlaw. I could see her parents squirm--not knowing how to arrest their rambunctious offspring. I pushed on through my glorious recitation.
No one heard a bloody word of it.
It's funny, but the things we tend to remember the most about Christmas are the imperfections. The year the tree caught fire. The year the dinner burned. The year we got lost on the way to the in-laws' house. The year we spent Christmas in the hospital.
No Christmas is ever quite perfect. Indeed, the very first one was far from perfection. It involved an unwed teenage mother in a culture hostile to unwed mothers. It involved a family living in poverty. It involved an oppressive government edict. It involved homelessness. It involved a baby born in the most disgusting and unhygienic conditions--in a barn amidst animal waste and filth. The "family" waiting for the delivery were strangers at the bottom of the social food chain--shepherds, the equivalent of garbage collectors but without the high salary.
And yet, a baby was born, and that was all that really mattered. A little baby--nothing could be more perfect. A baby, tiny and innocent, awakening our spirit of gentleness. Making hope possible.
May the peace and love and joy of Christmas be with you, my friends. A Merry Christmas and a blessed New Year to all!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Yes, Virginia, There Is a Saint Nicholas
It was my last year in seminary. I was broke most of the time and depended on a student loan to pay my rent. I had an auto loan to pay and the not-inconsiderable premium on my car insurance, too. And then there were textbooks to buy, gasoline, and--oh yes!--food. The tiny stipends I received from supply preaching jobs were stretched very thin.
But every month, I'd get a cheerful little greeting card in the mail. The cards would remind me that someone was thinking of me and wishing me luck. There was never a return address on the envelope, and the each card was signed cryptically "Me."
And contained a crisp $100 bill.
I do not know to this day who "Me" was, but that individual's anonymous act of generosity each month lightened my burden during a difficult time and reminded me that there is goodness and kindness in this world. Those cards--as well as the monetary gifts they contained--made me feel loved and valued.
 |
| Icon of St. Nicholas from Greek Orthodox Church in Tarpon Springs, FL |
For centuries, each December Christians have remembered Saint Nicholas, a fourth century Turkish bishop renown for his acts of anonymous charity. The legend of this saint (who, by the way, was known to have attended the Council of Nicaea and may be one of the historical figures responsible for trinitarian orthodoxy) includes the story of his rescuing three impoverished young noblewomen from lives of prostitution by secretly throwing bags of gold through the window of their home at night. The gold provided their dowries.
This story illustrates Nicholas' devotion to the teaching of Jesus in Matthew 6: 3-4:
"But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you."
Jesus teaches us--and Nicholas embodies--a beautiful gift of faith: kindness for its own sake. The secret gift is not given in expectation of thanks or reward. Rather, it is done out of love for another human being. It is done out of the hope that the giver has the ability to be a blessing to others. It is done out of the faith that God has provided daily and abundantly, and that God's goodness will not be lacking tomorrow. And it is done without imposing the burden of gratitude or a sense of inequality upon the recipient.
Down with the corpulent "Santa Claus"--a symbol of pampered greed and indulgence. I'd love to see Saint Nicholas reinstated in our popular culture as the holy man he assuredly must have been--a symbol and a reminder of Christ's call for selflessness, mercy, and faithful generosity.
May you all have a very blessed season of preparation for the celebration of the birth of Our Lord. And, as Nicholas is the patron saint of Russia, S RazhdestvOm!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord! (More Reflections of Advent)
(John 1: 22-23)
John the Baptist. I love this guy. He's got to be one of my favorite New Testament characters. He's the ultimate radical priest--totally out of the mainstream. I see Jay Bakker and Shane Claiborne following in his footsteps. John's the kind of a guy who doesn't need a church building or an organization. He's out there with the people, talking to the disenfranchised, the confused, the wounded. He's in the bars and the shopping centers and the free clinics. Yes, he dresses a little funky and he enjoys a weird (if totally organic) diet, but he's in touch with what people need to hear, and he's not afraid to tell it like it is.
I love John, who always makes an appearance in the Revised Common Lectionary around the second or third Sundays in Advent, for his wonderful eccentricity. I respect his humility ("The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals." Mark 1:7), and I just really dig his intensity ("You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance!" Luke 3:7-8)
I've got to confess that there are times when I feel like getting intense and shouting at the crowds: "Hey! Listen! You sorry, lazy-assed excuses for Christians! WAKE UP!! GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER!!!"
(But I'm usually a little more subdued. I can't help it. I'm Lutheran.)
An esteemed colleague of mine recently compared John the Baptist to a 12-step program. We are a sick, tired, and addicted culture, and the first thing we need to do is admit that we have a problem. John calls us to repentance, a word which, in its original Greek, simply means a change of mind. You see, our culture has turned Christmas, originally the observance of the birth of a child born in poverty, into an orgy of excess--partying and spending like an addict binging on crack. As if lavishness and wrecklessness can somehow feed our spiritual hunger. But John calls us to a change of heart and mind. He calls us to an admission that what we're doing doesn't work, and will ultimately lead us back to emptiness.
We cannot have Christ, John tells us, until we are ready to receive him. We need to prepare for his coming. An alcoholic may win the lottery, but he'll just piss away the fortune without thought or gratitude and wind up as broken as before. We simply can't receive a blessing unless we know it's a blessing--and know how to accept and respect it.
If I could play John the Baptist this Advent, I would call my fellow citizens to repentance like this: I would challenge us to embrace the truth that we are all our brothers' keepers. Our indiviudal liberties are only of value if they can be used to promote peace and security for others. Otherwise, our freedom is only an excuse for our selfishness.
I would want to call the Church to repentance, too. I would challenge our image of God. Can we wash away the idea of God as either distant, punishing judge or cosmic ATM machine, and embrace the God who is Emanuel--God with us? Can we see our God in the faces of others around us? Can we learn to love God in this way? And can we accept and hold on to a conviction that true religion will not be understood by how we think of God, but by how we relate to each other?
If we are not ready to love the crying baby on the bus, or in the grocery store, or in the next pew over, how can we love the baby in the manger?
God bless you, my friend. Thank you for your visit.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The Apocalypse Cometh (Reflections on Advent)
Chris Gleaseon was a forty-year-old triathlete from New York state who came to Philadelphia last Sunday to run in the Philadelphia Marathon. A quarter of a mile from the finish line of this punishing race, Chris collapsed. He was rushed to hospital, where he was pronounced dead some time later. He left a wife and two children.
The sudden death of this virtuous and talented athlete, attorney, husband, and father--knocked down in the very heart of his active and productive years--might cause some to question the justice or mercy of God. Indeed, some internet chat sites have, I'm told, already pondered the divine implications of this unexpected and emotionally crushing tragedy. How could a just God do such a thing? How could anyone believe in or worship such a monstrous deity?
I don't know if there's any answer to those questions. I certainly feel for Mr. Gleaseon's family, and I will include them in my prayers. What I do know, however, is that moments of tribulation such as this have a way of getting us to ask ultimate questions. The shocking upheavals we experience can destroy our faith or deepen it.
It has always vexed me slightly that the lectionary passages for the First Sunday of Advent deal with an apocalypse--a vision of the end times involving death, cataclysm, and tribulation. This year's gospel reading comes from the thirteenth chapter of Mark (Mark 13:24-37 to be exact) in which Jesus' disciples, arriving in Jerusalem for the Passover, marvel at the grandeur of the great Temple. Jesus warns them that the days are approaching when these stones will crumble, and everything will be thrown into chaos. The time will come--and without warning--when the world will go dark (no light from sun or moon) and confusion will reign (the very fixed stars in the heaven, believed to give order and guidance, will fall). This could be a description of any horrific event from a natural disaster to a war to the sudden death of a husband and father.
The Day of Tribulation doesn't have to be an end-of-the-world scenario, but it will be the end of someone's world--at least as they understand it. Personally, I have no time for the faulty and ridiculous "End Times" theology of Hal Lindsay, Herold Camping, and the other Left Behind heretics (FYI: For a wonderful debunking of this moronic doctrine which has, unfortunately, captured the imagination of so many American Christians, I recommend you read Barbara Rossing's 2004 book The Rapture Exposed from Westview Press). Rather, I believe the Day of Tribulation is inescapably part of everyone's life.
"Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away." (Mark 13: 30-31)
Indeed, every generation seems to face a Day of Tribulation. The Great Depression, the Second World War, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assasination of John Kennedy, Viet Nam, 9/11. All of them days of great darkness, confusion, and uncertainty. In a single moment reality is changed, beliefs are shattered, a world vanishes. Everything is disturbed--everything, but the presence of Jesus Christ for those who will see him.
"Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come." (Mark 13:33)
It is easy to be spiritually sleepy when all is going according to plan. Sometimes I feel that we Americans have been very good at creating a particularly drowsy form of Christianity, one which is formulaic and rote: Confess yourself to be a sinner. Confess Jesus as Lord who died for your sins. Go to Heaven when you die. One, two, three. Simple. Now you can doze off spiritually, knowing you've got all the answers.
"And what I say to you, I say to all: Keep awake." (Mark 13:37)
Before the Day of Tribulation comes, before the crisis strikes, NOW is the time to seek God.
And who is this God we seek? Not some cosmic Santa Clause who sits off at a distance and hands out random blessings and punishments. Not even a God who exists; rather the God who IS existance. Not a God who loves, but the God who IS love. With us, in us, all around us. Who is this Jesus? Not just a man who suffered and died centuries ago, but the God who entered into OUR suffering, who is alive and real in the friends who stand with us in our tribulation, in the acts of charity we give and receive, in the sympathetic smiles, and the listening ears. The one whose words outlast the centuries. Who is this Holy Spirit? Not some feel-good feeling, but God at work in us, our ability to know, to understand, to use our natural talents and our wisdom. What is this Heaven? Not some distant place beyond death, but a place of eternal life in the presence of God with whom we are living right now.
Keep awake. God is here.
May the hope of Advent be a blessing to you. Thank you so very much for reading.
The sudden death of this virtuous and talented athlete, attorney, husband, and father--knocked down in the very heart of his active and productive years--might cause some to question the justice or mercy of God. Indeed, some internet chat sites have, I'm told, already pondered the divine implications of this unexpected and emotionally crushing tragedy. How could a just God do such a thing? How could anyone believe in or worship such a monstrous deity?
I don't know if there's any answer to those questions. I certainly feel for Mr. Gleaseon's family, and I will include them in my prayers. What I do know, however, is that moments of tribulation such as this have a way of getting us to ask ultimate questions. The shocking upheavals we experience can destroy our faith or deepen it.
It has always vexed me slightly that the lectionary passages for the First Sunday of Advent deal with an apocalypse--a vision of the end times involving death, cataclysm, and tribulation. This year's gospel reading comes from the thirteenth chapter of Mark (Mark 13:24-37 to be exact) in which Jesus' disciples, arriving in Jerusalem for the Passover, marvel at the grandeur of the great Temple. Jesus warns them that the days are approaching when these stones will crumble, and everything will be thrown into chaos. The time will come--and without warning--when the world will go dark (no light from sun or moon) and confusion will reign (the very fixed stars in the heaven, believed to give order and guidance, will fall). This could be a description of any horrific event from a natural disaster to a war to the sudden death of a husband and father.
The Day of Tribulation doesn't have to be an end-of-the-world scenario, but it will be the end of someone's world--at least as they understand it. Personally, I have no time for the faulty and ridiculous "End Times" theology of Hal Lindsay, Herold Camping, and the other Left Behind heretics (FYI: For a wonderful debunking of this moronic doctrine which has, unfortunately, captured the imagination of so many American Christians, I recommend you read Barbara Rossing's 2004 book The Rapture Exposed from Westview Press). Rather, I believe the Day of Tribulation is inescapably part of everyone's life.
"Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away." (Mark 13: 30-31)
Indeed, every generation seems to face a Day of Tribulation. The Great Depression, the Second World War, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assasination of John Kennedy, Viet Nam, 9/11. All of them days of great darkness, confusion, and uncertainty. In a single moment reality is changed, beliefs are shattered, a world vanishes. Everything is disturbed--everything, but the presence of Jesus Christ for those who will see him.
"Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come." (Mark 13:33)
It is easy to be spiritually sleepy when all is going according to plan. Sometimes I feel that we Americans have been very good at creating a particularly drowsy form of Christianity, one which is formulaic and rote: Confess yourself to be a sinner. Confess Jesus as Lord who died for your sins. Go to Heaven when you die. One, two, three. Simple. Now you can doze off spiritually, knowing you've got all the answers.
"And what I say to you, I say to all: Keep awake." (Mark 13:37)
Before the Day of Tribulation comes, before the crisis strikes, NOW is the time to seek God.
And who is this God we seek? Not some cosmic Santa Clause who sits off at a distance and hands out random blessings and punishments. Not even a God who exists; rather the God who IS existance. Not a God who loves, but the God who IS love. With us, in us, all around us. Who is this Jesus? Not just a man who suffered and died centuries ago, but the God who entered into OUR suffering, who is alive and real in the friends who stand with us in our tribulation, in the acts of charity we give and receive, in the sympathetic smiles, and the listening ears. The one whose words outlast the centuries. Who is this Holy Spirit? Not some feel-good feeling, but God at work in us, our ability to know, to understand, to use our natural talents and our wisdom. What is this Heaven? Not some distant place beyond death, but a place of eternal life in the presence of God with whom we are living right now.
Keep awake. God is here.
May the hope of Advent be a blessing to you. Thank you so very much for reading.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
A Loving God & Eternal Punishment (Reflections on the Feast of Christ the King)
"And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."
Matthew 25:46
Kind of a bummer this "eternal punishment" business, don't you think? I mean, haven't you ever asked the question, "If God or Jesus or whoever is so loving, how could they send anyone to hell?" I find some insight into that question in the assigned gospel lesson for the Feast of Christus Rex--Christ the King, which is the New Year's Eve, if you will, of the Christian liturgical calendar. But first, allow me a bit of self-indulgence:
I just really love old Christian artwork--especially that which adorns old churches and cathedrals. The above is from an altarpiece by the 15th century Flemish painter Jan Van Eyck depicting Christ wearing a crown. Classy, isn't it?
Also, I'm kind of a history buff, so I feel inclined to tell you that the Feast of Christ the King is the newest feastival to enter the Christian liturgical calendar. In fact, it's actually less than one hundred years old. Roman Catholics began to celebrate the last Sunday in the liturgical year as Christ the King in 1925 when it was instituted by Pope Pius XI. After the horror of the First World War, when new technologies allowed death to come falling from the sky from airplanes, from under the sea via submarines, on the breeze in the form of poison gas, and whistling through the air as automatic weapons' fire; when a generation of young men were slaughtered in the most grizzly and wasteful ways possible; after the world saw what kings, czars, and kaisers were capable of doing, it was time to look for better leadership. The wise Pope Pius, seeing in the rising Benito Mussolini yet another false messiah, encouraged the faithful to look to Jesus Christ alone.
Okay. Got that out of my system. Now back to the original subject.
The appointed gospel lesson for Christ the King is Matthew 25: 31-46, in which Jesus describes the coming kingdom of heaven by saying that the Son of Man, when he comes in glory, will separate the peoples just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. Now, being a city fellow, I'm not that much aquainted with the art of shepherding; however, a glance at some referrence material is enlightening.
Sheep, representing the righteous folks in this parable, tend to be gentle. They gather together in groups for mutual protection. They have an uncanny ability to recognize faces--those of humans or other sheep--and can form relationships. They are rarely violent, and even the rams do not participate in combat unless they are of relatively equal strength to their opponant. Sheep don't pick on smaller sheep.
Goats, on the other hand, come armed. They have horns which stick up to impale enemies. They are fiercely individualistic, and will knock down any barrier that seeks to contain them. They are vastly more likely than are sheep to attack a human, and are aggressive with each other. They have a voracious and indiscriminate appetite, and, although they can be domesticated, will easily revert back to the wild.
In Jesus' parable, the "sheep" people give of themselves in acts of mercy and compassion for others--feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger, visiting the sick and those in prison. Jesus tells his followers that when they have done such an act of charity for "the least of these," they have also done it for him.
The individualistic "goat" people, by contrast, mistreat the poor and marginalized by ignoring them. It is this lack of pity which, according to Jesus, earns them their punishment.
I certainly do not believe that true faith in Jesus has anything to do with subscribing to Church doctrines. I believe that a follower of Christ the King is one who is in daily dialog with Jesus, asking, "Lord, what would you have me do?"
The answer will always be, "Love one another in mercy, sympathy, and compassion, as I have loved you."
The old saying goes, "Virtue is its own reward." I believe the opposite is also true: Iniquity is its own punishment.
What paradise is there for the "goats" of this world? Can there be any true joy in aggression? I don't think so. We can't kill our way out of global terrorism. We can't penalize or jail away crime and violence created by poverty and want. We can't build a wall high enough to keep out the needy, nor can we horde enough wealth to stave off our own illness and death. Fighting the battle to see ourselves as superior and others as less will be an endless fight leading only to frustration.
Jesus does not need to "send" anyone to hell. There are plenty of people--angry, aggressive, rapacious, unfeeling and uncaring--who are living in hell while they are alive. A hell of their own making.
The sheep of the parable seek the highest virtues of mercy and compassion--not in order to be recognized, but because these virtues are to be cherished for their own sake. To their own surprise the sheep discover that where love is present, so is Jesus. And where Jesus is, there is the kingdom of heaven.
God's blessings to you, my friends. (And to my Russian friend, zdravstvujtye, and my most sincere spasiba!)
Matthew 25:46
Kind of a bummer this "eternal punishment" business, don't you think? I mean, haven't you ever asked the question, "If God or Jesus or whoever is so loving, how could they send anyone to hell?" I find some insight into that question in the assigned gospel lesson for the Feast of Christus Rex--Christ the King, which is the New Year's Eve, if you will, of the Christian liturgical calendar. But first, allow me a bit of self-indulgence:
Also, I'm kind of a history buff, so I feel inclined to tell you that the Feast of Christ the King is the newest feastival to enter the Christian liturgical calendar. In fact, it's actually less than one hundred years old. Roman Catholics began to celebrate the last Sunday in the liturgical year as Christ the King in 1925 when it was instituted by Pope Pius XI. After the horror of the First World War, when new technologies allowed death to come falling from the sky from airplanes, from under the sea via submarines, on the breeze in the form of poison gas, and whistling through the air as automatic weapons' fire; when a generation of young men were slaughtered in the most grizzly and wasteful ways possible; after the world saw what kings, czars, and kaisers were capable of doing, it was time to look for better leadership. The wise Pope Pius, seeing in the rising Benito Mussolini yet another false messiah, encouraged the faithful to look to Jesus Christ alone.
Okay. Got that out of my system. Now back to the original subject.
The appointed gospel lesson for Christ the King is Matthew 25: 31-46, in which Jesus describes the coming kingdom of heaven by saying that the Son of Man, when he comes in glory, will separate the peoples just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. Now, being a city fellow, I'm not that much aquainted with the art of shepherding; however, a glance at some referrence material is enlightening.
Sheep, representing the righteous folks in this parable, tend to be gentle. They gather together in groups for mutual protection. They have an uncanny ability to recognize faces--those of humans or other sheep--and can form relationships. They are rarely violent, and even the rams do not participate in combat unless they are of relatively equal strength to their opponant. Sheep don't pick on smaller sheep.
Goats, on the other hand, come armed. They have horns which stick up to impale enemies. They are fiercely individualistic, and will knock down any barrier that seeks to contain them. They are vastly more likely than are sheep to attack a human, and are aggressive with each other. They have a voracious and indiscriminate appetite, and, although they can be domesticated, will easily revert back to the wild.
In Jesus' parable, the "sheep" people give of themselves in acts of mercy and compassion for others--feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger, visiting the sick and those in prison. Jesus tells his followers that when they have done such an act of charity for "the least of these," they have also done it for him.
The individualistic "goat" people, by contrast, mistreat the poor and marginalized by ignoring them. It is this lack of pity which, according to Jesus, earns them their punishment.
I certainly do not believe that true faith in Jesus has anything to do with subscribing to Church doctrines. I believe that a follower of Christ the King is one who is in daily dialog with Jesus, asking, "Lord, what would you have me do?"
The answer will always be, "Love one another in mercy, sympathy, and compassion, as I have loved you."
The old saying goes, "Virtue is its own reward." I believe the opposite is also true: Iniquity is its own punishment.
What paradise is there for the "goats" of this world? Can there be any true joy in aggression? I don't think so. We can't kill our way out of global terrorism. We can't penalize or jail away crime and violence created by poverty and want. We can't build a wall high enough to keep out the needy, nor can we horde enough wealth to stave off our own illness and death. Fighting the battle to see ourselves as superior and others as less will be an endless fight leading only to frustration.
Jesus does not need to "send" anyone to hell. There are plenty of people--angry, aggressive, rapacious, unfeeling and uncaring--who are living in hell while they are alive. A hell of their own making.
The sheep of the parable seek the highest virtues of mercy and compassion--not in order to be recognized, but because these virtues are to be cherished for their own sake. To their own surprise the sheep discover that where love is present, so is Jesus. And where Jesus is, there is the kingdom of heaven.
God's blessings to you, my friends. (And to my Russian friend, zdravstvujtye, and my most sincere spasiba!)
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