"What is to Prevent Me From Being Baptized?"

"As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, 'Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?'"
                                                                            Acts 8:36

The above question comes from a story in the eighth chapter of Acts (Acts 8:26-40) which was the assigned first reading for the Fifth Sunday of Easter. It's a great story: Phillip, a follower of Jesus Christ, has left Jerusalem and is sort of wandering around the middle east at the direction of the Holy Spirit. In his journey, he encounters an Ethiopian eunuch. The eunuch is a real big shot--he's Secretary of the Treasury and a pretty important guy. He's got his own chariot and driver, and he's sitting by the road reading from the prophet Isaiah.

No two people in the ancient world could be more different than Phillip and this stranger (alas, unnamed in the bible). One is a wandering Jewish peasant, the other a high official from sub-Saharan Africa. They are of different races, social classes, cultures, and (need I mention it?) sexuality. And yet, this unlikely pair become comrades on the road, united by a love of God and holy literature. Phillip's desire to share his relationship with Jesus transcends the barriers that would, within the culture of the day, keep these two men at arms' length. And this is what the church--at her best--should really be about: loving acceptance and reconciliation. This is a picture of the radical hospitality which  characterizes the Kingdom of God.

When the eunuch asks "What is to prevent me from being baptized?" he's not just asking a rhetorical question. This fellow has come to Jerusalem to worship. Although it is not said so explicitly in the text, the original readers of Acts would have known that the eunuch would have been prevented from full participation in the Jewish assembly precisely because he was a eunuch (see Deuteronomy 23:1). Despite this man's achievements and social position, he is looked down upon as a sexual freak and an abomination by people outside of his culture. But in Jesus, there are no barriers. There is nothing to prevent this man from being a loved part of the community of fellow believers.

Recently, a member of my parish whom I'll call "Laura" (because that's her name), had a conversation with a twenty-seven year old man in her ceramics class. They were talking about godparents (or "baptismal sponsors" if you will). The young man lamented that he had no godparents because he had never been baptized. He told Laura that he really wanted to go deeper into his faith, and that he wanted to be baptized. Seizing the moment, Laura volunteered her pastor (that would be me) and her congregation as vehicles to welcome this young seeker sacramentally into the Christian faith.

I should mention that the young ceramic artist is a partnered gay man. Regretably, there are still some Christian communities which would take issue with individuals over the the matter of sexual orientation. I think the 2009 (and still ongoing in some places) upheaval in my own denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, over questions of human sexuality and inclusivity is evidence of this very point. To me, however, the story of Phillip and the eunuch illustrates that the grace of Jesus supersedes the purity codes of Hebrew Scripture. We are called to be welcoming to all, for in Christ there are no distinctions.

" I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd."
                                                                               John 10:16

Thanks for reading, my friends. Please drop me a note if you're able.

Spiritual Chicks II: Catherine of Siena

I hadn't really intended to write a series of posts on famous women saints, but the Revised Common Lectionary for the Easter Season has suggested these heroines. Mary Magdalene, of course, is the first Christian evangelist and a pivotal figure in the Resurrection story. Catherine of Siena, whose feast day was April 29th, seemed to be a great example and illustration for the gospel lesson assigned to that day.

The appointed gospel for Easter 4 is John 10:11-18 in which the evangelist quotes Jesus describing himself as the Good Shepherd. I don't know about you, but I'm not really all that familiar with sheep and the practice of shepherding (I'm a city boy). What I do know is that the Pharisees of John's day would probably have taken no small amount of umbrage at this comparison as it both likens Jesus to the Creator God of Psalm 23 (an obvious blasphemy) and suggests that those charged with the spiritual care of  the people were somewhat less good in their shepherding.

The discourse in John 10 comes on the heels of the story of Jesus healing a man born blind. Now, you might think that such a healing would be hailed universally as a pretty good thing to do; nevertheless, the religious leaders in the story--the other shepherds--have to turn it into a political football. They want to quibble about the legality of healing on the sabbath or about the prophetic status of the healer. When I read the story, I just want to grab these Pharisees by the collar, shake them and say,"Who cares about sabbath law?! This man was a blind begger, and now he's a functioing member of society, for cryin' out loud! Don't you understand? Have you no compassion? You're missing the point!!"

Perhaps I should add that I feel the same way when I listen to our political candidates today. Why are we bickering over "big government" versus "small government" ideology when there are human beings in need of physical, spiritual, and economic healing?

What is wanting, I think, is a personal, flesh-and-blood relationship. In verse 14 Jesus, the Good Shepherd, says, "I know my own, and my own know me..." When we have a personal knowledge of Jesus--a real relationship--we can see past our petty selfish interests and find genuine, visionary compassion.

But how would we achieve such a relationship? The best advice I can give is to imagine the single most virtuous person you have ever known.  Maybe that's your mother or grandmother, or, perhaps, a former teacher, neighbor, or co-worker. Someone with true compassion, wisdom, love, and integrity. Visualize yourself having a conversation with that person and telling him or her about what's on your mind. How do your opinions and feelings stack up against that person's moral character? What advice would that person give you? If you can imagine a relationship with someone you've actually known who has embodied compassion, forgiveness, and truthfulness, you're on your way to having a relationship with Jesus.

Catherine of Siena, a fourteenth century nun, was known for her mystical visions of Christ. She imagined a very intimate relationship with Jesus, often imagining him feeding her the eucharist by his own hand. Touched by the compasson of her Good Shepherd, Catherine became something of a shepherd herself. She obediently and willingly exposed herself to vicitms of the plague. She both fed and nursed them, and even dug their graves. Miraculously, she never became infected.

Catherine was also known for her willingness to speak truth to power. As the fourteenth century was filled with petty wars and political intrigue, Catherine risked her own life to broker peace between warring Italian states, and urged Pope Gregory XI to return to Italy. She worked tirelessly for reconcilliation within the church after the election of Pope Urban VI caused schism, and frequently wrote to the pontiff criticisms of his behavior. Throughout her short life she remained a champion of the poor, often feeding the hungry from her own meager rations.

I find myself wishing for a modern-day Catherine--someone who can see beyond the political intrigues and just say, "Hey! We have hungry and sick people here. We need to care for them! Why? Because I know Jesus, and that's what he wants us to do."

So what is Jesus telling you to do? To whom are you a shepherd?

Mary Magdalene

I really love her story. I find it touching, and mysterious, and so very, very human. The alternate Easter gospel lesson (John 20:1-18) is for me, one of the most beautiful vignettes in all of the Bible, simply because of the recognizable humanity of its central character, Mary Magdalene.

Poor Mary. She's been so maligned over the centuries. In 591, Pope Gregory the Great got it into his head that Mary Magdalene was the same woman as the sinful woman mentioned in Luke 7:36. Ever since, Mary M. has been considered a reformed prostitute--a conclusion which could never have been reached by an honest reading of Luke's text. I wonder if old Gregory, head of a male-dominated institution, just couldn't get over the fact that the first Christian evangelist was actually a woman.

What we do know about this wonderful saint, however, is that Jesus had healed her of "seven demons (See Luke 8:2 and Mark 16:9)." What we don't  know is what on earth "seven demons" actually meant in the world of the text. Was she menatally ill? Depressed? Physically sick? Who knows? All we know is that she was sick, she got well, and, as a result, formed a devoted attachment to Jesus whom she supported from his ministry in Galilee all the way up to his crucifixion and beyond.

The early church had a lot of veneration for Mary. She's mentioned as being close to Jesus in a lot of early Christian gnostic texts, and she's often been the subject of early Christian artists. You can always pick out Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross or at the empty tomb.  She is color-coded in red gown or veil in order to distinguish her from Mary, the mother of Jesus, who was painted wearing blue. Later, Renaissance artists got more creative and painted her with red hair (In Trimark's 1999 made-for-television film Jesus, Mary Magdalene is portrayed by the brilliant redheaded actress Debra Messing--and depicted as a prostitute.)

I suspect that the term "scarlett woman," referring to a woman of questionable sexual morality, owes a little something to Mary Magdalene. Also, our English word "maudlin," meaning something tearfully sentimental, is a direct referrence to Mary weeping at the tomb of Christ. Whether old Pope Gregory liked it or not, Mary Magdalene has infiltrated herself into our culture.

But it is her involvement in the crucifixion story which gives her her lasting importance. Can you put yourself in her place? She has witnessed the man to whom she is devoted, to whom she owes her life, brutally and unjustly tortured to death. She witnesses this act of barbaric cruelty along with her friend and teacher's mother. What must have been going through her mind? I think the very experience must have been traumatizing. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when we meet her in the 20th chapter of John, she is suffering from PTSD.

The inspiration of her life is gone, thrown into a grave before she could even prepare his body. She stumbles through the pre-dawn blackness just so she can be close to his lifeless form--the only thing that's left of this man who has been so significant in her life. To her horror, she sees that the tomb has been opened, and, assuming the worst without even investigating, she runs to tell his friends. I find it significant that she doesn't take the time to look in the tomb herself. Her grief is so overwhelming that she jumps to the not-far-fetched conclusion that this opening is the work of grave robbers.

The men who investigate are no help to her. They enter the tomb, come to their own conclusions, but do nothing  to console this stricken woman. They desert her in her pain, as her grief has become isolating. She is left to weep alone.

Looking into the tomb, Mary sees two angels who ask her why she is crying. She doesn't care that they're angels. She does not wonder at the sight, cast down her eyes at their splendor, or throw herself on her knees. All she cares about is that Jesus is gone.

Turning away in pain, she sees a man she takes to be the gardener. "Sir," she says, "if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Picture that for a second: a Jewish woman, ritually defiling herself by carrying the corpse of her dead teacher. It is an image both grotesque and pathetic--and yet it speaks to a love so profound that it transends reason and dignity. To me, it is heartbreaking.

And then the man--really the resurrected Jesus--does a very simple, very loving thing. He addresses her by name. By my count, Mary is one of only four people in the gospels whom Jesus calls by name. Overjoyed, the woman throws herself into his arms, but Jesus tells her not to cling to him. He has not yet ascended to his Father.

This means, of course, that his absence from her has only been postponed. She will lose him again.

Or will she?

He has called her by name. He knows her. Isn't it all of our secret desires to be intimately known--recognized, understood, loved for who we truly are? Can a love like that ever be taken from us? The physical body of Jesus may be taken from her, but the spiritual reality of the ascended Jesus is her permanent reality.

I think Mary's story is the story of us all--grief has robbed her of judgment, peace, and dignity. Love has restored and empowered her. God has seen her, known her, touched her, and become part of her. She is broken and restored, wounded and healed, and, like Jesus, killed and raised.

Update

Christ is risen! Alleluia!

Hello, Dear Friends!

 I'm afraid I'm still unable to post a new essay due to the lack of a functioning computer (I'm borrowing the one I'm using now). I thank you all for your patience. I am happy to report, however, that the church steeple is being repaired and my parish is entering into a relationship with the Interfaith Hospitality Network with the aim of sheltering three temporarily homeless families in our facility. As Saint James reminds us, "Faith, by itself, if it has no works, is dead." (Js. 2:17) We are very excited about this.

If you have any suggestions about a subject on which you'd like me to write, please leave me a comment.

A Blessed Easter!

Dear Friends,
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our crucified and risen Lord Jesus!

I'd hoped to have written a moving essay this week on one of  my favorite biblical characters, Mary Magdalene--the very first Christian evangelist. Alas, the Old Religious Guy's computer crashed and has been sent to computer hospital for repair (I'm borrowing a computer from my secretary for this post). Not only has the computer crashed, but the steeple on my church has also come crashing down as a result of some rotten roof beams and recent 40 mile-per-hour winds. Hey, it never rains but it pours. But I am not discouraged. It's Holy Week, and I rejoice in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection (and the fact that the parish has a good insurance policy!).

I have also changed the settings on this blog so ANYONE (Christians, non-Christians, non-blog members, non-googlers, spammers, hackers, sinners, atheists, or any English-speaking soul around the world) can leave a comment. So please feel free to do so. Let me know what you'd like to read about, and we can have a conversation.

I hope to be back with a new post next week. (Uh-oh. Looks like my secretary wants her computer back!)In the meantime, may you have a blessed and holy Easter.

Christ is risen! Alleluia!

Glorious Humility (Reflections on Palm Sunday)

A few years ago I started to become a Grumpy Old Religious Guy. The grumpiness was the result of a mid-life crisis. It wasn't so much taking stock of my life, rather it was a matter of my comparing my station in life to others. Younger seminary classmates of mine seemed to be doing so much better in their lives and careers. They were publishing books, going on exciting missionary journeys, taking new calls to larger, more prestigious parishes. Some of my old friends had become professors. All were making a lot more money than I. And I? Stuck in the same working-class parish, year after year.

So I started to rethink. What if I were to take fame and fortune out of the equation? I still have relatively good health for a man of my years. At least I still have all of my hair, greying though it may be, and all of my teeth--give or take four wisdom teeth. I have the use of all of my limbs, I'm not overweight or on medication. I have a family who loves me, shelter from the elements, clothing, food, and access to clean water. This puts me in a state of unimaginable luxury compared to about 75% of the earth's population. On top of all this, I love my work. I have a caring and growing congregation (working-class or not), some wonderful teenagers to teach, and the gift of being able to preach the gospel and write this blog which, at last count, has been read in about thirteen countries across the globe. All-in-all, I'd say I'm a pretty successful guy.

Neither fortune nor fame will keep me from dying. It is, perhaps, better for me to glory in the humbler things of life: loving relationships, a sense of purpose, the ability to be grateful.

The story of Palm Sunday is an exercise in humility. The pageant of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem might seem pretty pathetic to a world impressed by giant spectacle. This little rabbi from Nazareth had no imposing resume or titles, just a loyal following of humble, working-class people. Peasants, really. His entourage consisted of simple fishermen, many of whom--if not all--were illiterate. There was nothing about this group of Galileans to inspire awe or even such respect as might have been afforded learned scribes or Pharisees. The humble Messiah rode into town, not on a galloping war horse, but on a donkey--a peasant's mode of transportation. There were no banners hung in his honor, only the branches of palm trees. And yet, these branches were waved with as much love and affection and hope as had they been the costliest fabric pennants. No red carpet was laid at his feet, only the well-worn garments of those who were putting their hope in him. Having no home of his own, he borrowed a room for the Passover feast. And, having no money or means of his own, at week's end he was laid in a borrowed grave.

It strikes me that no matter how impressive a spectacle we create, there will always be someone who will do us one better. The next pageant for king or hero will be more elaborate, more ornate, more expensive. There will be more bells, more whistles, more dancing girls and acrobats. And yet...we would be very hard pressed to find a parade more humble than the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem on that long-ago Sunday.

Jesus rode into the holy city in earthly poverty, but filled  with spiritual wealth. He possessed the riches of the truth, a truth he proclaimed in Herod's temple when he boldly preached that the rulers of the land had placed financial gain and ritual tradition over compassion for the poor.

He possessed the wealth of his love--humbling himself to wash the feet of his friends.

He possessed the wealth of mercy and sacrifice, giving everything--his body, his dignity, his very life--for the sake of others.

How very glorious that was!

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You'll note that I refer to this liturgical day as "Palm Sunday," rather than as "The Sunday of the Passion." In my parish I prefer not to read the passion story on the Sunday prior to Easter. I think doing so does a disservice to the congregation. I've always held that there is a real spiritul blessing to be gained by the sort of "participatory theatre" of Holy Week. On Palm Sunday, we sing Jesus' praise and wave the palm branches. On Holy Thursday, we wash feet, celebrate the meal, and then stand in respectful silence as the church is stripped of ornament in remembrence of Jesus' betrayal, arrest, and beating on that night. We leave the sanctuary in silence, contemplating what he endured for our sake. We gather the next night for the solemn Tenebrae--the service of darkness during which the candles are extinguished as our Lord's crucifixion is recalled, leaving us in blackness to contemplate the senseless evil of this world. I think all of these experiences are good and necessary for us to appreciate the gift that is Easter morning.

May your Holy Week be a blessing to you, my friends. I urge you, if you can, to participate in the holy liturgies of this week. Meditate on our Lord's passion, and know his love for you.

The Grain and the Fruit (Reflections on Lent 5)

"Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also."
                                                                                 John 12:24-26

The Reverend Howard A. Kuhnle was a lovely old fellow. I always enjoyed chatting with him in the retirement home where he lived, and I appreciated his sage advice on matters of parish ministry. He had pastored eleven parishes in his career, written countless articles, and preached his final sermon on the morning of his 100th birthday. He died eleven months later, and, for most of those months, he was mentally more alert than I am now (although this is not saying much!).

Whenever I visit the sick in our local hospital, I always climb the stairs rather than use the elevator. Such had been Howard's advice to me. "Take the stairs," he'd say. "It  gets your heart going and you'll live longer." Well, if anyone should know about living long, it was certainly Howard.

Although Howard is dead and buried for some years now, his advice lives on in me. I should also hope that some of his good humor does as well. The grain may be in the ground, but it is still bearing fruit. In the above quote from the Gospel lesson assigned for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, Jesus knows that his time on earth is short; however, he also knows that, after he is gone, his Holy Spirit will live on in those whose lives he's touched. They, in turn, will touch others. The grain will keep bearing fruit.

Jesus says that they who love their life will lose it, and they who "hate" their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. This passage has always troubled me a bit since I have no intention of hating my life. (In fact, I rather enjoy it!) The problem is one of translation. The author of the Gospel of John most likely spoke Aramaic. The convention of his day, however, was to write in Greek, so I think our word gets lost in transit between the languages. If we understand the word "love" to mean "to care deeply and passionately for someone or something," then the word our evangelist is looking for would be the opposite of love. In English, we'd say "hate," but this isn't really accurate. "Hate" ususally means "to detest intensely." Perhaps neither Greek nor English has a proper word. We're really looking for something meaning "to view with indifference."

In essence, Jesus is telling us not to sweat the small stuff. When we become passionate about the silly things of this world--such as our ego or our bank account--we lose sight of the fruit which God wants us yield. If we are to love anything about this life, we need to love the eternal things which will live on after our own time in the lives of others whom we influence. We need to love the things of Christ.

What are these? I'd say...

Love--genuine, selfless, unconditional, and non-judgmental.

Sacrifice--Give yourself for the welfare of others. And this includes giving your pride, too. Learn to forgive.

Thanksgiving--Recognize that everything is a gift from God. Be grateful, and you'll learn to live in joy.

Suffering--Pain cannot be escaped in this world, but we can suffer with dignity and honor when we refuse to inflict our pain on others. We each must carry our own cross.

Faith--Know that God is still good even when we fail to see the goodness in our own circumstances. Just think: Right at this moment as you are reading these words, somewhere a baby is being born, a young person is falling in love, a new idea is being developed, a child is learning to read, and someone is looking at a mountain with awe, amazement, and tears.

The world is waiting to see Jesus. Let them see Jesus in YOU.

God bless you, my friends.