Are You Open to This? (Reflections on Pentecost 16,Year B2024)

 

Pietro del Po (Italian, 17th Cent.)

Now the woman was a gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” (Mark 7:26-28)

I love Starbucks. Seriously. Sometimes I just like to sit in my favorite Starbucks, savor a grande dark roast, pair it with some pastry, and read a chapter or two of an Agatha Christie novel. It’s pure heaven. I’m not at home. I’m not at work. I’m at my own little table where nobody can bother me.

Except somebody always does.

One of the baristas or somebody who drops in who knows I’m a pastor will come up to me and ask me to pray for their cousin or something. I can’t just say, “Sorry. I’m taking a break now. Could you ask me later?” You see, I never stop being a pastor because I never stop being a Christian. Anybody else might be able to say, “Call my office tomorrow and make an appointment.” I can’t. Belief in Christ and what Our Lord stands for never takes a rest. At least it shouldn’t.

In the gospel lesson for Pentecost 16, Year B (Mark 7: 24-37) Jesus is actually trying to put a little distance between himself and a hurting humanity. The Church has always taught that Jesus was fully God, but we sometimes forget he was fully human, too. Here he is up around Tyre, which was the stomping ground of the old Philistines[i]. Nobody up there was supposed to know about him since they were all a different religion and nationality. It would be like Taylor Swift going to some tiny island in the Indian Ocean to get away from her fans.[ii] But—wouldn’t you know it?—along comes this foreign chick who has actually heard of Jesus and she’s got a demonically possessed daughter. What’s the Savior to do?

(By the way, it’s not that uncommon to have a demonically possessed child, is it? She could be hooked on meth or she spends like a Kardashian or she binge eats and then barfs or she’s just brought home a loser boyfriend with a neck tattoo whom she says she loves. There are lots of demons that can attack our children and if one ever gets your child, you’ll do anything to rescue her. I’m just saying.)

What’s really troubling about this particular Bible tale is Jesus’ reaction. He actually tries to send this worried and hurting mom away. It seems he’s telling her that, since she’s not Jewish, she and her wacky kid aren’t entitled to any compassion. Exorcising the demon from this girl, he says, is like throwing children’s food to dogs—and “dogs,” in the world of this text, was not a compliment. He’s basically said, “Go away, bitch. You’re not deserving of compassion.”

So, what are we to make of this? It doesn’t sound like the Jesus we know and love, does it? You’ve got to ask why Mark included this remark in his gospel. Was Jesus trying to test the woman? If so, that’s almost as cruel as dismissing her. What if she took him at his word and went away? Her daughter would still be sick and hopeless. Or, what if Jesus, being fully human, was echoing the party line of his place and time and intentionally keeping apart from gentiles? I like that explanation better. That would mean the woman’s plea for compassion—noting that compassion is even shown to dogs—had moved Jesus and changed his thinking. He was deeply touched by what she had to say. It opened his thinking and caused him to open his ministry to Jews and gentiles alike.

But let’s not move away too fast from Jesus’ shocking insult to this poor mother. Calling her a “dog” was to call her less than human.[iii] We should take time to consider how often we dehumanize others whom we find “not like us” or “undeserving.” We can so easily relegate immigrants, refugees, the homeless, or welfare recipients to the status of “those people.” Former President Trump has openly referred to those seeking refuge at the southern border of the United States as “animals.”[iv]It is the nature of all human conflict to see other people as subhuman. This way we need not consider they are children made in the image of God just as we. We can kill them or starve them as we please without troubling our conscience—and it all begins with the words we use to describe them.

As I stated above, I believe this moment in Mark’s narrative is another turning point in Jesus’ ministry. It’s similar to his baptism, the call of the twelve disciples, and the journey to and entry into Jerusalem which begins the last chapter of his earthly life. This is the moment when he shows us that we all are God’s Chosen People. The miraculous healing of the deaf mute which follows reinforces this new ministry focus. If Jesus left Tyre by way of Sidon (v. 31), he would still be in gentile territory. His encounter with this unfortunate foreign fellow is even more poignant than the exorcism he’s just performed. He only phoned in the healing of the possessed daughter. Now he actually touches the unclean gentile who needs his help. There’s a moment of personal intimacy when he tells the man to “be opened.”

Maybe that’s what Jesus is also telling us. We are to open our ears and really listen to one another. And we are to let our tongues speak truly and not carelessly, remembering God’s love and desire for healing and wholeness are for everyone.

Let’s all try to be a little more open this week, okay? Thank you for taking these moments with me. Feel free to leave me a comment, and please come again.

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[i] You remember them? They were the bad guys in much of the Old Testament.

[ii] Assuming, of course, that there exists such a place that’s never heard of Taylor Swift.

[iii] That is, in the world of the text. I sometimes think my dog is slightly more than human. But that’s just me.

[iv] See this link: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/2018/05/16/trump-immigrants-animals-mexico-democrats-sanctuary-cities/617252002/

An "Offensive" Idea (Reflections on Pentecost 14, Year B 2024)

 

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.” (John 6:56)

Saint John the Evangelist is doing it to us again. I think he must’ve had a great sense of humor. Either that, or he knew Jesus had one. So often in John’s gospel we get people talking at cross purposes like that old Abbott and Costello “Who’s on First” routine[i].

In the gospel lesson for Pentecost 14 (John 6: 56-69—mercifully the last of our “Bread of Life” readings) people are really getting their shorts in a bunch over Jesus’ statement about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. You have to admit it sounds pretty icky, like something out of Silence of the Lambs.[ii] I think, however, that John is having a little fun with this. You’ll note that in John’s version of the passion story there is no mention of Jesus breaking bread and saying “This is my body” during the Last Supper. Most smart Bible scholars think this is because everyone in John’s community already knew about the Sacrament of Holy Communion. His readers knew Jesus was talking about sharing the sacramental meal which would commemorate his sacrifice on the cross; whereas the uninitiated would think this was a reference to cannibalism. Yuck!

But why is Jesus so insistent that we eat his body and drink his blood? There’s Bruce Chilton’s explanation in his wonderful book, Rabbi Jesus[iii]. Chilton believes that the shared meal itself is a form of sacrifice purer than the flesh and blood of animal sacrifice done on the burning altar of the temple of Jerusalem. According to him, Jesus, because of his rather obscure parentage, might not have been permitted to make sacrifice in the temple. So, what did he do? He instituted a ritual in which everyone and anyone could take part—a communal family meal.

But what’s so “offensive[iv]” or difficult about this? Obviously, the first thing is eating flesh and drinking blood in the literal sense would be pretty distasteful to any pious Jew who didn’t get that Jesus was talking about taking communion. But the meal itself could also be a rather nasty thing in this culture.

When we take communion, we know we’ve sinned and really need God. When we take communion in church, we know everyone around us also needs God. But we know and believe that Christ’s love from the cross promises forgiveness for all of us. This meal, therefore, brings us together and makes us family. In Jesus’ day, people wanted to be picky about who they ate with. They didn’t want just anybody to be their family member. It must’ve felt kind of good to be able to exclude people you didn’t like.

When the flesh and blood of an animal was sacrificed in the temple, there was a particular pecking order. Anybody could come into the forecourt of the building and gawk and admire King Herod’s architectural marvel. If they had cell phones back then they’d be taking selfies in front of the building and putting them on their Facebook pages. But to get into what would be like the narthex, however, you had to be Jewish. To cross inside into the place where the sacrifice was made, you had to be a Jewish man (no women permitted). To actually make the sacrifice and put the animal on the altar, you had to be a priest, and to enter the innermost part of the temple, the Holy of Holies, you had to be the High Priest. It seems the whole society was about where you ranked on the ladder of importance. It was about who was in and who was out. For Jesus to invite people to the table—prostitutes, tax collectors, women, etcetera—was to upset the order and create a scandal.

We might also consider that lots of folks were just honky-snooky with things the way they were. You go into the temple, you sacrifice a sheep, and God forgives you all your sins. Simple. You’re not required to be in any kind of relationship with anybody else. You don’t have to deal with anyone you don’t like. Besides, what’s a temple for if not for appeasing God? If you can meet God someplace else, what’s the good of having a temple? You can see why Jesus’ words were hard for some people to swallow. He was blasting a hole in their cultural system—just like he does to ours today.

If you add up all the hard and offensive stuff you see that Jesus is dismissing the site of cultic worship, which would be pretty hard to take. We like our institutions, and we don’t like change. To eat the flesh and blood Jesus offers means to share it with other flesh and blood human beings, which means we’ll have to form relationships, be willing to exercise empathy and forgiveness, and abandon our ideas about where we rank in importance compared to others. You can see that this wouldn’t be easy to do. It’s much simpler just to walk away.

But then we hear good ol’ Peter asking that most important question: “Lord, to whom shall we go?” Let’s just come to the table with all our fears and worries. Let’s bring all our anger and all our doubts and all our disappointments. All our guilt and all our need. Let’s know that everyone else is doing the same as we. In meeting the flesh and blood sacrifice Jesus while encountering the flesh and blood reality of our brothers and sisters we’ll find it’s not so hard after all.

Thanks again for dropping by this week. Please come again.

 

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[i] If you’re too young to remember “Who’s on First,” just think of any episode of the TV series Schitt’s Creek.

[ii] In case you don’t know, Silence of the Lambs was a 1988 novel turned into a successful film in 1991 about an FBI agent who has to deal with a deranged killer who is also a cannibal.

[iii] See Chilton, Bruce: Rabbi Jesus: The Jewish Life and Teachings that Inspired Christianity. (New York: Image Books, 2000)

[iv] The word in verse 61 translated as “offend” is, in Greek, scandalizei, from which we get our word “scandalize.”

Got Enough Bread? (Reflections on Pentecost 11, Year B 2024)

 

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” (John 6:51)

Once upon a very long time ago I had occasion to visit the great state of Nevada with some friends. As happens when one visits the great state of Nevada, we found ourselves one evening inside a casino. Let me just say for the record that the Lutheran Church, as a general rule, has been death on gambling, so I’m not recommending this as a hobby. People lose their money, their families, and chunks of their souls in casinos all the time. What’s more, in order for you to win money, some other poor slob has got to lose—so you can see why we don’t think Jesus would exactly approve.

But I digress.

On this particular occasion I watched as a friend of mine cheerfully fed quarters into the insatiable maw of a slot machine. One after another he fed tiny graven images of General Washington into this rapacious device just as I might’ve fed kibble treats to my cat. The action had become mechanical and zombie-like. But suddenly, after my friend had run through almost the entire content of a $20 roll of coins, the hungry machine erupted with a clang of bells and a flash of lights. A cascade of two-bit pieces began to vomit forth into an aluminum pan at the base of the thing. It soon became clear that what was spewing out was a greater sum than my friend had put in. He had hit a small jackpot—not enough to buy a new Mercedes mind you, but should he elect to scoop the coins up and exchange them with the casino cashier for folding green American cash, he’d certainly be leaving with a few more bucks than he’d come with.

So, what did he do? Yeah. You guessed it. I watched as he fed every blessed one of the quarters back into the slot and left with nothing.

We always want more, don’t we? I recall a quote—the source of which I can’t cite—supposedly from the billionaire oil baron J. Paul Getty[i]. When Getty was asked how much is enough, his reply was “Always a little more than you have.” It’s a sad commentary on our human condition that we lack faith in God’s goodness even when we’ve seen how gracious God can be.

In our Gospel for Pentecost 11, Year B (John 6: 35, 41-51) we pick up the story from last week. Jesus has tried to escape a mob of folks who by now have been pretty well fed with loaves and fish. But they want more. They’ve run a marathon race around the Sea of Galilee in hope of intercepting Jesus and making him their earthly king. He’s been the slot machine that’s paying off, giving them free food they might not be able to afford and don’t have to work for. They want more, but they don’t understand what Jesus really wants to give them is so much more than the earthly provisions they imagine.

For Chosen People, these guys really seem to be suffering from a lack of imagination. They see only the immediate picture and can’t get their brains around the idea that God might be doing something new and exciting in Jesus. They don’t say to themselves, “Hey! We’ve just seen a freakin’ miracle. It looks like God might be active and speaking to us. This Jesus—even though we know who his folks were—might really be sent from God and anointed just as Moses was anointed to rescue our ancestors. I guess we ought to listen to him.”

But no. They’re stuck in the mud of their literal-mindedness, abandoning an eternal vision for hopes of a short-term reward. As I think back on it, I’m sorry I never said to my slot machine-playing buddy, “Hey! God just blessed you with a win. If you scoop up those quarters and cash them in, you could treat us both to the buffet for breakfast. Then we’d have a better memory of our time together than we’d have just watching you piss away more money.”

Jesus didn’t come to us only to do signs and wonders which we so easily forget. Jesus came to give us the bread—the sustenance—of life. He came to give his body on the cross, so we’d understand true love and compassion and have the hope of eternity. He came so we would not only acknowledge God but trust in God and, just maybe, start to live for God.

I really dig the Hebrew scripture passage the bright lads who composed our Revised Common Lectionary decided to pair with this gospel lesson. It’s 1 Kings 19:4-8. Here we find the uber prophet Elijah on the lamb from the evil Queen Jezebel. Elijah has done all God has asked of him, but it doesn’t seem to him to have changed anything. The queen has put a hit out on him, and he’s forced to hide out in the desert where we find him depressed and semi-suicidal. So, God grants him a miracle—food delivered by an angel in a barren a desolate place. How does he respond? By going right back to sleep. So, God has to do it again to get his attention.

We pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.” We’re not just praying to have our physical needs met. We’re praying to be sustained in trust and hope and purpose—just as the Father has always intended.

May you be blessed with all manner of “daily bread” today, and thanks again for visiting my blog!

 

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[i] Anyway, I think it was Getty. It might’ve been John D. Rockefeller or one of those super rich guys. Doesn’t really matter, does it?

A Word About Bread for Kids (Reflections on Pentecost 11, Year B 2024)

 

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Since I started my full-time preaching career in the summer of 1997, I’ve had to endure nine summers when the Revised Common Lectionary sticks us with four consecutive Sundays in which the gospel lesson focuses on Jesus as the bread of life. Come to think of it, it’s actually five Sundays because the Sunday lesson which precedes all that bread is the story of the feeding of the 5,000. That’s a lot of bread. I mean, come on! Just how much can you say about bread?

Over the decades I’ve figured out ways to avoid this redundancy. I could always preach from the Hebrew scriptures or from the epistle lessons. Or—and I like this idea the best—I can go on vacation for a few of those four weeks and let someone else talk about Jesus being the bread of life. This summer I have a great Assisting Minister, the Rev. Natt Pour formerly of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Liberia. I’m going to let him preach this Sunday. I feel confident Pastor Natt will rock the house. He has a rather thick accent so whatever he says will sound unique. Of course, many folks can’t understand a word he says anyway, so at least they won’t notice the repetition next Sunday. But, whatever Natt may lack in English pronunciation, he more than makes up for in preaching zeal. I’ll have one of the deacons tag in for me when I go on vacation in two weeks, so I’ll only have to come up with two bread of life sermons. (If you do this job long enough, you learn some tricks!)

But there’s one thing I can’t quite maneuver around. We’ve started a new program for kids at Faith. I do a quickie children’s sermon just before we read the week’s gospel lesson, then the kids leave the worship space and get a short, age-appropriate Bible lesson in an adjacent room. A lesson for preschoolers has always been a bit of a challenge for me since I have no biological children of my own and my teaching experience was mostly with middle school youth. I’m not sure I can make a meaningful analogy for the little tykes, but this is what I’m going to try:

I will show the children a half-eaten loaf of bread I’ve taken from the refrigerator in the church’s Fellowship Room. I’ll explain that bread is one of the most common foods eaten by people on the planet, and ask the youngsters if they ever eat bread and how do they eat it. I’ll try to explain that when we pray “Give us this day our daily bread” we’re really asking God to see to all our needs.

So far so good?

I will then explain that I keep the bread I use to make my lunch at church in the refrigerator. It might get a little dry or stale that way, but I toast it so I don’t mind. I’ll ask them what they think would happen if I just left the bread out. I hope they’ll understand that the bread will eventually go bad if it’s not refrigerated or eaten in a timely manner. If they get that, I can tell them there are some things which don’t go bad—ever.  

Jesus came to teach us about love and sharing and kindness to others. He wanted us to look out for one another. If we really believe in this love, it won’t ever leave us. We can be thankful for and loving to our moms and dads, our brothers and sister, our teachers and friends, and everyone we meet. The love we feel inside will never spoil unless we let it. We can eat bread today and be hungry tomorrow, but the love Jesus teaches will give us joy forever.

Do you think children will understand that? I hope so. At least that’s what I’ll try to teach them. It’s just too bad there are so many grown-ups who have never learned this.

Thanks for reading, my friend. May you have a blessed week and always enough “bread” for your journey.

Little Miracles (Reflections on Pentecost 10, Year B 2024)

 

One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” (John 6:9)

Do we ever really think about what God is capable of doing? The Gospel lesson assigned for Pentecost 10, Year B (John 6: 1-21) tells the tale of a whole bunch of hungry folks who’ve come to hear what Jesus has to say. At dinner time Jesus throws a question to his buddy, Philip: Where are you going to buy food for this crowd? You’ll notice he doesn’t ask Phil if he should feed this horde. He asks him how he plans to do it. Can’t you just see Phil scratching his head saying, “Gosh, Boss, I dunno. There are a lot of people here, and we just don’t have the cash to take care of them.”

Of course, our evangelist John tells us that Jesus already knew what he was gong to do. He was just having a little fun with Philip—jerking him around a little to remind him that living here in this world and being obedient followers of Christ is always going to be something of a test. We are called always to see poverty, hunger, injustice, need, and sorrow, and we have to figure out how to address it.

So, what happens? In a detail unique to John’s telling of this miracle story, a young lad comes forward who is willing to share his lunch. A tiny, almost infinitesimal act of kindness causes an enormous outflow of grace.

Do you know the story of Alex Scott? She’s the little girl who was diagnosed with cancer when she was a year old. At age four, having spent her whole life dealing with doctors and hospitals and medicine, Alex decided she wanted to help other kids who were living with the same circumstances which were defining her world. She told her folks she wanted to collect money to find a cure for pediatric cancer. With the help of her big brother Patrick, Alex opened her lemonade stand, selling lemonade for fifty cents a glass. With the compassion and generosity of her neighbors, the tiny cancer patient raised over $2,000 in a single day.

 Alex continued her philanthropic efforts until she succumbed to her disease at the age of eight. But her compassion inspired an international movement which has raised over $300 million since that first fifty-cent glass was sold in 2000. Alex’s Lemonade Stand, Inc. has created over 1,500 cancer projects in North America and Europe and assisted over 30,000 families battling pediatric cancer.

In our Gospel story, Jesus runs from the crowd because, having been fed their fill, they want to make him their king. Jesus never seems to have time for people who just don’t get it. Sure. You’d really want a leader who can promise you an unending supply of all good things. But what would your contribution be? Jesus wants to fill the soul and not just the stomach. He wants our faith to be tested so that we grow and mature and learn love and empathy. A little boy shares his lunch, a little girl makes lemonade—these are things small but significant acts of faith which come from godly hearts.

We so often find ourselves cast adrift in a sea of seeming scarcity and a storm of chaotic uncertainty. There’s an awful lot of need and, so it seems, never enough resources to meet that need. My little congregation in Northeast Philadelphia is dealing with an aging building and a shrinking congregation. It’s really easy for us to feel overwhelmed. Nevertheless, we can’t simply close our eyes and pray for a miracle. We may have to be the miracle ourselves.

Since the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary have stranded us for the next four weeks in the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel—that dreaded month of “Bread of Life” readings—I’m going to challenge my peeps to fill a shopping cart for our local food bank every week for the next four weeks. If everyone makes a tiny sacrifice, we can make a big donation for our hungry neighbors.

The Gospel reading for Pentecost 10 ends with the story of the disciples in the boat on a dark and stormy sea. Personally, I’d think experienced fishermen should’ve known better than to shove off on the Sea of Galilee at twilight, but hey! People do dumb things all the time, right? Maybe John wanted to illustrate that—just like everybody else—the disciples could quickly forget the goodness of God. I mean, these guys just saw a miraculous work, but already they’re starting to panic. That’s typical of all of us. I like the way John ends the tale by saying, after Jesus has identified himself, “then they wanted to take him into the boat.” The Greek word[i] implies a wish or a desire for something. John ends this part of the story with the disciples wanting the presence of Jesus, but wanting Jesus in our lives is really a beginning, isn’t it?

Just think: if all of us insignificant little people had the desire for Jesus in our hearts, how do you think the world would change? What kind of miracles could we do?

Thanks for reading, my friend. Be somebody’s miracle this week.

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[i] The word is ‘hethelon, which is the verb form of thelo meaning wish, desire, want, or will. Just thought you might be interested.

It's Break Time (Reflections on Pentecost 9, Year B 2024)

 

Carl Block (Danish, 19th Century)

As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. (Mark 6:34)

What is it with the Gospel writers and this sheep and shepherd thing? I guess this was their prime metaphor for leaders and followers. Jeremiah, in the First Lesson assigned for Pentecost 9 in the Revised Common Lectionary (Jeremiah 23:1-6) warns—and rightly so as it turns out—that bad “shepherding” will have dire consequences for the sheep. After all, if you hire some bozo to look after your sheep and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, you’re not going to have much of a flock. The sheep will get lost or go hungry or get eaten by wolves or something.

Fun fact: the word “pastor” comes from a Latin verb which means “to lead to pasture” as a shepherd would lead a flock; subsequently, pastor is synonymous with “shepherd.” It’s an uncomfortable truth that a poor “shepherd” can send an otherwise healthy congregation into a death spiral, but the best pastor in the world can’t seem to keep a congregation from declining, nor can she or he grow a congregation. Shepherds don’t beget sheep. Sheep beget sheep—but only with the help of the Holy Spirit.

Of course, the warning Jeremiah is giving in this lesson is actually about political leadership. Given his circumstances back in Judea in the 7^th century BCE, he had a pretty good point. The king and his court were a bunch of dufuses who, through arrogance, selfishness, impiety, and miscalculation, managed to flush their country down the dumper. Nothing God’s prophets said or did could keep them from doing it.

Leadership is a pretty topical subject in this year of the presidential election. Still, if you’re like me, you might be feeling just a bit exhausted by the subject. Doesn’t it feel like this current election cycle has been going on for about the last twenty years? I mean, we are suffocated with campaign ads on TV and requests for donations on our phones, in the mail, and in our email accounts. The endless news coverage about who is an old, doddering geezer or who is a mendacious autocrat is slowly sucking the air out of our lungs. Don’t you just wish you could get in a boat and go away to a deserted place where you don’t have to listen to or worry about all of this?

So, okay. I recognize folks just want to come to church and find a little sanctuary from the world, so I’ll steer clear of anything topical.

This does, however, lead me to our appointed Gospel text (Mark 6:30-34, 53-56). Here we find Jesus and the disciples in just about the same boat (pun intended) we’re in. The guys have been preaching and healing and exorcising their butts off, so Jesus tells them it’s time for a break. Unfortunately, even though they think they’re headed for a little R & R, the needy folks have other ideas. Jesus and his buddies can’t even sail off for a little picnic lunch without being hassled by a horde of sick and desperate people. But Jesus can’t just say, “Sorry, dudes. We’re on vacation. You’ll have to wait ‘til we get back or go find another Messiah.” No. Not even Jesus can escape the noise of the world. So, what do we take from this?

First, remember Jesus had the ability to show compassion for the multitude even when he was trying to find some rest. Nevertheless, he wanted the disciples to take a breather. Rest from responsibility, work, or even worrying about the state of the world is really important. Sometimes you just have to shut stuff off. It’s okay. Jesus said so. You won’t go to Hell for being kind to yourself every once in a while.

Second, sheep need a shepherd. I think what brought about Jesus’ compassion for the crowd in this story wasn’t their hunger or their illnesses. It was their desperation and confusion. The text doesn’t say he began to heal their sick. That happens in the later part of the reading which is really a separate story[i]. Instead, it says Jesus began to teach them. True leadership involves giving people the truth and leading them to a place of understanding. Jesus is the Good Shepherd because he teaches us love of enemies, inclusion, compassion, trust, mercy, humility, non-violence, and personal sacrifice for the sake of others. These are the things which God values. The shepherds of this world may have a different view, but the things of Christ are what bring us to a place of peace.

Finally, even when we desperately need a rest, God can give us the strength to go on. When the needs of the world are relentless, we remember that God’s power and love are even more relentless. A prayer for strength will always be answered because we serve a mighty God.

Whatever the wisdom or folly of our earthly shepherds, we know that it is the will of our Good Shepherd to lead us in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake and restore our souls. His is the voice we know and follow.

I hope you’re taking it easy sometime this week, my friend. May God’s peace be with you ‘til we meet again.

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[i] There’s that whole feeding the 5,000 and walking on water business that comes in between the two parts of this reading.

Religion and Politics

 I’m on vacation this week, so I don’t have to write a sermon on the death of John the Baptist, the assigned reading from Mark’s Gospel in the Revised Common Lectionary (Mark 6:14-29). Nevertheless, I attended my conference pericope study this week because I enjoy hanging out with my clergy colleagues and because my Dean of Conference—who is an excellent baker—promised he’d serve us the remnants of the scrumptious lemon-blueberry birthday cake he cooked for his husband. I have to say I was not disappointed by either the collegial discussion or the birthday cake.

The story of John’s martyrdom described by St. Mark has, through the centuries, taken on a rather prurient coloration. Thanks to Oscar Wilde’s 1893 play, Salome, and subsequent retellings by Hollywood, we always imagine King Herod Antipas as some lust-crazed pedophile who gets a thing for his stepdaughter and—against his better conscience—murders the prophet to please the girl and her offended mother. I think the story has more to tell us than that.

No matter how wealthy or well-protected a nation is, it can’t survive without good, moral leadership. Mark gives us this picture of a foolish leader, a man who makes a stupid promise and is too arrogant to admit his mistake. Herod loves to play to his base, so he’d rather lop the head off a righteous man than look weak in front of his fans. It’s a great irony, but sometimes one of the strongest things we can do is admit to our weakness. If we can’t “fess up” to our mistakes we’ll never correct them and we’ll most certainly repeat them. Herod is one of these guys who will double down when he knows he’s wrong.

As my clergy buddies and I discussed this passage, Pastor Dan made two interesting observations. First, he thought we should ask what is morally wrong with Herod’s guests. If the king was unable to admit his error, why didn’t any of the folks at his birthday party speak up for John? How afraid of this king were they that no one questioned his judgment? Instead of bringing the cake and ice cream, they were content to have a prisoner’s severed head brought into the banquet room. Moral cowardice, it seems, was contagious.

Secondly, Pastor Dan noted that John was arrested because he openly criticized the king for breaking a Jewish marriage law. By our standards today, we might not think what Herod did was so terrible. All the same, it was against the law. John knew that, if the leader of the nation openly breaks the law, then the law is not binding on anyone. John was making a political statement. There are those who wish the Church would only deal with matters of the individual spiritual life and leave public policy outside the church doors. The Bible, however, is full of stories of prophets—Jesus included—who challenged the earthly authorities.

For those who get uncomfortable with mixing politics with religion I will share my policy on preaching about the society in which we find ourselves.

First, there are things I can’t do. Even though former President Trump voided the Johnson Amendment which prohibited church leaders from endorsing or opposing a specific political party or candidate, the policy of the ELCA has been to behave as if that law were still in effect. As one under the authority of bishops, I follow their direction in such matters.

Secondly, there are things I shouldn’t do. I should never preach a sermon which is so inflammatory that the gospel gets lost amidst the social debate. Any commentary on social issues must be fully grounded in the teachings of the faith. Social issues come and go, but the command of Christ to love our neighbors and to show justice and mercy endures forever. What we should do must never overshadow why we are doing it.

Finally, there are things I won’t do. I won’t be so afraid of offending a congregant’s feelings that I tiptoe around a crucial social issue just to avoid controversy. As I stated above, the church has always used her voice to call out the state on matters of injustice. From John the Baptist to Martin Luther to Dietrich Bonhoeffer to Martin Luther King, Christians have recognized our responsibility to speak truth to power.

I will continue to preach, therefore, that it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak. I believe supply-side economics (aside from being totally impractical) favors the wealthy at the expense of service to the poor and, as such, ignores the command of Jesus to care for “the least of these.” I believe denying global climate change endangers everyone on this planet—especially those in the poorest of nations—and is an affront to our Creator. I believe American isolationism is economically impractical, shows a callous disregard for the multitudes who suffer in poverty around the globe, and is a threat to world peace and stability. I believe that the xenophobic hatred of migrants coming to the United States ignores the basic humanity of God’s children and does not address the reasons why so many have become refugees in the first place. I believe Jesus loved and died for everyone including LGBTQ+ folks, and, as such, I believe members of that community should be welcomed in our churches. I believe that Black lives matter. I respect life and I believe abortion is always a bad choice, but I cannot claim it is always the worst choice. That decision should be made by the one who might need the abortion and not by the church, the courts, or the government. Finally, I believe as Martin Luther has said we come to Christ by way of the gospel and the Holy Spirit—not by government edicts or regulations.

I am proud to be an American—even when my native land has made mistakes. Yes, we had a botched withdrawal from Afghanistan. Come to think of it, we had a botched withdrawal from Vietnam, too. We’ve done numerous things which, in hindsight, we could’ve done better or not done at all. But I think the world still looks to us as the nation with free speech, a free press, a fair and honest system of justice, and freedom of religion—any religion or no religion at all. We are also the land where every citizen of age—rich or poor, Black or white, gay or straight, male or female—has one vote for our leadership and the majority rules. When we abandon these principles, we stop being Americans. January 6, 2021 was the darkest day I can ever recall in America. May it never be repeated. May the voices of honesty, brotherhood, mercy, peace and responsibility drown out the voices of fear, greed, hatred, intolerance, and arrogance.

Pray for our nation, my friend, and do your part.