Saint of the Month: Ruben (Reflections on Epiphany 4)

Yesterday I went to visit my friend, Ruben. I try to do this every few months or so. Ruben is a retired laboratory tech, but for more than twenty years he was organist and music director at Faith Lutheran Church in Philadelphia. A native of Puerto Rico, he has a shy, self-effacing Latin charm and is easily the sweetest guy you'd ever want to meet. He also has a deep and abiding love for God. I love to visit with him, practice my lame, high school Spanish, fill him in on the goings on of our congregation, and serve him Holy Communion.

Ruben lives with Parkinson's disease. The ailment has left him debilitated and confined to a wheelchair. It has also affected his speech, producing an uncontrollable stutter which, combined with his accent, makes him a bit hard to understand at times. But Ruben is by nature a quiet man, and I talk my fool head off so I guess it all works out.

Ruben has never married and has no immediate family to care for him. Consequently, he abides in a local nursing home. I confess that I'm slightly creeped-out when I visit him. The home seems to me a kind of warehouse for the elderly and infirm—a Purgatory where abandoned souls are sent to wait out their time before being delivered into the arms of Jesus. There are all the usual noxious odors one associates with such institutions. As I walk down the hall to Ruben's room I am assailed by the smell of urine and feces, and I hear the moans and screams of those who are in pain, confused, and alone. It feels like a scene out of Dante. The hallway is lined with wheelchairs containing flesh and bone shells slowly being emptied of their souls. The heads are bowed, the eyes stare almost sightlessly. I try to make eye contact with a few and smile. Some smile back. Others just stare. I think of that old saying and paraphrase it to myself:
“As I am now, they once were. As they are now, I will one day be.” It's not a comforting thought.

Ruben is usually in his room watching Telemundo or reading his Spanish Bible. He shares the room with two other elderly gentlemen, each one assigned a tiny, curtained space containing a small bed and a dresser. I tap Ruben's shoulder. He smiles up at me and says we'll visit in the common area outside his cramped quarters. It takes him several minutes to wheel himself around the bed and into the hallway, but I respect the man's pride and offer no assistance.

I feel for this gentle soul living in this desolate local. I ask him how he's doing. “Que tal, mi amigo?”

He looks at me with steady eyes.

“I am blessed,” he says.

In the gospel lesson for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (Matthew 5:1-12), Jesus calls the poor, the grieving, and the hungry “blessed.” This means Jesus has a pretty radical idea of what “blessed” means. It's not about being happy or having what we think we want. Rather, the blessed are the ones whom God loves. They are the ones who live in the promise of God's eternity. In their inmost selves, in their souls, the blessed are the ones who dwell in the knowledge that they are God's own forever. Their circumstances—even poverty, grief, and endless, hungry yearning—are only temporary. It's not about who we are. It's all about who God is.

If one possesses humility, mercy, integrity, a desire for reconciliation with others, and a zeal for righteousness even when such zeal is unwelcome, then one is truly blessed by these very virtues. These things bring comfort and peace to the heart, and they can't be stripped away. My friend Ruben has such virtue, and I love and respect him for it.

When it came time to give Ruben the Sacrament, I asked him what we should pray for. He smiled at me and said, “Happiness.”

Very well, my friend. You've taught me I can be blessed without being happy. But I can never be truly happy without knowing I am blessed.

Thanks for reading, my friends. God bless you.

PS-

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called Children of God.” Let's make a little peace between Lutherans and Roman Catholics, shall we, children? Ask the Pope to recognize the 500^th anniversary of the reformation by letting our two denominations come together again at the Lord's Table. It can't hurt to ask, can it? Let's show the world a spirit of reconciliation. Sign here.

Fishing Sucks! (Reflections on Epiphany 3)





Fishing. I don't indulge in the sport myself. I guess I just don't like the idea that I have to kill something before I eat it. But ever since Sunday School days I've been familiar with the story in the Revised Common Lectionary for Epiphany 3 (Matthew 4: 12-23) in which Jesus calls fisherman to be his disciples. “Follow me,” the Lord tells them in verse 19, “and I will make you fish for people.” The gospel says that the fishermen left their nets immediately and followed him.

I guess this makes a little bit of sense if viewed in context. For me, fishing was something old retired guys did off the pier. You bring a deck chair, drink a few beers, and fall asleep with your rod in the water. But fishing for a living—today as in the ancient world—is a whole different story. I remember as a kid sitting up late to watch Spencer Tracy in The Old Man and the Sea on the Late Show. I remembered the fisherman's sense of desperation and I was struck by the physical demands of the profession. I recall the bleeding hands and the sheer danger of a life on the ocean. Later, The Perfect Storm drove home the back-breaking labor, the smell, the time away from home, and the physical peril involved in putting that slab of salmon on my dinner plate. I have a whole new respect for fishermen, believe me!

So, I guess I can see why these guys would leave a life which was brutal, hard, and fairly uncertain. What I don't understand, however, is why they would trade it for a life which would be brutal, hard, completely uncertain, and end in martyrdom? (Note that this pericope starts out with a preacher getting arrested!) Either they were really freakin' desperate to get out of the fishing business, or there was something about Jesus which compelled them to change their identities and embrace a new way of life.

Sometimes I feel that being the Christian Church in America today is like being an ancient fisherman. It can be brutal, hard, and uncertain. What really makes it tough is that we don't even know at times what fish we're after. We don't know how to think like the fish we're trying to catch, and so we don't know what bait to use.

The fish don't seem to be swimming our way, either. The hook of the knowledge of sin still smarts. And the fish in the net have so many reason to try and tear themselves loose. There's a massive amount of pain inside this net. There's sickness, family issues, fear, poverty, unemployment, the death of loved ones, addictions, mental illness—and let's not forget disillusionment with the Church itself. We fish tear at that net, a net that feels so often like an obligation and not a place of rest and refuge and love.

The wider ocean beyond the net of the Church looks blue enough, but it has a tendency to keep us compartmentalized, computerized, and isolated.

So what is it in Jesus which overcomes resistance?

I don't know about all of you, but I think I need to stop at times and reflect on my own relationship with the one who loves, forgives, and sacrifices. There are all kinds of church growth strategies out there, but they don't mean a thing without the love of Christ. Unless someone can see Jesus in me—Jesus present in hope, forgiveness, welcome, and purpose—I will never convince them to embrace Christ's Church.

I know we'll never catch all the fish out there, and many will tear themselves loose from our tattered nets, but we'll keep throwing the nets out anyway.

Thanks for reading, my friends. Keep fishing.

Hey! I'm still trying to mend the net which binds Lutherans and Roman Catholics. The 500th anniversary of the Reformation is getting close. Let's ask Pope Francis—a pretty cool fisherman if you ask me—to invite Lutherans back to the table. Check out my petition at Change.org.

Is the Pope a Closet Lutheran? (Reflection for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity)

I know. It's not exactly an event that rates a Hallmark card, and if the Philadelphia Eagles had survived further into post-season play, the annual Week of Prayer for Christian Unity would pass through my part of the world with no notice at all. Nevertheless, I really dig that, for one week at least, Christians try to wrap our heads around the fact that the beliefs we hold in common are much more important than the ones with which we differ.

The Week of Prayer was actually—I was surprised to learn—the brainchild of a Roman Catholic priest. As a life-long Lutheran, I was brought up to believe that those guys thought no one would be in heaven but them. In reality, Father Paul Wattson, a Franciscan Friar, cooked up this celebration way back in 1908, and Pope Pius X was pretty keen to sign on to it. The Roman Church has supported the celebration ever since with great enthusiasm. So props to you Catholic folks!

The week spans from the Feast of the Confession of St. Peter on January 18^th and lasts through the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul on January 25^th. This puts it in a little bit of competition here in the US with both the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day of Service and the NFL playoffs. But, heck! I'm going to try and talk it up anyway, and I look forward to gathering on Sunday for a joyous vespers service with some of my Roman Catholic, United Church of Christ, United Methodist, and Episcopalian neighbors.

Unfortunately, any catering we do for this festivity will take the form of coffee hour after the worship has concluded. For Lutherans, coffee hour borders on the sacramental, but it's still not the same as sharing the bread and wine of Holy Communion as part of the festival. Alas, our Roman friends are still not permitted to join with us in the sacrament.

But while there's life there's hope,and I take a great deal of comfort in these recent words of Pope Francis:

“The Eucharist, although it is the fulness of sacramental life, is not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak.” (Quoted November 25, 2013 by CNN Belief Blog)

This statement suggests to me that the Holy Father has really hit the nail on the head as to why Christians eat this meal in the first place. We come around the table as a family, understanding that—if all the cards were on the table—we'd know that we're all a bunch of screw-ups desperate for the love of an understanding God. The body and blood of Jesus, present in the elements of this holy supper, remind us that once a man loved us enough to die on a cross for us. Even if we're not perfect—or even close to perfect—we're still loved by God the same way a parent loves an erring child. And maybe this encounter with Christ's sacrifice will change us for the better and bring us closer to understanding, loving, and forgiving one another.

Maybe I'm reading too much into the Pope's recent statement, but if he's saying that perfect adherence to the Roman Church's doctrines is not necessary for an invitation to the dinner table, then I'm pretty encouraged.

Martin Luther wrote this explanation of his view on who is worthy to dine at Christ's table:

“Who, then, receives this sacrament worthily?...a person who has faith in these words, 'given for you' and 'shed for you for the forgiveness of sin,' is really worthy and well prepared.” (Small Catechism, 1526)

I like to think that, somewhere in heaven, Luther is raising his beer tankard in a toast to Pope Francis and saying in his best 16^th Century German, “Dang! I like this guy!”

I wish you all a blessed Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, and, as always, I invite you to celebrate it by signing my petition for sacramental unity here.

God's peace and blessings be with you in this New Year, and don't be shy about leaving me a comment.

In the Mud With Jesus (Reflections on the Baptism of Our Lord)

My old landlord in Los Angeles had a great bumper sticker on his truck:

EVERYBODY WANTS TO GO TO HEAVEN BUT NOBODY WANTS TO DIE

Pretty true, don't you think? Sometimes we just don't want to suck it up and do what's required.

In the gospel lesson assigned in the Revised Common Lectionary for The Baptism of Our Lord (Matthew 3:13-17), Jesus is all set to do what is required to “fulfill all righteousness” (v. 15) even though good ol' Cousin John the Baptist would prevent him.

It's easy to see John's point. I mean, in the light of Christian doctrine, if Jesus was without sin, just why did he need a ritual bath to cleanse him from the sin he wasn't supposed to have? I guess John is showing a little institutional deference to the guy he believes to be the Messiah of Israel. If Jesus is really the promised one of God, why does he need to get washed by the second-string prophet?

I always believe that Jesus didn't go through with the ritual for his own sake. He did it for our sake. Jesus got down in our dirty bath water so we would know God present in us, in our lives, in our circumstances, and in our weak human flesh.

Some time ago I saw a great documentary on PBS (and aren't all PBS documentaries pretty great?) about the United States Marine Corp. One scene showed officer's candidacy exercises at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. A candidate was ordered by his DI to crawl through a culvert several yards in length. The culvert was half filled with muddy water and only about two feet in diameter. The candidate was suddenly gripped by a paralyzing attack of claustrophobia and froze at the entrance of the culvert. I was expecting the DI to start screaming at the candidate something like:

“You worthless wuss! You disgusting, subhuman piece of whale poop! Get your pansy butt into that hole before I rip the flesh from your face with my teeth, you pants-wetting disgrace to the Marine Corp!!”

But to my surprise, the DI, who was wearing a spotless Marine fatigue uniform, jumped down into the mud himself and told the young candidate, “Follow me and stay close!”

The young Marine followed his DI into the black tunnel and emerged safely out the other end. I suspect he was a different man when he came out of that water.

Sometimes we just need to know that we are not alone.

In baptism, Jesus united himself with us so that we could be united with him. Saint Paul wrote:

“Therefore we have been buried with (Christ) by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” (Romans 6:4).

Martin Luther put it like this:

“(Baptism) signifies that the old person in us with all sins and evil desires is to be drowned and die through daily sorrow for sin and through repentance, and on the other hand that daily a new person is to come forth and rise up to live before God in righteousness and purity forever.” (Small Catechism, 1526)

I like to think that Jesus got down into our dirty bath water so we won't be afraid to follow him where we don't always want to go. He is asking us to follow and stay close as we enter the dark places of our past which need healing. As we try to forgive those whom we don't want to forgive. As we aid or welcome people we don't want to aid or welcome. As we make changes to our worship styles we don't want to make. As we risk our comfort on new missions. As we are rocked off our angle of repose and forced to make decisions which will frighten and change us.

In Jesus we have a leader who says, “Follow me and stay close!” as we drown our sinful selves and grope through the tunnel of our lives toward God's promised daylight. It is good to know we are not alone.

Hey! Want to really claim our baptismal inheritance? Let's unite with our baptized Christian brothers and sisters in Holy Communion. You don't have to get wet, just click on my Change.org petition asking Pope Francis to invite Lutherans back to the Eucharistic table. I ask you: What better way to celebrate the upcoming 500^th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation? C'mon! Be radical! Just click here.

Christmas Greetings

In the 2006 comedy Talladega Nights,Will Farrel, playing race car driver Ricky Bobby, begins his family table grace with, “Dear Lord Baby Jesus.” When his wife questions why he's praying to a baby, Ricky replies that he prefers the Baby Jesus to the Grown Up Jesus. It's meant to be silly, but, in a way, I can see the character's point. There's something so beautiful about the story of Baby Jesus, and the story has a certain power over our imaginations. When we think of an innocent infant, part of us goes soft, warm, and gooey inside.

Some time ago I published a post with the title “Is the Church Irrelevant?” I re-read it recently, and I realized I'd left out the most important argument for refuting any doubt about the importance of the church. Yes, I reminded the reader that public worship and fellowship are necessary forms of human reconnection in this electronic media age. I extolled the virtues of our tradition's ancient wisdom, and I made the point that collectively we can accomplish so much more good than we can do on our own. These are all practical points, but they miss the main point which distinguishes our Christian faith.

I forgot to mention Jesus.

Now, far be it for me to put down the belief systems of other faiths—especially since I am so woefully ignorant about them. Nevertheless, I can't see myself being moved by a victorious and virtuous Mohammed, a wise Confucius, or a transcendental and spiritual Buddha. But I know what I feel when I think of the infant Jesus in the manger—a helpless child, homeless and in poverty. I've never had a baby of my own ( I've never even diapered one!), but the older I get the dearer babies seem to me . When I hold a child over the font for baptism, I'm just amazed by the power an infant has to calm me and bring a smile to my face.

 

Our Christmas story never ceases to have power over us because we all need to feel that sense of joy, wonder, fear, and hope which is the mystical strength of the infant. As much as we need to be loved in this world, so we need to give love. There's just something about the child's helplessness which draws out or better selves. And this is the power of God at work.

And yet there's even more: This particular little baby has so much hold over us because we know how his life will end—suspended on the pain of the cross. He will lose everything: friends, dignity, peace, and life itself because he is the one sent to love us. He will enter completely into our loss, our emotional hurt, our despair, our guilt. Even as we smile at the cooing infant, our hearts are touched by the love which will suffer for the brokenness of this messy planet.

The Christmas story is a gift which keeps on giving, because, as we, age, we learn to treasure sweetness and innocence and to feel empathy for suffering. And every time we see this tiny newborn in the filthy cattle trough, we have the opportunity to enlarge our hearts.

There are many things to love about Christmas. There are family reunions, lights, carols, gift-giving, and parties. But at the end of it all there is nothing as transformative or as humanizing as the love of God found in Jesus.

May God's love enlighten your hearts this season in peace, joy, and the wonder of the Christ Child.

A blessed Christmas to you all, and my deepest thanks for your support.

 

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Hey! Why not give the Christmas gift which keeps giving the whole year 'round? A UNIFIED Christian Church. Sound like a good idea? If you're Lutheran or Roman Catholic, please support my petition for full  altar fellowship between our denominations. Let Pope Francis know we're ready to love our neighbors as ourselves in spite of our differences. Just click here.

It's a Wonderful Life on Advent Four

Okay. I'll admit it. It's still my favorite Christmas movie of all time—It's a Wonderful Life.

I finally saw it all the way through on a Christmas morning in 1982 when I was a grad student at the University of Wisconsin. I was living in a 10 x 20 foot room in a cinder block apartment building in Madison and I didn't have enough money to go home to see my folks. So I ate my Christmas breakfast on a TV tray and watched this old flick on the local PBS station.

And I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried at the end when Clarence got his wings.

One of the things I really dig about It's a Wonderful Life is it's lack of saccharine sweetness. Okay. It's corny and mushy at the end, but the picture is actually pretty honest about the darker underbelly of the Builder Generation. There are key plot points involving the Great Influenza Epidemic, the Great Depression, and—of course—the Second World War. Plus, the movie deals pretty honestly with economic oppression, greed, family tragedy, substance abuse, and thwarted ambition.

But what really strikes me about this old chestnut—and I don't know if Frank Capra ever really gave this a thought—is the excellent theology in the plot line. I mean, here's good ol' George Bailey, the nicest, most ethical guy in the world. Yet all of his good intentions don't keep him off the suicide bridge at the end of the movie. He needs some divine intervention.

I think Capra's Christmas movie follows a similar story line with the gospel for Advent Four. Here's good ol' Joseph. A real nice guy. He's gotten himself engaged to this girl, and she turns out to be pregnant before they get married—and not by him. What does he do? By Levitical law he could denounce her and have her stoned to death. But he's too nice a guy for that. He resolves to “dismiss her quietly” (Matt. 1:19) so she won't be disgraced.

Pretty darn decent of him, I'd say.

But God has an even better plan which Joseph—nice guy that he is—would never have thought of on his own. God sends an angel with a message. Joseph will marry the girl anyway and raise the child as his own. Granted, this is a pretty tall request for a dude whose culture so highly values progeny of one's own issue. But the angel lets Joe know that this is God's child, and God's ways of righteousness are not society's ways.

The beautiful thing about this story is that Joseph has the faith to say “yes” to God's plan.

So here's a shout-out to all the step-dads and awkward, blended families out there. It isn't easy.

(At least that's what they tell me. I'm fortunate that the woman whom I call my daughter was already a grownup when I started dating her mom, and the two of us hit it off pretty well. But that's not always the case in families.)

Family life doesn't come with an instruction book, and on our own we could never figure it out. In fact, on our own, we would never figure anything out. That's rather the point. We don't come to God, but God comes to us. Our sinful, selfish nature so often keeps us from seeing the blessings which our loving Lord is constantly setting before us. Martin Luther put it like this:

“I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him, but instead the Holy Spirit has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, made me holy, and kept me in true faith...” (Small Catechism)

Just as George Bailey needed Clarence and Saint Joseph needed the angel in his dream, so we all need the gospel to point us to the beauty of this wonderful life. Faith doesn't come from understanding. Understanding comes from faith. With God's help we too are able to say “yes” to the wonders God provides.

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Christmas is a time for family get-togethers. So lets get the whole Christian family together, shall we? If you're Lutheran or Roman Catholic, why not sign my Change.org petition asking Pope Francis to allow our two communions to share the Holy Eucharist together again? C'mon. It's been almost 500 years. Let's kiss under the mistletoe! Just click here.

Did I Do Right? (Reflections on Advent 3)

So was it worth it? Did I get it right? Did it all matter?

I'm guessing these are the questions going through John the Baptist's mind as he sits in his jail cell and waits to be executed. He's done what he thought God wanted him to do—he's pointed the way to Jesus the Messiah. But now, at the end of his life with death inches away, he's starting to have his doubts.

“When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, 'Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?'” (Matthew 11:2)

Back in chapter 3 of Matthew's gospel John seemed pretty cock-sure Jesus was the one. He even offered to have Jesus baptize him. (Matt. 3:13-15). But as his life is coming to a close he needs a little more assurance.

Don't we all.

Have you ever asked yourself if it's been worth it? I know I do from time to time. I guess you can't help it once you've hit middle age and you know that there's probably more road behind you than in front of you. It's rather like that scene at the end of Saving Private Ryan (Spoiler Alert if you haven't seen it!) where this old guy, an American World War II vet, staggers among the crosses of a European cemetery where his battle buddies lie buried. Surrounded by his aging wife, kids and grandkids, he surveys the graves of those who didn't survive the war and tearfully asks, “Have I been a good man?”

What I love about this pericope is how pastoral Jesus is. He sends John's disciples back with instructions to testify to the condemned man. Go tell your boss what you've seen, Jesus tells them. Haven't you seen God's mighty works? The blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the dead rise, and the poor hear the good news. Tell John that. He'll figure it out.

Then Jesus addresses the crowd and praises John. Why did you guys come out to the Jordan to hear John? He wasn't a reed blowing in the wind. No. This dude had substance. He gave it to you straight and he didn't mince words. And he wasn't some coiffed and rhinestoned TV preacher selling you a feel-good gospel. He spoke real words about sin, repentance, society, and hope for what God can do when you open your heart to Him. He was a real prophet. In fact, he was probably the best prophet in the whole darn prophetic line.

And you know what?

None of that matters. Not really.

You see God doesn't love us for of our human achievements. God's grace is deeper and wider than any of the values by which we puny people evaluate our earthly existence. As great as John may have been, the least in the Kingdom is greater than that. And that means you and me.

I mean, haven't you seen it? I have.

For whatever choices I may have made in my life—right or wrong—God has still shown me mighty acts of mercy. I've still been able to love and be loved. I've seen sunrises and sunsets. I've made children laugh. I've worked hard and enjoyed leisure. And I've seen God at work—healing the sick, feeding the hungry, freeing the oppressed, loving the outcasts.

If we're ever going to take time to sum up our lives, we should do it in the knowledge of God's unrelenting goodness. We should do it with an eye to the beauty in our brokenness. A failed ambition was still an ambition. A failed love was still a love. A failed relationship was still a relationship. A failed life was still a life.

No doubts. No regrets. Just God.

I hope you're enjoying the Season, my friends. Drop me a comment to let me know you've been here!

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Hey! Want to get your Old Religious Guy a nice Christmas present? If you're Lutheran or Roman Catholic please sign my Change.org petition and ask Pope Francis to consider a full communion between our churches. It's the gift which keeps on giving! Just click here.