At Just the Right Time (Reflections on Easter 5, Year B 2024)

 

Rembrandt "Baptism of the Eunuch" 1626

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.” (John 15:1-2)

Sometimes God puts the right people in the right place at the right time. I guess it’s been well over thirty years now since my buddy Jack and I took it into our heads to go hiking in the San Gabriel mountains of southern California on the day after Christmas. Like all dumb things we do, it seemed like a good idea at the time—in spite of the fact neither of us had any experience driving in heavy snow.

The mountains that winter were particularly lovely in their pristine, white quilt. Unfortunately, the mountain highways were also well frosted, and drifts the height of polar bears were encroaching menacingly over the roads of the upper elevation. Approaching one particularly ferocious-looking drift, I foolishly concluded that the powdery snow would easily give way beneath the wheels of my mighty ’84 Ford Escort.

I was incorrect in this assumption.

I got the car hung up on a boulder of ice and stranded the two of us in the middle of a mountain road in late afternoon in weather that was in the twenties and getting colder by the second.

A local lad was willing to rent us shovels to dig the Ford out. This proved a Sisyphean task as every shovel full of snow we managed to extricate from beneath the vehicle was matched by the wind-swept encroachment of the diabolical drift. But—praise be to our Lord who looks after idiots like me—a young couple happened by in an enormous pickup truck. “Looks like your hung up,” the young man said. “Yup,” I replied.

With the courtesy of any Good Samaritan, the fellow easily cruised the truck over the drift and backed it up in front of my stranded economy car. He deftly wrapped a chain around my bumper and attached it to his hitch. I put the Escort in neutral and it, I, and my now-exasperated pal were liberated and on our way.

An angel of the Lord sends a disciple named Philip[i] down a wilderness road at just the right time to give a word of grace to a stranger in the First Lesson for Easter 5, Year B (Acts 8:26-40). Philip has been preaching in Samaria, which indicates how very open-minded the early Christians were. Jews and Samaritans weren’t exactly kissing cousins, but the radical love of Jesus has broken down all kinds of barriers.

Philip’s experience with the oft-reviled Samaritans must’ve made him the ideal candidate for the guy he meets on the road to Gaza. This is an Ethiopian eunuch. It’s possible Philip’s never met a Black guy before. He’s as different from Philip as he can get—he’s Black, he’s rich (which Philip probably wasn’t), he’s a foreigner, and he’s sexually very different from most of the men Philip would likely encounter.

You have to wonder what a high-ranking Ethiopian is doing riding his chariot in Israel. The Bible tells us he’d come to Jerusalem to worship, so he must’ve had some yearning to learn more about the God of the Jews. Unfortunately, being a non-Jew, a foreigner, and a eunuch, he’s got three strikes on him. No Gentile was permitted beyond the Beautiful Gate of the Temple of Jerusalem and no eunuch was allowed to worship with pious Jews.[ii] Any man who was missing his man parts was looked down on as unclean. It didn’t matter that this fellow was Secretary of the Treasury of a wealthy nation. Under Deuteronomic law, nobody was supposed to have anything to do with him. He must’ve felt very unwelcome around the “holy” people of Jerusalem, and so he’s on his way back to Africa, content just to read about the Jew’s God. Unfortunately, even the reading was giving him some difficulty.

But, as I’ve said, sometimes God puts the right person in the right path at the right moment. The eunuch was reading Isaiah 53[iii]. This is the same passage we read on Good Friday. I’ll bet this guy really resonated with verse 3:

“He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering acquainted with infamy; and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account.”

But Philip was able to share with this man going home in disappointment and rejection that the one of whom the prophet wrote loved ALL people and made no distinctions. Jesus, by his death and resurrection, had banished the ancient, restrictive, exclusionary law and taught forbearance, love, and welcome. The eunuch was so overjoyed by this Good News he was ready to jump in the nearest puddle and be baptized into the faith.

Has anyone ever come along at just the right moment for you? Have you ever come along at just the right moment to be God’s witness to another? In the Gospel lesson (John 14:8-14) Jesus, who is giving us his farewell address, tells the disciples and us that he is the vine, but we are the branches. This is the last of his I AM statements which crop up in John’s Gospel. John really likes to use I AM, the name of God in Exodus 3:14, to remind us of Jesus’ divinity, but this is the only I AM statement that’s followed by a YOU ARE statement. Jesus didn’t say, “You could be,” or “You will be.” He says YOU ARE. We are branches of God right here, right now.

As you know, a branch can’t live if it’s cut off from the vine, but the vine needs the branches to bear the grapes. How else can God love the world if not through us? 90% of caregiving, comforting, and consoling is just showing up. This might be your time and your place to bring the blessings and love of God to someone who could really use them.

You are God’s branch. Get used to the idea, and thanks again for reading this week. Don’t be shy about leaving me a message if you like or don’t like the posts. I’d love to hear from you.

 

---

[i] We don’t think this Philip is the same as the apostle of that name in who appears in John’s Gospel. He’s probably one of the deacons referenced in Acts 6:3-6.

[ii] See Deuteronomy 23:1. And it wasn’t just eunuchs—Deut. 23 lists a whole lot of folks the Hebrew people didn’t want to hang with.

[iii] It wasn’t Isaiah 53 back then, of course. The Bible didn’t get numbered with chapters and verses until centuries later.

Singing a Song of Sheep (Reflections on Easter 4, Year B 2024)

 

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” (John 10:11)

So here we are again at the Fourth Sunday of Easter, traditionally known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Why is it called “Good Shepherd” you ask? I never knew the answer myself, so I did a little research. You can find just about any arcane fact on the internet, but I have to confess a total failure—even from that font of all knowledge Wikipedia—in learning why we have this day set aside for images of ovine husbandry. I guess some early church authorities were really into raising sheep, and we never had a good reason to change the appointed readings. I did discover, however, that Good Shepherd Sunday marks the change in the seven-week celebration of Easter from stories of Jesus’ resurrection to stories about his ascension. So, we get three weeks of “Jesus is risen!” and three weeks of “Jesus is leaving and going to the Father,” separated by one week about sheep. Okay. Why not?

The Revised Common Lectionary appoints different Gospel passages every year to commemorate our Good Shepherd, but we always use Psalm 23 as our psalter responsive reading. The 23^rd Psalm is probably—out of the 150 psalms in the Bible—the most famous. I don’t know how old you are, but if you’re old enough to remember “memory verses” in Sunday school, you probably committed this short song to memory—out of the old King James Bible, of course! The psalm is often used for funeral liturgies, I suspect because it ends with that wonderful promise, “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever[i].”

I think folks like this psalm because it’s supposed to have been composed by King David. Granted, 3,000 years distant from David’s time, we have no way of knowing that he really wrote it, but that’s our tradition. We remember that David started his working life as a shepherd caring for his dad Jesse’s flock. He began his illustrious career in politics and the military after visiting the front to bring supplies to his big brothers and discovering King Saul was afraid to fight the dreaded Philistines. Saul had to sit and endure the other side’s trash talk until a really, really big dude named Goliath made the proposal he’d fight any soldier in Israel’s army one-on-one, winner take all. I think you know the rest: David wasn’t afraid of this guy because, as a shepherd, he’d had to fight off all manner of sheep-hungry carnivores. Once you’ve taken on wolves, lions, and other assorted predators, a loud-mouth Philistine won’t scare you. David may have been young, inexperienced in war, and small of stature compared to the behemoth Goliath, but we like to cheer for the underdog, don’t we?

David did a lot of other good and not-so-good things, but I think many of us may have this sentimental picture of the shepherd boy facing down an overpowering enemy. In this song we get a poetic image of one man’s experience of God. God is the one with the rod and staff who protects us from danger. God provides for us. God leads us because God knows what’s best for us. You’ll notice, too, that the psalm gives a second image of God, that of a generous host. Verse 5 says,

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil, and my cup is running over.”

This might actually be my favorite verse in the psalm. The practice of anointing the head with oil was an ancient middle eastern form of hospitality. If you visited a tent in the desert, your host might put olive oil on your head to sooth any sunburn you might have. This personal, generous act made you part of the host’s family. That is why we anoint (or “christen” to use the Greek term) a baby at baptism. We’re welcoming that child into the family.

I also like the image of the cup running over. It’s like a host who can’t do too much for you. He refills your wine glass or tops off your coffee mug. “Want some more?’ he asks. “Let me give you a refill.” He overflows with generosity, just as our Lord does.

The line I think is truly significant, of course, is the one about preparing a table in the presence of enemies. In David’s day, there were lots of enemies—Philistines and other tribes who took a less than welcoming view of the Hebrew people. I always think of how this psalm was used by soldiers during the Christmas truce of 1914 during World War I. Germans and British and French troops came out of their trenches and greeted one another in “No Man’s Land” to celebrate Christmas and bury their dead. They exchanged rations with one another, literally creating a feast in the enemy’s presence.

I like to interpret this passage as God’s ever-bountiful generosity to us even when we, ourselves, are surrounded by “enemies.” The enemy could be sickness, old age, inter-personal or family conflict, money trouble, or just weird stuff rattling around in your brain. We all have our enemies which lead us away from ourselves and our love of God. But God continues daily and abundantly to see to our needs. The lousiest day we’ll ever have will still be filled with God’s providence. God never stops being good—even when our enemies keep us from realizing God’s goodness.

After my father’s death, my mom chose to live the last years of her life in an assisted living facility. She was suffering from emphysema and could no longer live on her own. My sisters and I did the best we could for her, but her real help came from a small platoon of elderly Lutheran widow ladies who were more than willing to do favors for a member of their congregation. They’d take Mother to her doctors’ appointments, or take her shopping, or just pick up prescriptions or other supplies she might need. Mother was deeply grateful for their help and called them her “Guardian Angels.” The last favor she asked of them was to help her memorize the 23^rd Psalm. I find comfort knowing she exited this life reciting these 3.000-year-old words of comfort.

The Psalms were written by believers who needed poetry and music to express their gratitude, frustration, needs, joys, and praise to God. Our words to God have now become God’s words to us.

Thanks again for dropping by this week. Leave me a note, won’t you?

[i] Actually, the Hebrew literally translates “for length of days.” I guess this could mean forever, but it could also mean “all my life.” Those poetic Jacobeans used “forever” in the KJV, and I guess this stuck.

Can I Get a Witness? (Reflections on Easter 3, Year B 2024)

 

“You are witness of these things.” (Luke 24:48)

You gotta love Peter. He’s such a doofus in the Gospels, but in the book of Acts the dude really steps up his game. In the First Lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 3, Year B (Acts 3:12-19) we have Peter giving a speech after having accomplished a pretty impressive act of Christian mercy. At the start of chapter 3 he and John are strolling through Jerusalem on their way to worship at the Temple when they encounter this poor physically challenged gentleman begging at the main entrance.[i] The guy can’t walk so he has to ask for alms. Peter wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see him. In fact, the Bible says he looked intently at the man. I imagine Peter making some serious eye contact, so the guy felt he was being seen as a person and not as some annoyance folks had to get past on their way to worship (not unlike the way many folks might avert their eyes from the guy holding up the “Homeless” sign at the freeway entrance). Peter and John don’t have any spare change in their pockets for this guy’s solo cup. “I have no silver of gold,” Peter says, “but what I have I give you.”[ii] He takes the guy by the hand and raises him up, healing him of his lameness in the name of Jesus.

As you might imagine, this filled the beggar with great joy. He celebrated by jumping and leaping and praising God in the Temple—which, naturally, caused a bit of a stir and gave Peter a chance to preach a little Jesus to the folks. He’s careful to point out that he and John didn’t heal the beggar by any magic power of their own. It was faith in Christ that gave the man his legs. Peter is also careful not to scold people for choosing Barabbas over Jesus when Pilate gave them the chance to set a prisoner free. Peter tells them he knows they didn’t really understand who Jesus was. In fact, Peter never really understood Jesus himself until after the resurrection. You can see why he was so magnanimous.

Both this lesson and the Gospel appointed for Easter 3 (Luke 24:36b-48) deal with witnessing. They’re about making Jesus known by sharing what we know of him. In the Gospel the disciples see the resurrected Jesus, they observe his wounded flesh, and they even see him eating a piece of fish to demonstrate that he’s really alive and not a ghost. Jesus tells them, essentially, “You guys have seen me, so go and tell people about me.” In the lesson from Acts the people see a man healed in Jesus’ name. Peter tells them he and John are witnesses of the risen Christ, but now they have seen this wonderful act of mercy, and they can testify to it themselves. Jesus is revealed through compassion, through healing, and through understanding and forgiveness.

This, of course, begs the questions: how do we witness to Christ?

First, I think we have to be aware that there is a false witness out there. We’ve heard a great deal in the news lately about Christian Nationalism. That’s the belief some folks have that God has specially appointed the United States to a position of world leadership because our nation was founded on solid Christian values (Which it wasn’t. Just check out the First Amendment to the Constitution). Christian Nationalists believe they are called to restore our country to a state of godliness by outlawing abortion and gay marriage, making sure schoolteachers never talk about sex, and electing only Christians to public office. The ELCA and other Christian bodies soundly reject this belief system.

If we are to be a witness, we should witness as Peter did. We witness by being understanding and inclusive, by being forgiving, by acknowledging our past mistakes, and by being the healing presence in a hurting world.

I find it significant that the two resurrection appearances in Luke’s Gospel both involve eating. The disciples who encounter Jesus on the road to Emmaus see him revealed in the breaking of the bread. The disciples to whom he appeared in Jerusalem shared their fish dinner with him. What better witness can we have than in sharing our food with the needy?

Our congregation has a history of witnessing through food donations to the local Lutheran food bank, by supporting a food service for elderly homebound in the community, and by growing organic vegetables to help feed our neighbors in need. This year, when we plant our garden, we hope to receive help from the Girl Scout troop that meets in our facility. Our plan is to introduce them to the director of Feast of Justice, our Lutheran SMO, and give them a tour of Feast’s facility, acquainting the young women with the way we witness to Christ here in Northeast Philadelphia. When these young ladies help us weed or harvest, they'll know they're being part  of our witness to God's love and mercy.

We should also be willing to be witnesses to one another through our fellowship. At a recent church council meeting it was noted that our congregation has gone a long time without observing what I’ve jokingly referred to as the “Fourth Sacrament of Lutheranism”—the potluck dinner. When we break bread with one another, we grow stronger as a church.

We can’t all be Peter and John. I know I haven’t miraculously healed any disabled people. But not all healing requires a miracle. Sometimes it just requires a small act of generosity, a moment of loving forgiveness and understanding, a simple act of service, or a bit of eye contact and a listening ear. Jesus can speak through all of these things.

May God’s peace be with you.

---

[i] The Bible says the mendicant was begging at the Beautiful Gate. This was the main entrance between the outer “Court of the Gentiles” and the first vestibule of the Temple, the “Court of Women.” Non-Jews weren’t allowed to pass through the Beautiful Gate, and women couldn’t go much beyond it. There was a pretty tight class system in place in the Temple.

[ii] I use this line whenever I give a buck or two to a street beggar. I hope it’s a good witness of Christian charity.

From Imagine to Believe (Reflections of Easter 2, Year B 2024)

 

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” (John 20:29)

John Lennon would like this passage. In his classic song “Imagine” the ex-Beatle conjured a future and asked us to

“Imagine no possessions.

I wonder if you can.

No greed or hunger,

A brotherhood of man.

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world.”[i] 

Great song. It fits nicely with the First Lesson in the Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 2, Year B (Acts 4:32-35). The text describes the first experiment in Christian Socialism. Those early Christians were, the Bible tells us, of one heart and shared all their possessions. They gave according to their ability and received according to their need. It was an earth-shaking new kind of economy in a world which pretty much defined itself in terms of “haves” and “have nots.” But these were people who had Jesus’ example of humble service without regard to status or position. They were taught to love one another as Jesus had loved them, to love their neighbor as themselves. They created an economy and a society built on love, compassion, mutual respect, empathy, generosity, and righteousness.

SPOILER ALERT: It didn’t last long. Just read down to chapter six in Acts and you’ll see when things started to fall apart. Why, you ask? Because of our age-old enemy: sin. You see, the idyllic, utopian society requires that everyone is loving and selfless just as Jesus asked us to be. Unfortunately, we’re not.

As liberal as I’ve been in my politics, I have to be honest and explain that a completely socialist society like our lesson describes just isn’t practical or possible. It might work just peachy-keen for a large family, but once you get to a community, a city, or a whole nation you’re going to have some trouble with administration. If everything is held in common, you’ll need—as the Apostles soon found out—some administration. That’s where the trouble starts. When the Administration—just a small number of elected officials—controls the means of production and the distribution of wealth, it won’t matter if you’ve elected Mother Teresa, Mr. Rogers, and Santa Clause. There’s going to be favoritism or greed or both. It’s human nature. We are by nature sinful and unclean.

But this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to be the people Jesus wanted us to be. We can’t shrug our shoulders and make a golden calf out of the free market system, preaching “Love thy neighbor” on Sunday and “Every man for himself” the rest of the week. We have to keep trying, and we have to keep believing even when we don’t see the perfect results we imagined.

We can’t become like old Doubting Thomas in our Gospel reading (John 20:19-31). Of course, if you look at things from his point of view, you can kind of see why Thomas feels the way he does. He must’ve really loved Jesus, and he must’ve grieved tremendously when his friend was killed. Not only did he lose his teacher and friend, but he lost the whole slang-dang mission, too. This means he’s just spent three years of his life for nothing as far as he can tell. You have to wonder what else he gave up to be a follower of Jesus. No wonder he adopted a cynical attitude and didn’t want to believe in the resurrection even when he was told by the friends he’d lived with, worked with, and trusted for three years.

This is, of course, the work of Satan. Remember, the Hebrew word “Satan” is best translated as “an adversary.” That is, someone or something which works against you. You don’t have to believe in a devil with horns and a pitchfork to know that our emotions are easily crushed and our sense of self-preservation very easily impels us to curve inward on ourselves. We develop a selfish armor of cynicism which stands like the Great Wall of China between us and the will of God.

We start to believe crappy little lies: Things never get better. The game is rigged. All politicians are crooks, so it’s no use voting. You can’t help the poor because they’ll just use that money for liquor and drugs. All those immigrants want to do is steal our jobs and mooch off our economy. You can’t trust anyone now of days. Kids don’t learn anything in school. The Church is irrelevant and filled with hypocrites.

You get the idea.

I think the late Mr. Lennon overlooked something in his classic song. In one verse he asks us to imagine a world without religion. A world without religion is just a world of imagination. But a world with faith is a world with belief. We are Easter people, and we believe. We are called to believe in a world without poverty, a world in which our climate crisis is solved, a world at peace. We are called to believe that the future will be worth living for. We are called to believe that relationships can be mended, that past hurts can be healed, and that joy is possible.

We are called to believe that with God all things are possible. But if we don’t believe, we will never act. And if we never act, things will never change.

Yes, Thomas, seeing is believing. But blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.

Thanks again for visiting my blog. Believe in God. Believe in yourself. See you next time.

---

[i] John Lennon, “Imagine” from the album of the same name. 1971.