Change Your Clothes!

After last Wednesday I am near the place where I dread checking out the news.  There is just so much that is awful and disheartening: killings abroad, killings in at a Planned Parenthood Clinic, killings in San Bernardino.  We are living in a sad, sobering time where each day we discover a new depth to darkness and despair.  In between each tragedy we live with the inevitable dissection of what happened, who is to blame, and what should be done about it.  It is a conversation – well, not so much of a conversation as it is people yelling at each other with no one actually listening – that tears us down and tears us apart and fosters only a spirit of anger, meanness, and hopelessness.

Jonathan Safran Foer, is his novel Everything Is Illuminated, wrote this about one of his characters, but he just as easily could be describing our country as a whole:

She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances.  She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.”

As a people we have responded to the times we live in by immersing ourselves in sadness and in the process we have become a prism through which sadness can be divided into its infinite spectrum.  If this is true, and I think it is, then the biggest challenge we face in the world today is not how to secure our safety.  It is not how to identify those who mean to do us harm.  Our biggest challenge is spiritual. 

There is no question but that we live in a difficult and challenging age.  There is little we can do to change this reality.  But how we respond to our times – how we allow it to affect us – is well within our control.  Chronic sadness, hopelessness, and despair are choices we make in response to what we experience.  No one forces them on us.  Ralph Waldo Emerson famously said, “Sorrow looks back.  Worry looks around.  Faith looks up”.  What do you choose?

This morning’s first reading was taken from the inter-testament Book of Baruch.  It is set during the period of the Exile, a time after God’s people had been conquered militarily, taken from their devastated homeland, and forced to live in Babylon.  It was about as bleak a time as anyone of us could ever imagine.   God’s people lived in captivity for more than two generations until no one alive had ever experienced anything other than life in Babylon.  In that dark time Baruch’s words shined with the brightness of the sun:

Take off the garment

of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem,

  and put on forever

the beauty of the glory from God.

Put on the robe of the righteousness

that comes from God;

put on your head the diadem

of the glory of the Everlasting;

  for God will show your splendor

everywhere under heaven.

We like to say, “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.”  Baruch might change that up a tad to say, “When the going gets bleak, put on festive clothes and celebrate.”  In the face of real life social and political problems he points to a spiritual solution: “We must mourn no longer.  It is time for us to reflect the beauty and the glory of God.  We will choose in whom we live and move and have our being.  And people everywhere will know and see who we are, what we believe, and the power of God working in us.”

Today’s gospel reading demonstrates how Luke sets his story in a historical context: the emperor, the governor, rulers of various regions, and religious leaders in the temple.  All of these people possessing all the world’s power and yet the word of God comes not to them nor does it come through them.  God’s word is spoken by a prophet preaching not in the halls of privilege and power, but in the wilderness.  His message is simple: “Repent of what you have become and be baptized into what God would have you be.”  It is a call to choose spiritual renewal in a time of darkness and despair.

Advent is a season of waiting.  We wait for God’s promise to be fulfilled.  In a little more than two weeks we will celebrate the birth of Jesus and receive its gifts of peace and hope and light.  But these gifts won’t sweep around the globe like some kind of holy tsunami transforming everything in their path.  Peace and hope and light are more like the image Baruch gives us: new garments we put on and wear after we take off the old garments of sorrow and affliction.  They come into the world as God’s free gift.  They are made real in the world through each one of us as we wear them.

Shannon Alder, in her book 300 Questions to Ask Your Parents Before It’s Too Late, makes this obvious, but important observation: “Anger, resentment and jealousy don't change the hearts of others, they only change yours.”  As I watch and read the news I am keenly aware of how what is happening is changing us, changing me.  Looking backward and looking around without looking up has a way of affecting our wardrobe, doesn’t it.  It makes us people of the moment rather than representatives of Eternity.  I for one need to hear John’s call: “Repent of what you have become and be baptized into what God would have you be.”  I need to take off the clothes I am wearing and put on the clothing of peace and hope and light that reflect the beauty and the glory of God.  I began Advent last Sunday with a simple, three-word message: Take Advent Slowly!  Here are this week’s three words: Change Your Clothes!

Take Advent Slowly

Jesus said, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with… the worries of this life, and that the day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.” 

Today is the first Sunday of the year in the church calendar.  Happy new year!  Advent 1.  Advent.  Of all the seasons in the Church year, it most has been bulldozed and buried by contemporary culture, its wisdom and value lost in the marketing rush to get to Christmas.  That other new year celebration, the one in Times Square, has its descending ball and sixty second countdown.  For most, Advent has morphed into a countdown to Christmas: only X number of shopping days left, only three more candles on the wreath to light, only so much time left to trim the tree, send out cards, and bake cookies. 

Is this all there is to Advent?  Is this what it is supposed to be?  Can Advent be something more?   Can it be something else?

I have been reading a book by the writer Rinker Buck about an adventure he set out on a few years ago with his brother.  They decided to retrace by mule-drawn covered wagon the original route of the Oregon Trail – a feat which, to the best of their ability to figure, hadn’t been attempted in over 100 years.  Inspiration (or what some might call “insanity”) for the journey came from several sources.  One was the memory of a similar, shorter trip with their father on a family “vacation” in the 1950’s when they travelled and camped by covered wagon through parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania.  Their dad hung a sign on the back of the wagon for passing motorists to read: “We apologize for holding up your drive.”  And then in huge print it said, “See America Slowly.”

Rinker Buck’s book, titled The Oregon Trail, is all about what happens when you see America slowly.  As I flew to California last week I was keenly aware I was retracing sections of the Trail myself, albeit at 450 miles per hour from an altitude of 40,000 feet.  My United flight and Buck’s covered wagon both got from point A to point B, but as you can imagine, they were completely different experiences.  I was transported from one coast to another in a couple of hours.  Rinker and his brother were transformed by their journey, which lasted the better part of a summer. 

I am confident you recognize what it is like to go through Advent (and life, for that matter) at 450 MPH from 40,000 feet.  What might it look like to “Take Advent Slowly”?  What might it look like to live slowly and intentionally with Advent’s themes of longing, peace, hope, and love? 

If I asked you what you longed for, could you give me an answer?  If not, do you think your life would be richer if you made some time to sit with yourself until you understood the deepest longings of your heart?  That, I think, would be Advent time well spent.  What if I asked where you find peace in your life?  Can you identify a place, an experience, or a time when peace envelops you on a consistent basis?  If you can’t point to anything, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could?  What about hope?  What would you say if I asked how hope sustains and encourages you in your life?  Could you give me an answer?  And what if I asked how you experience deep, unconditional, healing love?  Our faith tells us this is how God is in relationship with us.  When, where, and how do you experience it in your life?

If you struggle to answer any or all of these, don’t feel bad.  You are not a failing as a Christian.  My guess is you simply have not taken time to live with yourself in a way that fosters spiritual and personal awareness.  You have been living a 450/40,000 life.  You are not alone, in fact you are part of the majority.  Advent comes not to remind us to get ready for Christmas, but to speak to the value of waiting; of the necessity we have for space to be still, to live with God and ourselves in a slow, quiet way.

Those of you in the Women’s Study Group will recognize how what I am saying connects with the book you are studying by Sue Monk Kidd.  In it she writes of being on a retreat and trying to sit for a period of meditation, only she can’t.  She has lost the capacity to be still and even has come to believe doing nothing is a waste of time.  Then she sees a monk sitting perfectly still under a tree.  He remains motionless for a long, long time.  When his mediation is complete she engages him in conversation, confessing she has trouble getting used to the idea of doing nothing.  Listen to what he says in response:

“When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing. You are doing the most important something there is.  You’re allowing your soul to grow up.  If you can’t be still and wait, you can’t become what God created you to be.”

Kidd goes on to make this observation,

“When it comes to religion today, we tend to be long on butterflies and short on cocoons.”

So we have two different, but related images for Advent: the covered wagon and the cocoon.  The covered wagon eventually gets you where you need to go while changing you by the experience.  The cocoon is a slow and necessary process leading to transformation and new life.

God’s promise to us is always new life.  Throughout the Church year we retrace how God’s promise is fulfilled in the person of Jesus.  As it tells the Jesus story, the Church calendar has us waiting four weeks for the promise to be incarnated in a stable in Bethlehem.  In our lives, the waiting can and does take much longer.  In fact, waiting is an indispensible spiritual skill we must draw on regularly if we hope to stay in touch with God and with ourselves. 

Kidd points out that the Greek word for soul is psyche, which often is symbolized as a butterfly.  She writes,

“The fullness of one’s soul evolves slowly.  We are asked to go within to gestate the newness God is trying to form; we’re asked to collaborate with grace.”

Hers is an Advent insight; one challenged by what she calls our “quickaholic” spirituality and lifestyle.  “Be on guard,” Jesus told his followers in today’s gospel reading, “so that your hearts are not weighed down with… the worries of this life, and that the day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.”  I hear him encouraging us to take Advent slowly!

Not One Stone will be Left

Jesus said, “Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down.”  These are not comforting words for us, especially while St. Paul’s is in the midst of a tuck-pointing project to grind out and replace failing mortar in the joints of our exterior bricks.  I’d like to think this work will keep the building solid, well, forever.  Today’s reading is not comforting.

Solomon built the first Temple in Jerusalem in 957 BC to replace the movable Tabernacle constructed under the direction of Moses.  Over the next 100 years the Temple was sacked at least twice and left in disrepair.  King Jehoash made a push to have it repaired in 835 BC, but it was stripped again by an Assyrian invasion around 712 BC.  The Babylonians assaulted Jerusalem several times after that, completely destroying the Temple and sacking the city in 586 BC; giving rise to a period in Jewish history referred to as the Exile. 

That time came to an end when a Persian army led by Cyrus the Great defeated Babylon in 538 BC.  The new ruler allowed Jews to return to their homeland and authorized the construction of a new temple.  Twenty-three years later this work was complete, although the second Temple lacked grandeur of the first.  This structure was almost destroyed in 332 BC by Alexander the Great, who was angry that Jews refused to acknowledge him as a deity.

The Seleucids came to rule in Jerusalem in 198 BC.  They wanted to erect images of Greek gods in the Temple.  After a Jewish rebellion ensured and was brutally put down, efforts to change the Temple were halted.  Several years later Antiochus IV outlawed circumcision and worship on the Sabbath.  When he placed a stature of Zeus in the Temple Jewish anger rose to a boiling point.  In 167 BC a Jewish priest by the name of Mattathias was ordered to perform a pagan sacrifice, but rather than capitulate, he killed the Greek official.  This led to a mass uprising and Mattathias’ son Judas Maccabeus led the fight to free Jews from Seleucid rule.  The Temple was rededicated in 165 BC and many of the events around this period continue to be celebrated as a major part of the Feast of Hanukkah.

After Rome invaded Jerusalem in 63 BC, Pompey entered the Holy of Holies, the most sacred part of the Temple, thereby desecrating it.  Crassus looted the Temple treasury in 54 BC.  None of this sat well with Jews, but Roman rule was too strong to confront.  Herod the Great launched a major building project in 20 BC.  Construction on the Temple as Jesus knew it was largely finished just before birth.  The new structure covered an area roughly the size of fifteen football fields.  Its exterior was covered in white marble and had many gold embellishments.  Located on top of a high hill, you can imagine the reaction of pilgrims as they caught sight of it for the first time.   

If you want to understand the place the Temple held in Jewish society, try to imagine a single building that functions as our National Cathedral, Capital, White House, and Pentagon.  Add in the Untied States Treasury building and you begin to understand what this one site meant for Jews.  And while it held an incredibly significant psychological place, many Jews in Jesus’ day had mixed feelings about the Temple.  Yes, it was the epicenter of their national life, but also was rife with corruption and its core had shifted from devotion to God to collaboration with Rome.  Our gospel readings over the past few weeks have thundered with Jesus’ criticism of how it operated.  The text says many people listened “with great delight” as he sparred with and bettered Temple officials.  

Today’s reading has Jesus leaving the Temple.  One of his disciples has what one commentator calls a “Gomer Pyle” moment – the country bumpkin in the big city saying, “Well Gol-ly, this sure is a big building and them-‘thar’ as some big stones.”  The disciple is not exactly incorrect.  Some of the stones erected in the wall were as big as a city bus.  But Jesus is not at all impressed and is livid with how the Temple preys on the pious.  Jesus did not emerge in a cultural vacuum.  The span of his life was pocketed with several minor uprisings and revolts.  He was just one of many Temple critics and by the time he emerged Roman officials had come to realize better to eliminate the lone voice before it garners a larger following. 

The protest movements did not end after Jesus’ crucifixion.  Three decades after his death, an all-out war between Rome and Jews erupted in 66 AD, with the Jews enjoying early victories.  They set up a provisional government and it is telling that once they gained control, rebels broke into the Temple archives and burned all the records; effectively freeing all those made destitute by foreclosure on their land and assets as a means to finance the building project.  Jewish fanaticism was at an all-time high, as was the expectation God would send a messiah to lead them in a final battle against Rome.  It reached a fevered pitch when Nero, the Roman emperor, died in 68 AD and Vespasian, who was leading the army against the Jews, had to return to Rome because the capital was in disarray.  Many in Jerusalem proclaimed this evidence God was intervening on their behalf.  

Eventually Vespasian ceased control in Rome and sent to Jerusalem an army of 60,000 soldiers.  A siege was enacted that lasted several years.  In 70 AD the city fell and a bloodbath ensured.  The Temple was burned to the ground and, in the words of Jesus, not one stone was left on top of another. 

Scholars note Mark’s gospel was written right around this very time.  Either the city was under siege, or the Romans were in the process of destroying the Temple, or it was lying in ruins as the ashes smoldered.  Given this context, Mark’s record of Jesus’ words stands not so much as a prediction as a theological interpretation of current events.  Did you catch what I just said?  What we heard read this morning is not so much a prediction of future events as it is an explanation of what is happening.  Many people today misunderstand the bible’s apocalyptic writings.  It is used in turbulent times to interpret, not to forecast.

Given this, Mark portrays Jesus as saying several important things to his readers:

· These are crazy times and there are a lot of crazy people out there saying a lot of crazy things.

· Following crazy leaders has grave consequences.

· What appears to be destruction has the seeds of a new beginning – what Jesus calls ‘birth pangs’.

The destruction of the Temple and subsequent banishment of Jews from the Holy Land eventually gave rise to the Christianization of the Roman Empire and Western World as we know it.  It also led to a reinvention of Judaism, which now finds it locus not in a specific location, but in an ongoing practice of remembering.

As we gather this morning we realize anew we live in a turbulent world.  We see it in the horrific events that unfolded in Paris.  We see it in the cruel things that shape the lives our children and grandchildren.  And we see it in the personal challenges we never imagined we would have to face. 

I hear in Jesus’ words several things we need to hear:

· First, turbulent times call for vigilance.  Recognizing we are not safe is the first step we must take in order to be safe.

· Second, turbulent times call for great discernment.  When something goes wrong we want an explanation.  Who is to blame?  What did I do wrong?  What is God trying to say to me?  What will make this all go away?  As Jesus said, false prophets will rise up – be they spiritual leaders, political figures, or even close acquaintances – and they will give us easy answers to complicated questions.

· Finally, Jesus proclaims turbulent times, through the grace and power of God, lead to new beginnings.  The pain we experience is not the pain of death, but rather the pain of birth.  Something new is going to emerge – in your life, in the life of those close to you, in our world.  This is our faith, the faith we have received from Jesus.

We are a people of hope.  Hope is not a spiritual trait you draw on when times are good.  It comes to the forefront only when times are tough.  I remember in seminary talking with friends about the end times.  It was a heady conversation that encompassed all the various theories about tribulation, the end of the world, and final judgment.  I remember one person saying something like, “God’s Church is not going anywhere because the bible says Jesus will return for us like a groom comes to his bride as she is adorned for her wedding.”  “Brides,” he noted, “Don’t come to their wedding day dragging and tattered, but decked out in their finest.”  “That is us,” he said.  “We are not going to destroy the planet in a nuclear war [the big social issue at the time].  Somehow, someway, humanity is going to come together and present itself to Christ as a bride ready for marriage.”  Now, that is a statement of great hope and it has stayed with me.  It is as a vision that, through the grace of God, will be our future.  It is a future toward which we must labor daily. 

Jesus has told us what we need to do in turbulent times.  We are to be vigilant, discerning, and hopeful.  May the One who gives us this word give us grace to hear it, grace to accept it, and wisdom to live it.

The Poor Widow & The Temple Treasury

A parishioner approaches his priest.  “I have some bad news.  My old car finally gave up the ghost and yesterday I went to buy a brand new one.  The problem is my car payment is the same amount as my monthly pledge and I can’t do both.  I really need a new car and I hope you will understand.”  The priest, very excited, says, “I think I’ll go down to the dealership.  I didn’t realize you can buy a new car for that little.”

The Widow’s mite.  It is an enduring phrase that survives in our contemporary lexicon even though most people don’t know its origin in the bible.  If I had a penny for every stewardship sermon ever preached based on this story I would have a whole lot of mites.  I have some good news and some bad news.  The good news: I am not going to preach another stewardship sermon based on this text.  The bad news: by the time I am done, you just might wish I had.

Let’s put this story into context.  It is Tuesday in the week of the Passover celebration in Jerusalem.  On Sunday Jesus entered the city riding a donkey – a very intentional act with messianic implications.  Mark tells us Jesus enters the Temple and takes in the entire scene, but because it is late he leaves for the evening. 

On Monday he returns to the Temple.  Normally a busy place, during the Passover it resembles Times Square on New Year’s Eve.  Perhaps more than a million people have poured into the city for the festival.  They are obligated to offer various sacrifices while there.  Many have travelled long distances, making transporting the various animals required for these religious obligations quite difficult.  Over the years the Temple has developed a tidy way to deal with the problem.  They have set up a system that allows pilgrims to offer money rather than animals. 

Now, the most common form of currency at the time was a Roman coin that bore the image of the emperor, who claimed to be divine.  Temple officials held these inscripted coins contained a graven image and thus were unsuitable as an offering.  No problem, money exchangers set up shop in the Temple courts so pilgrims could trade Roman coins for currency acceptable as an offering.  Of course there was a cost for this service and moneychangers were notorious for exploiting a profit any way possible.  Jesus’ first act in the Temple is to turn over the tables of the moneychangers, claiming God’s house should be a place a prayer, not a den for thieves and robbers.  His act does not bring an end to this process.  It only disrupts it momentarily.  Still, it makes a statement and reveals Jesus’ deep dislike for what God’s Temple has become.

Now it is Tuesday and Jesus has returned.  If the Temple officials were leery of him before the incident on Monday, imagine their concern now.   A group is sent to confront him.  They demand to know by what authority he does what he does.  They challenge Jesus with a serious of questions, aiming to discredit him or, even worse, to find legal grounds on which to arrest him.

Once this confrontation ends, Jesus is sitting in the Temple courtyard women were allowed to enter.  It was sixty feet square with a colonnade running along its interior walls.  Thirteen wooden boxes known as Trumpets were located in the colonnade.  Each box had a trumpet-shaped funnel mounted on it.  Wide at the top and narrow as it came to the box, it was designed to catch coins pilgrims dropped into the various boxes.  Each box was designated for a specific purpose or sacrifice.  Worshipers were obligated to contribute to the first nine boxes while the last four were strictly voluntary.

Jesus is watching masses of people drop coins into these various boxes while at the same time scrutinizing Temple officials as they glide around in fancy cloths.  They are pompous figures who feed on the respect people must offer to them.  Their prayers are long and elaborate and intended only to impress those who are listening.  Jesus is absolutely disgusted with the entire scene.  The hypocrisy of it galls him.  He comes from humble roots and knows first-hand the toll these taxes take on the poor.  He knows what it cost his family and people in his community to feed this religious machine.  What sense does it make for a widow to be forced to liquidate her home in order to pay the Temple?  Whatever the original intention for the Temple was, what it has become by Jesus’ day is just plain appalling. 

He notices a poor widow drop two coins into one of the thirteen treasury boxes.  He reckons it is all she has to live on.  Based on his observation, Jesus must wonder how or even if she will survive.  He will be dead on Friday.  Will she even make it that far?  He points out to his disciples the egregious nature of a system where some people can afford to pay the Temple tax out of their abundance but the widow has to surrender everything in order to participate.

Her act is not an example for us to follow.  She is a victim of a very powerful and deeply corrupt system.  We should not feel ashamed that our pledge to the church is not as costly as hers.  We should feel anger at a system that treats people this way. 

And, as Jesus points out, a system is not some anonymous entity, it is a collection of people who benefit personally from the way things are.  This privileged group oversees a structure that uses religious pretense to take from the poor their marginal resources in order to perpetuate their own lifestyle of prestige and lavish living.  How desperate are these people to protect their system?  Well, about the same time this widow turns over all she has to the Temple treasury, Temple officials take thirty pieces of silver out of it to pay Judas to betray Jesus, whose teaching and actions are a major threat to the racket.

For centuries this story has been used to teach something important about Christian stewardship, but I think we have gotten it wrong all along.  Why would we applaud a destitute woman who was obligated to give her last two pennies to the Temple and then slipped away to starve?  Jesus is not calling us to emulate her example.  He is calling us to weep.  And to rage.

And maybe, just maybe, Jesus is calling his followers to give their lives to expose injustice in any and all forms we encounter it.  “Do you see what she has done?” he says to his followers.  “She has given all that she has, her very ‘life’ (bios in the Greek, a part of the root of our word biology – the study of life).  We will never know to what degree her example solidifies in Jesus’ mind what he must do, but in three days he too will give his bios to expose the Temple system for what it is.  As such, she is not a model for parishioners to follow at pledge time.  Rather, she is a courageous, prophetic figure more akin to Rosa Parks than a generous giver.

Well, I said earlier you might end up wishing this was just another stewardship sermon.  It seems to me what is difficult about what I have said is figuring out what to do with it.  Many preachers and many listeners might go from this point into the waters of politics; focusing on particular candidates or specific policies that promise to obliterate unjust systems and champion the cause of the oppressed.  This tact reduces your Christian obligation to walking into a voting booth and pulling a specific lever.  Even worse, it reduces Jesus’ glorious vision of the kingdom of God to support of one political party or the other. 

For me, I take away from this a mandate to reform and transform.  Neither is easy or clear.  It calls us to shift our charitable mindset from “doing good” to fostering new life.  Again, easier said than done.  Bill and Dixie Peachy have a vision of this through their support of the Boys and Girls Clubs of Suffolk.  It is an organization that seeks not to give ‘things’ to ‘needy’ people, but to foster life-changing and life-enhancing relationships transforming our community.

I would life to think that our Christmas Giving Opportunities are cut from the same cloth.  Boys Home of Virginia in Covington and Jackson-Feild Home in Jarret touch the lives of teenage boys and girls who are alone, disadvantaged, at risk, or who have struggled to find a way through our traditional educational process.  Our project will provide a modest Christmas for five youngsters at each institution and, through the grace of God, will encourage them on their path to a better life.

What we contribute to Episcopal Relief & Development will provide a wide array of resources to elevate the lives of a few specific people in a particular community:

· 100 trees for reforestation of a devastated area.

· A micro-credit loan that will engender economic opportunity.

· Three goats that will provide milk, cheese, manure to improve farming, and will reproduce quickly (everything on most of our Christmas wish lists, I’m sure!)

· A clean water source for three people.

· A care package for three newborns to improve health and quality of life at a time when infants are most susceptible to malnutrition and disease.  

“Do you see that poor widow over there?”  It is a question Jesus asked of his disciples and asks of us.  It is a great paradox in our time that we have the ability to see people scattered over every corner of our planet while at the same time feel so helpless to make a difference, even though we have more resources and opportunities at our disposal than ever before.  I invite you to join me in noticing the ‘poor widow’, in being aware of how systems and structures perpetuate hopelessness, and doing what you can to make things different.

The Emotions of All Saints' Day

I have told you before about the first time I attended a Palm Sunday service at an Episcopal Church.  In all my previous experience Palm Sunday was just, well, Palm Sunday – Jesus riding a donkey, people waving branches, lots and lots of hosannas.  It was a celebration of sorts – minor compared to Easter of course, sort of like a warm-up.  The Episcopal Church’s observance of Palm Sunday begins like this, but then it throws in the Passion, complete with us shouting out “Crucify him!”  It is a service of wild emotional swings and by the time Jesus has breathed his last and his lifeless body has been laid in the grave we in the congregation have been through almost every human emotion possible. 

Our service today produces similar swings, but unlike Palm Sunday, which is focused on Jesus, All Saints’ Day is much more personal.  It is about all those we love but see no longer.  As the blessing I will use at the end of the service says, today we reflect on those who have “baked the bread of faith and allured [us] with the aroma.”  From the Jazz music to the balloons at the Peace to the delicious desserts that wait in the Parish Hall, we are surrounded by the sights and sounds of celebration.  Also present on the streamers and in our Eucharistic prayer are the names of bread bakers who were dear to us.  It is possible and very human to revel in their memories while at the same time to grieve their absence from our life.  It is not at all uncommon on an anniversary of a death or on Mother’s or Father’s Day to see a friend post something like, “Even though you have been gone for 25 years, I still think about you every day.  Mommy (or Daddy), I miss you.”

Yes, this day elicits in us a whole host of emotions and not a single one of them is inappropriate.  Each is to be embraced and understood for what it is.

Today’s Gospel reading focuses our attention on the heart of story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  Even in this condensed version we see a wide swath of human emotion on display.  I am particularly drawn to group labeled “the Jews”.  In an earlier portion of the narrative not included in today’s reading we are told these people are, for lack of a better word, “professional” mourners.  They show up when a person dies and join family members in grieving. 

Jesus wants to go to the gravesite to visit the place where his friend has been entombed.  The text tells us that Jesus weeps.  The grievers who have been watching this, say two things:

  “Look how much Jesus loved him.”

  “If he was able to open the eyes of a blind man why did he not save his friend from dying?”

These are two very powerful statements, aren’t they!  One is a confession that God cares deeply about us.  The other is the universal question of the faithful: why did God allow this terrible thing to happen.

Whenever I gather with a family at the passing of a loved one, in some form or another, this statement of faith and this question of faith are present: God loves the person I lost.  Why did this happen?  We hold these two opposites deep inside where, over time, they learn how to sit side by side with arms around each other.  It is an embrace which is at the heart of what we call “faith.”

Today’s Gospel reading concludes with Jesus calling out to Lazarus and when he comes out of the tomb instructing others to unbind him, and let him go.  This moment stands for us as a symbol of the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.  It is what lies ahead.  What lies behind is the initial shock of “God loved the person I lost” and “Why did this have to happen?”  On All Saints’ Day we realize we are somewhere in between.  We are somewhere on the journey from our loss to a joy-filled reunion.  The reason this day is filled with so many different emotions – emotions given a place and a space in today’s service – is that what is past and what is to come are very present to us in this moment.

I have told you before about how Celtic spirituality witnesses to the notion of “Thin Places”.  The Celts say that heaven and earth are only a three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller.  Don’t you experience this moment as a thin place?  Perhaps you come to church every Sunday because it helps you feel connected with those you have lost.  Today, this connection feels especially close.  We feel close to the echoes of the cries of the mourners who sat with Martha and Mary.  And today, it is as if Jesus is just about to call out to the tomb for our loved ones to come forth.  This is a thin moment.

May you be blessed while in this space.  May you leave confident you will see again all those you have lost.  May you be encouraged to taste again the bread they baked and to smell the wonderful aroma of their presence in your life.  May you go forth on your journey as a saint of God, touching lives as your life has been touched. 

The Son of Timaeus

It was the great mystic, poet, theologian, social commentator, and Peanuts character Linus who said, “Happiness is a warm blanket.”  Surely Bartimaeus, the blind beggar in today’s gospel reading, would agree.  But whereas Linus used his blanket to produce a feeling of security, Bartimaeus needed his cloak for to do so much more.  It was a shield from the sun and covering in the rain.  It gave warmth on chilly nights and cushioned the rocky ground on which he sat.  Somewhere in the cloak was a pocket to stow coins produced by begging.  It would be hard to overstate its value to Bartimaeus. 

So it is worth noting that when Jesus calls him, the blind beggar throws off his cloak and leaps up.  It is hard to imagine why he would leave behind something so important to him.  Given he is blind, there is a reasonable chance he will not be able to find his way back to where he let it drop.  It is also likely in the commotion someone else might make off with it.  Why would he do it?  Why would Bartimaeus carelessly leave behind a vital piece of property?  Linus guarded his blanket with the zeal of a bank guard.  We can understand Bart Simpson doing something this careless, but not a beggar whose life depended on this possession.

Perhaps he was too excited to think straight.  Maybe the emotion of the moment got the better of him.  He just sprang up and went to Jesus.  Or maybe Bartimaeus’ act is indicative of a deeper faith.  Maybe he believes so deeply he was going to be healed that he thinks the blanket will no longer be necessary.  Given this possibility, the cloak represents his old lifestyle of begging, which he will not need anymore.

Here is a third possibility.  The name Bartimaeus means “son (bar in Hebrew) of Timaeus.”  Is Mark trying to tell us who the beggar’s father is or perhaps is he trying to tell us something else?  Plato produced a work called Timaeus some 350 years earlier.  It is the philosopher’s attempt to explain the origin and nature of the universe and the role of human beings in it.  To call a person Bartimaeus is to identify him as an adherent to Plato’s school of thought.  In fact, pupils were often said to wear the cloak of their teacher.  Is Mark telling us the beggar sheds his cloak as a tangible sign of forsaking the Plato’s outlook in order to embrace to the teachings of Jesus? 

Did you notice how Bartimaeus addresses Jesus? When Jesus asks the beggar what he wants, Bartimaeus answers, “My teacher, let me see again.”  “My teacher” – isn’t this an indication Bartimaeus wants to see the world in a whole new way; not just with his eyes, but also with his understanding?  “Go,” Jesus tells him.  “Your faith has made you well.”  Bartimaeus immediately receives his sight, but rather than leave, he follows Jesus on the way.  He has the physically ability to see, but needs time with his new teacher in order to gain new insight and perspective.

After this encounter Mark never again mentions Bartimaeus by name, but does he disappear from the story? 

Today’s reading takes place just outside of Jericho.  It is not a long walk from here to Jerusalem.  In just a day or two it will be Palm Sunday.  Within a week Jesus will be crucified and buried.  Mark adds a rather curious detail to the scene of Jesus’ arrest the other three gospels don’t mention.  After all the disciples flee, he notes this:

A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a linen cloth.  They [the arresting guards] caught hold of him, but he left the linen cloth and ran off naked. (14:51-52)

Is this young man Bartimaeus?  Recent scholarship thinks it is.  Why doesn’t Mark identify him by name?  Because he is no longer a son of the Timaeus philosophy.  And what about the linen cloth?  If Bartimaeus had been a beggar and if he left his cloak on the roadside, it is likely he did not have much to wear, perhaps only a linen cloth to wrap around his body.

Before new converts were baptized the early Church  had them engage in a catechumenal process – a time of teaching where they were taught the essentials of the faith.  Once prepared for baptism, candidates were led to a body of water and stripped of their clothing.  Nothing from a person’s old life was to be carried into the new life of following Christ.  Candidates were thrust under water three times, once in the name of the Father, then of the Son, and finally of the Holy Spirit.  This was not gentle dabbling with a few drops of water.  It was a near drowning that brought a person as close to death as possible in order to emphasize sharing in resurrected life with Christ.  The newly baptized person emerged from the water and was clothed immediately in an all-white linen.  It symbolized the washing of sins and the beginning of a new life in Christ.

Bartimaeus, following Jesus closely throughout the events of Holy Week, learns firsthand what the Christian faith and life is all about.  In Mark’s gospel the young man disappears from the story naked and, we assume goes through his own process of dying even as Jesus is tried and crucified.  On Easter morning a group of woman go to Jesus’ tomb to anoint his body with burial spices.  They are shocked to find the sealed tomb open.  Listen to how Mark tells the story from here:

As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.  But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him.  But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” (Mark 16:5-7)

In this account the young man is now wearing a white robe, symbolizing he has entered fully into new life with Jesus.  He is sitting of the right hand of where the body had been laid.  Do you remember last week’s reading where James and John ask to sit at Jesus’ side in glory?  Do you remember how Jesus said it was not for him to grant, but that there was one for whom it was prepared?  Bartimaeus was the last person Jesus healed and last to follow him on the way, but the first person to proclaim Jesus’ resurrection.  He becomes a tangible embodiment of Jesus’ teaching that the last will be first. 

And notice what he says to the women:

  “Look” at the place where they laid him.

  Go to Galilee and there you will “see” him. 

There is a strong visual element to his directions.  It is as if seeing is very important to him, perhaps the final clue that Bartimaeus and this young man are one in the same.

Mark did not weave all of this into his gospel as an intriguing literary exercise.  He wanted to entice his readers to ask key questions of themselves.

If the cloak represents the old life of begging – a life of hopelessness and despair Bartimaeus had to shed – what is it you need to get rid of in your life in order to move into new life with Jesus?  It could be a relationship or a habit or a vice or job.  Whatever it is for you, it is emblematic of all that holds you back and all that holds you down.

And what if Bartimaeus’ cloak represents more than an old way of life?  What if it represents an entire worldview or ideology not oriented around the Gospel as made known through the life and teachings of Jesus?  What will it take for you to see the world in a whole new way?

Today we are told there is no objective truth.  Each of us, we are told, must find our own way.  It is your job to construct a reality that works for you.  Much about modern technology provides us with the tools and resources we need to pursue this task with greater or lesser vigor depending on our interest.  We are even encouraged to pick and choose elements from various worldviews that tickle our fancy. 

Jesus did not come to give people interesting tidbits to add to their stew of ideas and philosophies.  He came to proclaim God’s Good News:

· God created all that is and creation belongs to God.

· Each person is unique and special because each person bears the image of God.  Thus, each one of us is capable of producing incredible beauty.

· And while we have immeasurable value and potential, each one of us is also flawed.  We create brokenness with God, with one another, with creation, and with ourselves.

· This brokenness that flows from our flaws is not the final word.  God’s love is unfathomable, unshakeable, and unbreakable.

· Jesus embodies the depth of God’s love by embracing all who seek God, especially those rejected by others – the lost, the last, and the least.

· Jesus demonstrates the certainty of God’s love by carrying it all the way to the Cross and forgiving those who crucified him.

· By rising from the dead, Jesus assures us that new life is possible for all who turn to him and embrace his way of life.

· All who turn to Jesus are empowered to live as he lived through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

· The Holy Spirit guides us into community with one another and Christ-like compassion for all.

· It is in this community that we engage two practices central to Jesus’ hope for the world: baptism as a way to initiate people into the life and work of Jesus and Eucharist as a way of experiencing Christ’s presence through a community meal.

This is the worldview Bartimaeus grew to embrace after he left his cloak behind.  It is the most beautiful way to “see” the world I know of.  It is a beautiful outlook that beckons each one of us to shed our old cloak and follow Jesus on the way.