God’s Utility to Us vs. God’s Intention for Us

 

John 6:56-69

Proper 16 / Year B

Over the past four Sundays our assigned readings from the Gospel of John have focused on the feeding of the 5,000 and Jesus’ subsequent teaching on its deeper meaning.  Today, all of what we have read and heard and pondered over the last month comes to a conclusion with one big, dramatic, glorious, resounding thud.  It bombs.  Jesus bombs.  The text puts it pretty succinctly: “Because of this [Jesus saying “I am the Bread of Life”] many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.”

In one fell swoop, Jesus transforms his megachurch-sized following into a hardly little band typical of an early service at pretty much every Episcopal Church.  We tend not to think of Jesus as being a failure, but the proof is right there in the bible.  By almost any contemporary measure, we can say Jesus’ sermon causes a thriving ministry to crash and burn.

The masses have been chasing Jesus all over the countryside and racing to beat him to the beaches on the other side of the lake.  Every time he tries to sneak away they find a way to find him.  If you want talk about devotion, this crowd is devoted.  So what happened?  Why this reaction?  Why the fallout?  Why did so many quit the cause all at once?

The best clue comes from the first thing Jesus says to them when he begins his teaching.  John 6:26: “Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs [a sign being a wondrous event pointing to a larger, more significant truth], but because you ate your fill of the loaves.’”  Then he adds, “Do not labor for the food that perishes, but for the food which endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

Here, I think, is the rub:  Jesus wants to provide spiritual insight and direction – let’s call it ‘soul food’ – whereas the masses are looking for plenteous, free food.  Let’s not be entirely unsympathetic to their position for, most likely, most of these folks are poor and hungry.  They are, like a lot of people, interested in what God can do for them to make their lives better.  They pursue God for God’s utility, or usefulness, in their lives.  A God who is useful to us… it may sound like a strange way to put it, but the desire behind it is something we all recognize. 

I think about Rick, a high school student I knew long ago.  Rick’s sister was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  It was a very serious matter.  Rick, who had been lackadaisical at best in his church attendance, immediately became a weekly fixture at worship.  You could almost hear his silent prayers as he knelt at the rail and in the pews Sunday after Sunday.  What bargain was he willing to strike with God in return for his sister’s health, I wondered?  How much earnestness did he think God required from him in order to answer his prayers?

When Rick had nowhere else to turn, he turned to God.  And God came through, along with some help from a neurologist or two.  His sister had surgery, all went well, and she was given a clean bill of health.  And guess what happened next.  Rick’s dedication to Sunday worship began to wane.  God had done what Rick wanted God to do and I have no doubt he was grateful.  While not being privy to the content of his private prayers, I imagine the last one went something like this: “Thanks God.  You sure did take good care of my sister.  I really appreciate it and will never forget your kindness.  In fact, I’ll be right back here the next time I need you.”

“The next time I need you…” it is an expression that speaks of God’s utility.  Please don’t think I am singling out Rick for ridicule because there is a little bit of him in each one of us, including me.  The temptation to domesticate God is very strong.  There is a pull within each of us to make the Almighty into a kind of house god whose job it is to watch over us and keep us safe.  Prayer then boils down to two purposes.  One is to remind God of the problems in our lives God needs to tend and the other is to thank God for tending to them.  This is how Rick thought of God.  This is how the crowds following Jesus thought of God.  And, if the truth be told, there is a part of you and a part of me that thinks about God in this way too.

It is something akin to what happens to most big lottery winners.  Whatever their previous relationship with family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, and causal associates, it all changes once they have new-found money.  Suddenly everyone wants a loan or handout.  The relationship centers around what the lottery winner can do for you; a relationship about utility and usefulness.  And almost to a person, the winners resent it.

From time to time I look up at the stars in the night sky and try to get my head around the enormous mass of the universe and the unfathomable distance it covers or I read an article about an emerging discovery in the subatomic world and I begin to ponder the Intellect behind all of creation.  In what sense does God reign over it all?  What kind of power and creative imagination must God have to have called all of this into being?  How is it possible for God to be in relationship with any of it, especially me and you?  And as I am pondering these lofty notions, I realize anew how absurd it is to reduce God to being nothing more than a concierge who awaits my beck and call.  But if you are interested in, and only in, God’s usefulness to you, this, in fact, is what you are doing.

And it is what draws the masses to Jesus.  Can’t you just imagine his frustration as he tries to point this out to them; as he tries to teach them God is more than a porter?  When the free food runs out and Jesus refuses to be useful in the way they want, the masses pack up their empty picnic baskets and go home.

But not everyone.  A few people remain.  Jesus looks at the twelve disciples and asks, “Well, aren’t you going to leave too?”  And Peter, who so often in the gospels gets it wrong, this time gets it right by saying, “Lord, to whom can we go?  You have the words of eternal life.”  His statement of loyalty reveals two significant ways in which his religion differs from that of the now departed crowd.  Notice first he says “to whom can we go.”  This indicates Peter is looking not for something, but for someone.  He is not there for the free bread but rather to be in relationship with Jesus.  If he were to leave to follow someone else, who would that person be?  For Peter, there is no where else to go because there is no one else he wants to follow.  And second, notice what Peter professes, “You, Jesus, have the words of eternal life.”  He has made the leap from bread which is useful to bread which is life-giving.  He has gone from looking for a god to meet his needs to searching for God’s wisdom for living. 

When I do my star gazing and micro-probing, I ponder how God infuses intentionality into all creation and I wonder what God’s intention is for me.  If I can discover God’s intention for me and if I can live into it then I figure I will be who I am created to be.  This is how I understand Jesus to have the words of eternal life.

So two thousand years ago the crowds disperse from the remote countryside when Jesus lets them know in no uncertain terms he is not there primarily to be useful to them in the way they want, when they want, as they want.  And here we are in this place today coming into God’s presence and looking for what?  Are you here this morning to remind God of the things in your life in need of tending?  There is no doubt God seems to come through for us time and time and time again; although there are some times when God does not.  Or, are you here to seek after God, to know God, to discern what this life is all about and where you fit into it, to know God’s will for you, and to know God’s love for all God has made – including you and your neighbor?  Let me suggest today’s reading encourages us to lay aside our desire for a God who is useful in order to focus on discerning God’s intention for us and for all of life.

 

Bread Under the Broom Tree

 

I Kings 19:4-8

John 6:35, 41-51

Proper 14 / Year B

The founder of the Israel’s prophetic movement is the focus of this morning’s first reading and we meet him at what is almost certainly the lowest point in his life.  How did he get here? 

King Ahab rules over the Northern Kingdom from 9th Century BC.  He marries Jezebel, the daughter of the king of Sidon and a Baal worshipper.  Ahab builds a temple for this foreign god and Jezebel consecrates scores of priests to serve in it.  The prophet Elijah rails against this and eventually challenges the priests of Baal to a contest.  He and they build separate altars of wood for an animal sacrifice.  Whichever deity can send fire to light the sacrifice will be deemed the true God.

 The priests of Baal go first.  They pray, they sing, they dance, they even cut themselves, all the while being mocked by God’s prophet, but no fire appears.  When it is Elijah’s turn he orders his altar to be drenched with water.  He looks to heaven only when it is wetter than the church’s parking lot last Sunday.  A flame comes down and ignites the sacrifice.  The people proclaim Yahweh to be the one true God and Elijah orders them to slay the prophets of Baal – all 450 of them.  It is a triumphant moment for Elijah, the highest of highs, but when Queen Jezebel learns of it she vows Elijah will be dead within 24 hours.  This is why he flees into the wilderness.

And it is here, exhausted and famished and disillusioned, he prays, “It is enough.  I want to die.”  Pete and Al’s rendition of Felix Mendelssohn’s stirring interpretation of this passage portrayed so powerfully just how shaken and defeated the prophet had become.  Ponder for a moment the lowest point in your life and you will know exactly where Elijah is.  And it is hard to be here with him here because our memories and our experiences which connect us to him are deeply painful.  Sit with them for too long and they might just pull you back into their deep despair.

Notice the text tells us Elijah takes refugee under a broom tree; an umbrella shaped desert shrub with roots capable of drawing moisture out of near-barren land.  If you do a Google search of ‘broom tree’ you will see photo after photo of a solitary piece of green vegetation surrounded by nothing else but rocky wilderness.  It is a truly remarkable specimen of God’s creation. 

There are several times in the bible when a person finds him or herself despairing under a broom tree.  Job experiences it as a place of desolation and abandonment.  The Psalmist finds it to be a place to mourn and to experience punishment.  In the Book of Genesis, Hagar and her son Ishmael lie down under a broom tree ready to die of hunger and thirst after being expelled from Abraham’s household. 

Yet, in spite of these examples, the broom tree is anything but a symbol of hopelessness.  Its leaf cover provides shade from the searing desert sun.  And its wood is excellent for building a fire because it burns slow and warm.  In fact, on cold desert nights, a person under a broom tree might take warms coals, bury them a few inches under the sand, and then spread out a bedroll over top of them.  The coals warm the sand, which in turn mitigates effect of a frigid night.  In the morning the coals can be dug up, rekindled, and used to bake a meal of bread, which is what God’s angel offers to Elijah.

As with all moments of human despair, in the Old Testament the broom tree is a place of divine encounter.  God comes to the person under the tree, just as God comes to us… at the time when we need God the most.  There is always bread under the broom tree, whether it be a literal tree in the wilderness or the figurative tree of our difficult times and moments; whether it be literal bread and drink for Elijah or spiritual bread and drink for us.  Whenever you find yourself under a broom tree, look around for the bread!

Last Sunday morning the back wall of Terry and Irma Mottley’s garage collapsed, creating a cascade of mud and water which came gushing in.  Fortunately, the supporting structure held and has now been reinforced, but the house is now condemned until major structural repairs can take place.  It will be months.  As trying as this experience has been physically and emotionally, Terry and Irma are surprisingly upbeat.  They talk about the dozens of people who have shown up and offered help: the fire department responded immediately to a 911 call and made sure everyone was safe, a contractor in the neighborhood is spearing heading the charge to get repairs done, adjustors are assessing the situation.  A colleague of mine - a deacon in the Episcopal Church who is a professional engineer - designed an impressive iron structure to shore up the house until permanent repairs are made.  Even with all the challenges this has brought on them, Terry and Irma talk mostly about the outpouring of help and concern coming their way.  They have found firsthand how God provides bread under the broom tree.

The bread Elijah finds is anything but a quick fix.  He is directed to eat not once, but twice because he is being sent on a forty-day journey to Mt. Horeb (better known as Mt. Sinai), where Moses first encountered God.  God does not make Elijah’s problems magically disappear, but God does give him strength for the journey and promises to be present with him throughout the ordeal.

Today’s Gospel reading pairs so beautifully with the story of Elijah.  Jesus tells us he is the true and living bread come down from heaven.  He is the bread under the broom tree who meets us in the hopeless places and sustains us for the road ahead.

On Thursday those of us who gather for Evening Prayer read a poem from Francis J. Robert’s devotional classic Come Away My Beloved titled Move on Steadily.  While it changes the metaphorical imagery of today’s readings from bread to water, it still conveys the promise of bread under the broom tree:

Many a ship has sailed from port to port

with no interference from Me,

because Strong Will has been at the wheel.

Multitudes of pleasure cruises

go merrily on their ways,

untouched by the power of My hand.

But you have put your life into My keeping,

and because you are

depending on Me for guidance and direction,

I shall give it.

Move on steadily,

and know that the waters that carry you

are the waters of My love and My kindness,

and I will keep you on the right course.

When we find ourselves under the broom tree what a blessing it is to know God provides bread and waters of love and kindness to direct us.

 

A Sip and a Taste

 

John 6:24-35

Proper 13 / Year B

Can you imagine going out to your yard every morning for forty years and picking up manna to eat?  Can you imagine having only it to dine on for all those years?  “What’s for dinner tonight, honey?”  “Manna!”  “Baked?  Fried?  Poached?  Sautéed?  Breaded?  Grilled?  Stir fried?  “Over easy?”  “No.  Fresh, like I picked it up off the grass.”  I’d have tired of this diet long before the Israelites did.  And I’m also positive I’d have failed to see God’s blessing in it after only a few weeks.  On one hand, this was their only food for forty years.  Yuck!  On the other, God looked after their daily need for 14,610 straight days.  Wow!  I know what it would have been like for me.  At first, it would have been a miracle.  After time, it would become a blessing.  From there it would morph into an expectation, and then give way to routine.  Eventually it would become nothing but drudgery.  What begins as feeding on the bread of angels becomes just another item on a dull to-do list.

Last Sunday we heard the story of how Jesus fed 5,000 people with just a few loaves of bread and two fish.  The people who participate in the meal are so deeply satisfied they chase Jesus all around the Sea of Galilee so as not to miss the next meal.  Of all the impressive elements of the story, perhaps the most intriguing is how the disciples fill twelve baskets with the leftovers.  You don’t need to be a physics major to deduce there is more food at the end than is present at the beginning.  And every one of those crumbs and morsels and bits of fish not eaten represents a blessing missed.  They represent the grace present that goes unrecognized.  And, like them, we have a lot of unrecognized grace present in our lives.

Paul Sohn is a blogger who describes himself as a Korean-Canadian/American leadership junkie, purpose weaver, and catalyst.  He begins one post by quoting William Arthur Ward who said, “God gave you a gift of 86,400 seconds today.  Have you used one to say ‘thank you?’”

Sohn writes this:

One of the words that has been stripped of its meaning is the word ‘blessing.’… In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I challenged myself, asking “What areas have I been really blessed?”  An article I recently read inspired me to count my blessings.  In fact, it suggested that I come up with 100 things I’m thankful for.

At the outset, I considered this a piece of cake.  A no brainer.  But, as I have spent the last few days counting all my blessings, I realized how thankless and entitled I’ve become.  Coming up with things to be thankful for was at times an arduous, time-consuming process.  It was a sobering moment.  The overall result from this exercise was a renewed sense of appreciation for big things, but also small things that bring color in life.

Sohn shares his list of thanksgivings on his blog, often with an explanation after each item for how or why it is a blessing.  His list includes such varied things as parents, girlfriend, salvation, purpose, adversity, Portland Leadership Foundation, books, the Bible, great customer service, GPS, and today.  His exercise strikes me as a way to pick up the leftover fragments.  It seems like a mindful way to remember the daily blessing of manna always present, but often overlooked.

I think it is worth remembering Jesus says “I am the Bread of Life”, not “I am the Golden Coral of life.”  As Anne Lamont notes, “Small is how blessings, healing, progress, and increase occur.”  Yes, God offers us a buffet, a banquet, and a feast, but most often blessing and grace come to us in a single serving, or perhaps as a sip or a taste.  And a sip and a taste is at the heart of what we come here for this morning.

David Lose, a Lutheran pastor and seminary professor, writes about a conversation he once had with a psychiatrist who told him “the goal of all counseling is for a person to love him or herself because if you aren’t going to love yourself, who will, and if you don’t start now, then when?”  Lose responded, “Doctor, have you ever encountered a single person who has the ability to love himself without first experiencing love from another person?”  “No,” the doctor said quietly, “No, not really.”

The taste of bread and the sip of wine we will receive in a few moments are the sure and certain signs God gives to let us know we are loved and forgiven.  They are such “common” things, but receiving them must never become a common experience.  It must never become like going out to pick up manna.  It must always ignite in us the desire and the ability to seek and search for all the other fragments of blessing in our life.  And, as we sense we are blessed and as we feel we are fed, we must never think this is an end unto itself.  It is only just a beginning.  As we are filled, we find a hunger growing within to ensure every person in our life, in our church, in our community, and it our world shares in the blessings we have found.  God fills us with the Bread of Life one taste and one sip at a time so that we can feed others.    

 

...because They were Hungry!

 

John 6:1-21

Proper 12 / Year B

So I spent this week in deep thought, pondering a question: Why did Jesus feed five thousand people in the wilderness?  Before I disclose the definitive answer, what do you think?  Why did he feed them?  Now, don’t overthink this!  After all of my scholarly investigations and meditative musings here is what I have discerned… Jesus fed them because they were hungry! 

And, as we will see over the next four Sundays, the assigned Lectionary readings will direct our attention to the Eucharistic roots of Jesus’ actions in this story.  Taking, blessing, breaking, and distributing are the essential elements of the Eucharistic liturgy.  So if Jesus gives literal food to people because they are hungry, we might want to ask why he gives Eucharistic food.  If we don’t overthink the question we just might conclude Jesus gives us Eucharistic food because we need it.  We cannot go through life without experiencing spiritual pangs of hunger.  Our souls will starve without what Jesus freely offers. 

I attended my first service of Holy Eucharist at an Episcopal Church 39 years ago this month.  What I remember most about it was walking down the long center aisle, passing through the chancel flanked on either side by the singing choir, approaching the altar rail, and kneeling.  I was just a boy out of college, but sensed how the president of the biggest bank in town had to do just what I did in order to receive communion.  We were all in this together as equals before God; each of us having to assume a posture of humility before the Lord in order to receive.

Maybe it was Presbyterian background with its Puritanical leanings, but it didn’t take long for the ‘celebration’ of Holy Eucharist to become for me a severe, penitential experience.  Sunday worship became a time dutifully to rehearse the litany of my sins and shortcomings from the previous week; always promising with all my might to be a better person, only to go through the same litany the following Sunday, and then the Sunday after that, and after that, and… well you get the idea.  Evangelicals hold there is nothing we can do to merit our salvation because we are hopelessly lost in sin.  Grace, they ‘say’, comes only as God’s gift.  Even though I held to this doctrine in my head, it didn’t stop me from acting as if I had to merit being worthy to receive communion.  And when I didn’t and when I couldn’t, participating in the Eucharist beat me down.  Rather than life-giving and life-affirming, it morphed into a destructive spiritual exercise.

It took several years and far too many experiences to tell in a single sermon how this changed for me; how I began to recognize Jesus offers me the holy food and drink not because I deserve it, but because I need it; how I came to embrace the notion this moment is not something I earn and it is not something I deserve, rather it is something God offers to me as a sure and certain sign of God’s unfailing love for me.  I am still working to be a better person, but now I do so knowing I am deeply and completely loved for who I am, just as I am.  Now I experience the road of sanctification as a pilgrimage of wonder and grace, not as a forced march I am bound to fail.

When my marriage ended 19 years ago I learned something else about the Eucharist.  I began to attend a Saturday evening service at an Episcopal Church near where I lived and for the first time since going to seminary was able to be a worshipper rather than a worship leader.  This is when the Eucharist became a part of my ‘daily bread’ – what I needed in order to survive the day.  Why did Jesus offer the Eucharistic food to me?  Because I desperately needed it in a way I had not needed it before or since.

I have told you before about the Eucharistic service I attended at the General Convention in Salt Lake City.  It was a massive event with thousands of people in attendance.  Volunteer ushers outfitted with red vests roamed the hall’s floor to assist and direct us.  I was preoccupied throughout the service with some personal things and I struggled to be present to the moment.  The time came for our section and my row to make our way to our communion ‘station’, which I did.  After receiving communion I returned to my seat, which happened to be on the aisle.  With my head bowed and eyes closed I was trying to pray, but still distracted.  Then an usher came up from behind me, leaned down next to my ear, and said, “Did you get communion?”  “I did,” I said in response.  There was something about the person’s voice that sounded so personal and intimate; it was not a whisper, but I was certain no one else heard it.  “Did you get communion?”  A second or two passed before I opened my eyes and turned around to look at the person and when I did no one was there.  There was no usher to be found anywhere near me.

“Did you get communion?”  I had received communion, but, preoccupied with my problems as I was, I did not get communion.  I had gone through the motions, but had missed the meaning.  Most every Sunday since, after I commune myself I ask the question, “Did you get communion?”  Do you realize God loves you not because you have always been successful and not because you have the perfect family and not because you have never made a mistake and not because you are free of regrets and not because you are not haunted by personal demons and not because your belief in every Christian doctrine is rock-solid.  God loves you because God loves you… and there is nothing you can do about it!

Why did Jesus feed the 5000?  Because they were hungry.  Why does Jesus feed us with the Sacrament of his Body and Blood?  Because we need it.  It is just that simple.  God feeds us because God loves us.

Rest a While

 

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Proper 11 / Year B

Jesus said to his disciples, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”  For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. 

Much of what we read in the bible feels so foreign to our day and time, but not this.  Our culture’s bedrocks seem to be frenzied activity and perpetual demands.  Meals get wedged in when and where possible: perhaps at a Chick-fil-a drive thru at 9:30 at night.  Rather than being a necessity, leisure has become a luxury well beyond what most of us can afford. 

Gandhi once said there is more to life than increasing its speed and yet this is exactly what we do.  We load our calendars with a landslide of activities.  We rev our motors well past the red lines of our personal RPM gauges.  We assume we are constantly to be doing something… anything… as long as we are doing, doing, doing.

Acedia is one of the seven deadly sins and perhaps the most misunderstood.  We get greed and gluttony and rest, but acedia is more mysterious.  Most often translated as sloth or listlessness, acedia, at least according to Kierkegaard, has something to do with the “despairing refusal to be oneself.”  For some, this refusal looks like an unwillingness to try; what we refer to as being lazy or having self-doubt.  But for others, it looks like the never slowing down.  There is a difference between being industrious (what we are created for) and being on hyperdrive all the time.

In today’s Gospel reading we see Jesus inviting his disciples to “be themselves” by seeking a time of solitude and leisure.  He helps them live out their imago dei (or divine image) by resting, as God did after six days of creative work.  The biblical rationale behind the fourth commandment to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy is not that God demands our worship.  Rather it is rooted in theology and history.  The theology: God rested on the seventh day and so should we.  The history: when God’s people were enslaved in Egypt they were made to work every day without respite.  Constant work and continual activity imprisons.  It is a refusal of one part of oneself.

This morning’s reading falls in the midst of some amazing activity in Jesus’ ministry.  It begins with Jesus asleep in a boat during a storm, no doubt exhausted from what has come before.  He disciples wake him and he calms the sea.  Once ashore Jesus encounters Legion, a man so possessed the locals chain him to a tomb.  After this and another boat trip Jesus is led to the home of a synagogue leader whose daughter is dying.  On the way, a woman reaches out and touches him, healing her illness of thirteen long years.  Next Jesus teaches in his hometown synagogue and his own people reject him.  In response he commissions his followers to go throughout the region in teams of two to preach and to pray and to heal.  In the meantime, we learn of the death of John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin.  When his disciples return to report on their travels, the band is inundated by various people with multiple needs.  Is it any wonder Jesus diagnoses their need to get away!

The Gospels tell us big stories, but often in between, in just a few words or a sentence, they give us a glimpse of Jesus’ humanity.  He goes off alone to pray.  He doesn’t want anyone to know what house he is staying in.  He is hungry.  He is thirsty.  He is tired.  He withdraws.  He seeks solitude.  These are not signs of weakness or failure or selfishness.  They are acknowledgments of who he is and signs of his determination to be who God has created him to be.  They are not times when he refuses to heal or to care.  They are essential to how he responds to those who are like sheep without a shepherd.

Coming out of a protracted time of quarantine and severe restrictions it might be tempting to think we are emerging from a long period of extended leisure, but nothing could be farther from the truth.  We have spent well over a year learning new ways to do everyday things.  We have had to be more than vigilant to protect our own health as well as the health of those we love.  We have taken on new roles (like being a stay-at-home parent/teacher) while trying to keep up with our old roles (working remotely).  Whatever else this time has been, one thing is certain… it has been anything but leisurely.  And it is telling (and wise) the first response many have made as restrictions are eased has been to go away.  We recognize our need for rest, for leisure, for respite, for Sabbath.

Sam Hamilton-Poore is a Presbyterian minister who wrote a book titled Earth Gospel: A Guide to Prayer for God’s Creation.  He contends one way to care for our planet is to pray for it, and to pray for our place in it.  Here is one of his prayers that feels deeply rooted in turning from acedia by embracing who we are created to be: 

Grant me grace this day
to rest and remember
that there is nothing I have to do,
nothing I have to buy or sell,
nothing I have to produce or consume
in order to become who I already am:
your beloved creation.
May your overworked creation
and those who cannot rest today
come to know the liberation of your sabbath.

And this is my prayer for you as well.  May you come to know who you are created to be; a person with a meaningful purpose to be sure.  But also a person who does not allow yourself to be enslaved by life’s demands.  May your life be full of times to rest and to dine and to be beloved by God and those who are dear to you.    

 

 

Transforming Senselessness

 

Mark 6:14-29

Proper 10 / Year B

A shocking headline caught my attention earlier in the week: 233 Killed, 618 Injured by Gun Violence over Holiday Weekend.  These statistics are compiled by a group known as the Gun Violence Archive.  There is some ‘good’ news.  This year’s violence is 26% less than last year’s.  According to the GVA website, over 22,000 people have died from gunshot wounds so far this year.  It is sobering to note 12,000 of these were self-inflicted.  No matter what the numbers suggest to you, doesn’t it feel like our world is becoming harsher, more reactive, less kind, and less rational with each passing day?  It all seems so senseless.

How do you make sense of senselessness?  This is the question I have been living with as I pondered this morning’s gospel reading.  The death of John the Baptist at the hands of King Herod, with all the intrigue playing out behind the scenes, is a completely senseless event.  Along with the crucifixion of our Lord, it is one of the two darkest stories told in Gospels.  But unlike the crucifixion, this one seems to have no redeeming value (other than John’s disciples give his body a proper burial). 

I googled the question “how do you make sense of senselessness” and was taken aback by what came up: story after story over the past decade or so with various writers trying to come to grips with horrific events: the shooting in Las Vegas, Sandy Hook, Parkland, George Floyd, the church in Texas, the Surfside collapse.  It felt like I was taking a crash course in modern tragedies.   

One writer offered this thoughtful insight:

There is definitely a need among us to talk about and make sense of an incredibly senseless act.  In times of crisis and disbelief our humanity calls us to ask the questions – Why?  How? What can we do to prevent this from ever happening again?  

There are no easy answers.  No quick and painless solutions.  No neat, precise, clear responses that can take the pain and shock away or keep evil from threatening us again.  But this national conversation is an important one to have.  Even if the answers are not readily apparent or forthcoming, it is necessary to begin to search our hearts and our souls and ask the tough, difficult and uncomfortable questions that will ultimately lead to answers that will enable us to be a better society.   We must not stop asking these questions and searching for the insights that will bring us healing, comfort and clarity. 

Another cited this bit of wisdom from Fred Rogers:

In times of stress, the best thing we can do for each other is to listen with our ears and our hearts and to be assured that our questions are just as important as our answers.     

And another writer noted the importance of respect and compassion as we come together to seek wisdom.  This too feels increasingly difficult in our society where we seem to act like, “If me and mine are in charge, then I am ‘fir’ it.  But if me and mine are not in charge, then I am ‘agin’ it”; which, as a mindset, does not engender healing and hope, but only adds to the senselessness.

In today’s first lesson we hear God tell Amos a divine plumb line will be set to reveal where society has lost its way.  In the hands of a skilled worker a plumb line can reveal subtle deviations which, if not corrected, will result in dangerous structural deficiencies.  In our day and age no special tools are needed.  The problems are visible to the naked eye.  What we lack is a means of correction to unite us in working toward a better world.

We who embrace Jesus Christ hold something from beyond is at work in the world to counter the senselessness.  It is articulated so beautifully in today’s reading from the 85^th Psalm: 

I will listen to what the Lord God is saying,

  for he is speaking peace to his faithful people

  and to those who turn their hearts to him.

Truly, his salvation is very near

to those who fear him,

  that his glory may dwell in our land.

Mercy and truth have met together;

  righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

Truth shall spring up from the earth,

  and righteousness shall look down from heaven.

We choose to open ourselves to what God offers to the world: to be a people of truth who exhibit mercy, a people who seek what is right as a means of creating peace.  This is our response to senselessness.  It is to join God’s team, to march in the parade God is leading, to sing in the chorus God conducts. 

The Crucifixion.  At Tuesday’s Evening Prayer from the Northumbria Community we read the lyrics of a song by the English writer and worship leader Godfrey Birtill.  Consider how what he sees in the cross differs from the senselessness of John’s death:

When I look at the blood
all I see is love, love, love.
When I stop at the cross
I can see the love of God.

But I can’t see competition.
I can’t see hierarchy.
I can’t see pride or prejudice
or the abuse of authority.
I can’t see lust for power.
I can’t see manipulation.
I can’t see rage or anger
or selfish ambition.

I can’t see unforgiveness.
I can’t see hate or envy.
I can’t see stupid fighting
or bitterness, or jealousy.
I can’t see empire building.
I can’t see self-importance.
I can’t see back-stabbing
or vanity or arrogance.

I see surrender, sacrifice, salvation,
humility, righteousness, faithfulness, grace, forgiveness,
love!  Love … love…

When I stop! … at the cross
I can see the love of God.

This speaks powerfully to the difference between the two deaths.  Jesus’ death was redemptive, John’s was senseless.  Everything Birtill says he can’t see when he looks at the Cross – abuse of power, manipulation, selfish ambition, hate, envy, vanity, arrogance, etc. – are found in spades in John’s death.  The actions of Herod and those around him make John’s death seem cruel and meaningless.  Jesus’ death on the cross is cruel to be sure, yet it becomes the clearest symbol possible of God’s love for the world.

In 2006 a man walked into a small Amish schoolhouse in Lancaster, PA and took hostages, killing five and shooting another five before taking his own life.  Most don’t remember his name, but we do remember how the Amish community reached out the killer’s wife, children, and family.  We remember how they extended forgiveness and expressed compassion.  We remember how they took something senseless and transformed it into a symbol of God’s love.

This is how we choose to live and move and have our being in this world… aligned with the salvation our Lord offers in order for God’s glory to dwell in our land.  May God empower us to reflect God’s light in the darkness of these senseless times.

Out of the Cave

 

Mark 6:1-13

Proper 9 / Year B

Plato’s allegory of the cave is discussed in every intro to Philosophy class.  Plato instructs his students to imagine the world is like a dark chamber in a deep cave.  Its only source of light is a wood fire.  Next, Plato asks his students to imagine a group of people who live in the cave.  They have never been outside the chamber, not even once.  In fact, Plato says, envision each person has spent his or her entire life sitting in a chair facing a wall of the cave with the fire burning behind them.  They never stand up.  They never turn around.  They never even look sideways to see the other people who are sitting there with them.  All they know of life is the flickering shadows cast on the cave wall as the light from the fire moves past their own sitting bodies.

Plato goes on.  One day one person sitting in a chair stands up and looks around.  He sees all the other people in the chamber.  He sees the other walls of the cave.  He even sees the fire for what it is.  He, and he alone, has a unique perspective on reality.  As he wanders around the chamber he discovers a passageway leading toward a strange new light.  It is a tunnel to the cave’s entrance.  Standing in the opening he beholds the light of the sun.  He sees color for the first time: blue skies, white clouds, green vegetation, and brilliant flowers.  And he sees other creatures: animals, birds, insects, fish, and even other people.

He, and he alone, knows there is so much more to the world than the flickering, shadowy images on the cave’s wall.  He goes back into the chamber and tries to convince the others to look around, to face the fire, and to walk out of the cave into the sunlight.  All but a few insist he is wrong.  They are convinced there is nothing more to life than the shadow images.  They will not stand.  They will not turn.  And they will not follow him out of the cave.  Only a handful of people have the courage to do as the person suggests.

Plato teaches his students he is like the one who first stands up and examines the world.  He teaches his students they are the few who accept his invitation to challenge what they know of reality.  And he holds the overwhelming majority of people are content to stare at the shadows, remaining firm in the erroneous belief the world holds nothing more and nothing better than the dark cave with the flickering images.

There is a story in Sanskrit about a frog born in a well which stays in the well and lives its entire life in the well.  Its worldview consists only of the well.  It has no way of knowing there are other wells with other frogs.  It has no way of knowing there are frogs living in ponds and frogs living in streams and frogs living in lakes and frogs living in rivers.  It knows only itself and its well.

The allegory of the cave and the story of the frog touch on an aspect of our humanity cutting across all cultures and all peoples.  Human beings from all times and all places seem to understand there is more to reality than we can grasp from our own unique, but limited perspective.  Because of this insight we hold openness and communion with one another to be better for us than isolation and fiercely protected rigidity.  It is a belief based on the experience of having someone proclaim something radically different from what we hold to be true and then having that foreign proclamation help individuals and entire cultures to take dramatic steps forward.

Isn’t this what Jesus is trying to do in the Gospel reading we heard just moments ago?  He has launched his public ministry and it has been marked by inspired teaching, miraculous healings, and breath-taking signs and wonders.  His fame is spreading far and wide.  Then Jesus returns to Nazareth, his hometown.  He is back with his teachers and coaches and scout leaders and neighbors and friends and he wants to bring to them the Kingdom of God (a reality he himself inaugurates and embodies), but they will have none of it.  They are satisfied with what they know of life.  They are comfortable, even though (and perhaps because) they are complacent.  They prefer to watch the shadows.  They choose to stay in the well. 

How tempting it is to assign this phenomenon to someone else!  How tempting it is to say I am not like them, to assert we would never bury our collective heads in the sand all the while pretending we are scanning a vast horizon!  And yet how easy it is for our understanding of life to become little more than watching shadows dance on the wall; never to turn and face one another, never to look at the fire fueling the images we admire, and never to walk out into the pure, bright light which is the true glory of God. 

And how easy it is for a faith community like ours to become like a frog in a well, never to scale the walls to see what lies outside our isolated environment.  How easy it is to become satisfied all the while being closed off from God, from one another, and from the world around us.

And, on this day when we celebrate the 245^th anniversary of our nation’s independence, how easy has it become to exchange the genius of our enterprise (our desire to create new maps and to chart new courses by listening to and learning from one another) for the worst of our nature (the inclination to create trenches and ruts to defend our own perilous perspectives).  When and why did we become so afraid of each other?

We learn from today’s reading God will not allow us to live in isolation because God’s Spirit continually comes to us to call us outward and to bring us closer to the Kingdom of God.  It may not always be comfortable.  Frequently, it may go against what we know to be conventional.  It may confuse us or make us mad or scare us to the marrow or even cause us to part ways with those we hold dear (at least for a while).  But who among us really wants to watch shadows or to live knowing only the life of a well?  Who among us wants to be nothing more than a citizen of Nazareth… a city which over the centuries, according the historical records, never produced a single achievement worthy of note?  Do you think there is a correlation between the way they closed themselves off to Jesus and the fact they never accomplished anything making an impression on the world?

The text tells us Jesus marveled at their “unbelief.”  It wasn’t just him and his vision of the Kingdom they didn’t believe in.  They didn’t believe in the grandeur of the world as God has made it.  They didn’t believe in the potential for progress.  And, I dare say, they didn’t believe in themselves.

Jesus’ response is instructive.  He moves on.  Time is too short and there are too many people who are willing to stand and turn.  He divides his followers into groups of two and sends them out.  They respond to Jesus’ invitation to explore what lies beyond the cave.  They want to see what lies beyond the walls of well.  They don’t need special training or special equipment or special clothing.  All they need is a willingness to pursue God’s dream for all people and to invite others to join in their journey.

Where are you in all of this?  In the cave fearful of looking at anything else beyond the flickering on the wall?  In the well, completely oblivious to the glorious possibilities just beyond?  Perhaps for the first time you are beginning the journey of open exploration and discovery.  Maybe you have left the cave or the well and desire to invite others to join you.  No matter where you are in this Jesus reaches out to you and says “Walk with me.  I have nothing more important to do than to show you life and the world and God and reality.”