Recently someone said to me, “I think Bill Clinton has the morals of a snake, but he was a very good president.” To which I replied, “I think Bill Clinton has the morals of a man who knows he is a sinner in need of redemption.” All the best saints know that they are as sinful as the next person; that’s why they make so much room for the Holy Spirit in their lives. (And perhaps Bill has to make lots of room!)
Some Episcopalians no longer wish to use the language of salvation when it comes to their Christian faith. They don’t recognize any risk from which they need to be rescued. I wonder if such people feel a need for God’s forgiveness? Or are they are so locked into “I am a good person” mode, they cannot see how irrelevant such a claim is from the viewpoint of God’s holiness.
That contrast is on display in this week’s gospel story. We have the Pharisee, who is so sure of his own rectitude, he can afford to condemn his uninvited guest and pass judgement on Jesus. And we have the woman herself, “sin-sick,” bearing no illusions whatsoever about the immorality of many of her life choices, offering herself for healing with abject humility.
Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”
Jesus scandalized the company in several ways, by allowing this woman to come so close to him, not pushing her away; and by presuming to declare her sins forgiven. Anyone can forgive a wrong done to him or her; but what kind of person goes around forgiving sins against God? The religious leaders disapproved; yet their reaction only caused Jesus to double down. In addition to the promise of forgiveness, he declared this woman healed and saved. That is eternal healing.
How do we feel when we see someone who is a notorious sinner receive forgiveness? It’s very hard for those who feel God’s favor is something to be earned. Such people are quick to condemn others – often for select sorts of sins, like sexual immorality, while they ignore sins of economic injustice. For people like this, it only sinks in when something brings home how deep their own need for forgiveness is. When we understand the consequence of unforgiven sin – estrangement from God and our fellow creatures – we become more ready to embrace the hope of salvation. Addicts in recovery understand this; those of us with less obvious failings often have a harder time getting there.
I heard a great quote from Richard Rohr this week: “God does not love us because we are good. God loves us because God is good. That changes everything.” We are never good enough; yet God has declared us holy through Christ. Simul justus et peccator, Luther put it. As we receive that grace, we are better able to go in peace.
6-8-16 - Receiving to Give
If an "inappropriate person" came uninvited into a private party you were hosting, and proceeded to monopolize the guest of honor, making a spectacle of herself, weeping on his feet and using her unbound hair to dry them – how would you feel? Few of us like having our plans upended by strangers, especially socially challenging ones. For the host in our story, this turn of events would have been especially difficult – this woman was an affront to moral purity under the the Law on several counts. Yet Simon's judgment is directed less at her, whom he already condemns, than at Jesus.
Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.”
He feels this episode reveals Jesus as a fraud, not the prophet or holy man people take him for. But Jesus proves even more disrupting than the woman. Jesus knows what Simon is thinking, and calls him on it. He tells him a parable about a creditor who forgives a small debt to one who owes him, and cancels a huge debt for another. He asks, “Now which of them will love him more?” Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.”
Clever man. But not as clever as Jesus, who compares the love shown him by his host, and that shown him by this notorious sinner. He suggests that his host, who feels he has nothing for which to be forgiven, is chary with his hospitality, holding back even social obligations like washing the feet of his guests. But this woman, in her experience of God's' forgiving love in Jesus, lavishes care upon him.
Jesus suggests that the experience of forgiveness releases our generosity - and that the impulse to give generously and sacrificially can be constrained in the self-sufficient and self-righteous. Self-sufficiency is the enemy of the gospel – it closes us to the enormous grace God wants to shower upon us. Receiving releases our desire to give.
This invites a very different motivation for giving than the one we commonly employ, when we appeal to generosity on the basis of need. Asking people to give because a need is great sometimes works, but often results in impulse giving that is not sustained and is rarely sacrificial. But when someone is aware of how much they have received and how little they deserve, they are released into a generosity that is holy and ongoing. I finally began to tithe not after years of hearing that I should, or even how life-giving it had been for others. I I decided to tithe at a church conference where I experienced incredible grace and joy in the Lord. It was receiving that released me to give.
When have you felt yourself the recipient of unearned generosity, or unmerited love, or deep forgiveness (which, by its very nature, is never deserved…)? Recall a time when you were released to give more than you thought you would. Is anything holding you back now?
Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.”
He feels this episode reveals Jesus as a fraud, not the prophet or holy man people take him for. But Jesus proves even more disrupting than the woman. Jesus knows what Simon is thinking, and calls him on it. He tells him a parable about a creditor who forgives a small debt to one who owes him, and cancels a huge debt for another. He asks, “Now which of them will love him more?” Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.”
Clever man. But not as clever as Jesus, who compares the love shown him by his host, and that shown him by this notorious sinner. He suggests that his host, who feels he has nothing for which to be forgiven, is chary with his hospitality, holding back even social obligations like washing the feet of his guests. But this woman, in her experience of God's' forgiving love in Jesus, lavishes care upon him.
Jesus suggests that the experience of forgiveness releases our generosity - and that the impulse to give generously and sacrificially can be constrained in the self-sufficient and self-righteous. Self-sufficiency is the enemy of the gospel – it closes us to the enormous grace God wants to shower upon us. Receiving releases our desire to give.
This invites a very different motivation for giving than the one we commonly employ, when we appeal to generosity on the basis of need. Asking people to give because a need is great sometimes works, but often results in impulse giving that is not sustained and is rarely sacrificial. But when someone is aware of how much they have received and how little they deserve, they are released into a generosity that is holy and ongoing. I finally began to tithe not after years of hearing that I should, or even how life-giving it had been for others. I I decided to tithe at a church conference where I experienced incredible grace and joy in the Lord. It was receiving that released me to give.
When have you felt yourself the recipient of unearned generosity, or unmerited love, or deep forgiveness (which, by its very nature, is never deserved…)? Recall a time when you were released to give more than you thought you would. Is anything holding you back now?
6-7-16 - The Party Crasher
“Who is that woman? Good Lord – she’s dressed for a cocktail lounge, not my dining room. Is she a new servant? Now what is she doing? She’s gone straight up to Jesus. Who does she think she is? And now she’s crying? She’s on the floor? Touching him? Weeping all over his feet, wiping them with her hair? Someone get her out of my house!”
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment.
Disruption. It’s fast becoming one of my favorite religious words. I’m thinking of reading my way through the gospels just looking for scenes of disruption, and people who disrupt. Often, it’s Jesus, upending expectations of how holy people behave, inviting new expectations of how God operates. Sometimes it’s people asking him for help, occasionally upending even his expansive expectations.
Something expands in us when our routine is disrupted, whether by God or by something or someone so "off-norm," they cause us to see in a new way. The scene created by this woman, a known “sinner” (as opposed to the rest of us who tend to keep it better hidden), invited everyone at that event to see grace and repentance, even hospitality, in a new light. Her awkwardly intimate attention to Jesus was seen by the host as scandalous, but interpreted by Jesus as an appeal for healing and forgiveness. He saw someone who wanted to live a new life, with a cleansed heart.
When has someone "crashed" a party of yours, bringing new life? Who disrupts your notions about God? About church? Maybe other kinds of Christians? Maybe people outside the community of believers, who want something we have?
When do you see yourself as a disrupter? What spaces or forms would you like to disrupt? Is God inviting you to do that, or is it coming from you?
In this story, we see Jesus regard a party-crasher as someone worthy of honor and healing. Who is trying to crash our parties? What parties might we want to crash to come closer to our Lord and receive his deepest blessing?
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment.
Disruption. It’s fast becoming one of my favorite religious words. I’m thinking of reading my way through the gospels just looking for scenes of disruption, and people who disrupt. Often, it’s Jesus, upending expectations of how holy people behave, inviting new expectations of how God operates. Sometimes it’s people asking him for help, occasionally upending even his expansive expectations.
Something expands in us when our routine is disrupted, whether by God or by something or someone so "off-norm," they cause us to see in a new way. The scene created by this woman, a known “sinner” (as opposed to the rest of us who tend to keep it better hidden), invited everyone at that event to see grace and repentance, even hospitality, in a new light. Her awkwardly intimate attention to Jesus was seen by the host as scandalous, but interpreted by Jesus as an appeal for healing and forgiveness. He saw someone who wanted to live a new life, with a cleansed heart.
When has someone "crashed" a party of yours, bringing new life? Who disrupts your notions about God? About church? Maybe other kinds of Christians? Maybe people outside the community of believers, who want something we have?
When do you see yourself as a disrupter? What spaces or forms would you like to disrupt? Is God inviting you to do that, or is it coming from you?
In this story, we see Jesus regard a party-crasher as someone worthy of honor and healing. Who is trying to crash our parties? What parties might we want to crash to come closer to our Lord and receive his deepest blessing?
6-6-16 - The Dinner Party
I recently heard someone refer to Jesus’ “preference for the poor.” I know this phrase travels in certain theological circles, but I do not like it. We do not find in the Gospels evidence that Jesus “preferred” the poor or any particular sort of person for that matter. Neither did he “prefer” the rich. He seemed to prefer people who perceived the power of God set loose in the land; those who recognized their own need for healing and forgiveness; those who were willing to walk with him.
When I hear such a phrase, I immediately think, “Then why was Jesus so comfortable with the wealthy? Why was he so patient with Nicodemus? Why did he frequent the homes of the well off?” In our gospel story this week, we find him in such a home, at a dinner party hosted by a prominent Pharisee named Simon.
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table.
Pharisees were not necessarily wealthy, but they were not poor, and were men of great influence. They were both troubled and intrigued by Jesus – recognizing his undeniable spiritual power, yet often aghast at the surroundings in which he exercised that power, and frequently offended by his actions and language. This invitation to dinner was likely more than generous hospitality; it was one of many attempts to investigate the claims about Jesus, to get to know him – and perhaps to see him trip up. As we will see, Jesus was about to “trip up” in a spectacular way – and then turn the tables on his detractors even more cleverly.
As we explore this story through the week, let’s put ourselves into its setting: a dinner party, that most convivial and intimate of social gatherings. We give dinner parties to bring together people we like, or want to know better, or want to impress. We serve elegantly and lavishly, and dress up the table as well as ourselves. We attend dinner parties to enjoy the hospitality of others, to engage in rich conversation and richer food, and perhaps to get to know someone we’ve admired from afar.
Isn't our worship a little like hosting and attending a dinner party? Don’t we get out the linen and silver, offer up a rare (if minimal…) feast, entertain and encourage conversation? Don’t we dress up (a little…), bring our best selves, and hope we'll have a chance to get to know the guest of honor better? Imagine yourself seated next to Jesus at dinner. What do you want to ask him? What do you want to tell him about?
The dinner party in our story has a surprise that was most definitely not in the host’s script. We too might be on the look-out in church for the people who weren’t necessarily on the guest list, but get right to the heart of the matter. And we too might seek a chance to get close to Jesus of Nazareth, who said his preferred dinner companions are you and me.
When I hear such a phrase, I immediately think, “Then why was Jesus so comfortable with the wealthy? Why was he so patient with Nicodemus? Why did he frequent the homes of the well off?” In our gospel story this week, we find him in such a home, at a dinner party hosted by a prominent Pharisee named Simon.
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table.
Pharisees were not necessarily wealthy, but they were not poor, and were men of great influence. They were both troubled and intrigued by Jesus – recognizing his undeniable spiritual power, yet often aghast at the surroundings in which he exercised that power, and frequently offended by his actions and language. This invitation to dinner was likely more than generous hospitality; it was one of many attempts to investigate the claims about Jesus, to get to know him – and perhaps to see him trip up. As we will see, Jesus was about to “trip up” in a spectacular way – and then turn the tables on his detractors even more cleverly.
As we explore this story through the week, let’s put ourselves into its setting: a dinner party, that most convivial and intimate of social gatherings. We give dinner parties to bring together people we like, or want to know better, or want to impress. We serve elegantly and lavishly, and dress up the table as well as ourselves. We attend dinner parties to enjoy the hospitality of others, to engage in rich conversation and richer food, and perhaps to get to know someone we’ve admired from afar.
Isn't our worship a little like hosting and attending a dinner party? Don’t we get out the linen and silver, offer up a rare (if minimal…) feast, entertain and encourage conversation? Don’t we dress up (a little…), bring our best selves, and hope we'll have a chance to get to know the guest of honor better? Imagine yourself seated next to Jesus at dinner. What do you want to ask him? What do you want to tell him about?
The dinner party in our story has a surprise that was most definitely not in the host’s script. We too might be on the look-out in church for the people who weren’t necessarily on the guest list, but get right to the heart of the matter. And we too might seek a chance to get close to Jesus of Nazareth, who said his preferred dinner companions are you and me.
6-3-16 - The Story Beyond the Story
It’s fair to say that Jesus’ action in Nain, restoring life to a dead young man, had a big impact on those who witnessed it. They immediately attributed this event to God’s power at work in Jesus:
Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!” This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.
The fact that Jesus had done this work in their midst was a sign that God had not forgotten them. In fact, it was a big clue to them that God was on the move among them. That is the story they spread, not only that something physically impossible had transpired before their very eyes, but that God’s power was manifest in Jesus of Nazareth.
When we have an experience of God, we sometimes focus on the experience itself, delighting in the gift or the power we’ve seen at work. That delight is a good and holy thing – and also a starting place. We are invited to look beyond that to what it tells us about the God who made us, loves us, and abides with us.
When we can cultivate that practice, setting our stories within the bigger story of God’s activity across time and space – and in our own lives – our faith muscles are built up. Then we don’t rise and fall with each victory and disappointment. We find ourselves on a steadier keel, making a more winsome witness to the people around us of what it means to dwell in God-Life.
This week I have invited us to contemplate where we have seen new life out of dead things, what we’ve seen revived. As we recall those gifts, and the God of love who lavishes them upon us, we can bring our prayers for what we would like to see revived into that larger story. God’s story is so much bigger than the life of that young man in Nain, and that of his mother. God’s story is so much bigger than the lives of those who witnessed that miracle and spread the word far and wide. God’s story is so much bigger than our churches and ministries and the containers we build to try to make sense of the mystery of God.
And yet this God with the big, big story gives life to our small stories, and invites us to see the vast in the intimate. Asking God to bless our stories – remembering they are not the whole story – is one way we come to understand the story God has spoken into being, which we see unfold only now. And now. And now. And...
Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!” This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.
The fact that Jesus had done this work in their midst was a sign that God had not forgotten them. In fact, it was a big clue to them that God was on the move among them. That is the story they spread, not only that something physically impossible had transpired before their very eyes, but that God’s power was manifest in Jesus of Nazareth.
When we have an experience of God, we sometimes focus on the experience itself, delighting in the gift or the power we’ve seen at work. That delight is a good and holy thing – and also a starting place. We are invited to look beyond that to what it tells us about the God who made us, loves us, and abides with us.
When we can cultivate that practice, setting our stories within the bigger story of God’s activity across time and space – and in our own lives – our faith muscles are built up. Then we don’t rise and fall with each victory and disappointment. We find ourselves on a steadier keel, making a more winsome witness to the people around us of what it means to dwell in God-Life.
This week I have invited us to contemplate where we have seen new life out of dead things, what we’ve seen revived. As we recall those gifts, and the God of love who lavishes them upon us, we can bring our prayers for what we would like to see revived into that larger story. God’s story is so much bigger than the life of that young man in Nain, and that of his mother. God’s story is so much bigger than the lives of those who witnessed that miracle and spread the word far and wide. God’s story is so much bigger than our churches and ministries and the containers we build to try to make sense of the mystery of God.
And yet this God with the big, big story gives life to our small stories, and invites us to see the vast in the intimate. Asking God to bless our stories – remembering they are not the whole story – is one way we come to understand the story God has spoken into being, which we see unfold only now. And now. And now. And...
6-2-16 - Disrupting Funerals
The disrupted funeral is a staple of movie and television comedies. From people taking items out of or putting items into caskets, to unintentionally comical eulogies, to bodies spilling out or going missing, the funeral scene is often a yuck-fest (in more ways than one…).
The gospel scene we are exploring this week was not mined for laughs, but Jesus most certainly disrupted this funeral as it proceeded out the city gates to the burial ground. Once his compassion is drawn by the sight of the grieving mother, Jesus approaches the procession:
Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.
Imagine the furor that must have exploded in that moment – people screaming, fainting, pressing closer to see. And the young man, restored to life, sitting up and speaking, as though death had caught him in mid-sentence. What did he think of this turn of events? What did his mother say? Luke tells us only that “fear seized them all.” No kidding.
Luke focuses less on the scene itself and more on the impact it had on the onlookers. We too are invited to widen our lens. How does this event, recorded in just one gospel, speak to us, beyond the suggestion that perhaps our prayers in the face of death are too tepid?
Pulling the camera way back, we can see in this scene an icon of the whole gospel message: in Christ, God entered human history to disrupt our funerals, to disrupt and disable the machinery of death itself. Paul called death “the last enemy” and wrote that “death has been swallowed up in victory.” (I Cor 15:26 and 54) The writer of Revelation proclaims that in the new heaven and the new earth “death will be no more.” (Rev 21:4). When we proclaim the resurrection life, we are disrupting our funerals. We assert that death is not the last word for those who are in Christ Jesus.
Funerals and mourning rituals are important for us, and they are rightly solemn. We need to mark important transitions in our lives, to celebrate those who have mattered to us, to make space for grief and strong emotions, and a good funeral does all of that. But let’s remember the Good News in the midst of death. Let’s not forget that God is in the business of disrupting not only death, but everything that separates us from God’s love, every bit of the world’s “business as usual” we think is our lot.
The Episcopal burial liturgy ends, “Even at the grave, we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
Friends, the alleluias have already begun.
The gospel scene we are exploring this week was not mined for laughs, but Jesus most certainly disrupted this funeral as it proceeded out the city gates to the burial ground. Once his compassion is drawn by the sight of the grieving mother, Jesus approaches the procession:
Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.
Imagine the furor that must have exploded in that moment – people screaming, fainting, pressing closer to see. And the young man, restored to life, sitting up and speaking, as though death had caught him in mid-sentence. What did he think of this turn of events? What did his mother say? Luke tells us only that “fear seized them all.” No kidding.
Luke focuses less on the scene itself and more on the impact it had on the onlookers. We too are invited to widen our lens. How does this event, recorded in just one gospel, speak to us, beyond the suggestion that perhaps our prayers in the face of death are too tepid?
Pulling the camera way back, we can see in this scene an icon of the whole gospel message: in Christ, God entered human history to disrupt our funerals, to disrupt and disable the machinery of death itself. Paul called death “the last enemy” and wrote that “death has been swallowed up in victory.” (I Cor 15:26 and 54) The writer of Revelation proclaims that in the new heaven and the new earth “death will be no more.” (Rev 21:4). When we proclaim the resurrection life, we are disrupting our funerals. We assert that death is not the last word for those who are in Christ Jesus.
Funerals and mourning rituals are important for us, and they are rightly solemn. We need to mark important transitions in our lives, to celebrate those who have mattered to us, to make space for grief and strong emotions, and a good funeral does all of that. But let’s remember the Good News in the midst of death. Let’s not forget that God is in the business of disrupting not only death, but everything that separates us from God’s love, every bit of the world’s “business as usual” we think is our lot.
The Episcopal burial liturgy ends, “Even at the grave, we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”
Friends, the alleluias have already begun.
6-1-16 - Why Her?
Why did Jesus heal the people he healed? The gospels don’t reveal any one pattern or motivation. Sometimes he was moved by someone’s plight; more often he responded to articulations or demonstrations of faith. And sometimes he seemed to work miracles simply to reveal the power and values of the Kingdom of God. In this story, we see Jesus perform one his most disruptive miracles out of compassion:
As Jesus approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.”
Why did Jesus feel for on this widow? He must have seen many a funeral procession; he didn't generally step in to restore life in one bound for burial. Isn’t this why God gets a bad rap in the healing business – the seeming capriciousness as healing occurs in one and not another? It’s enough to cause some to shy away from healing prayer altogether.
Of course, we don't know the why's. I would submit it’s not a helpful question in the first place. We go off the rails whenever we compare the perceived activity of God in one person’s life to that in anothers. There is too much we do not know, so much we cannot see about ways God might be working internally, to judge that one was favored over another.
Yes, many a widow went on to bury her beloved child in Jesus’ day, and since. And yes, many a bereaved person has seen God answer his or her prayers in the peace that comes after the loss, instead of by preventing the loss. We do best when we look at how God has acted in our own lives, bearing witness to the gifts we have received, rather than totting up the gain and loss columns and comparing them.
When do you feel God has been merciful to you? When has Jesus responded to you with compassion? Does it matter that it wasn’t as “big” a response as raising a dead son? Can we simply be grateful for the gifts we have received?
And where in your life would you like to see life restored? Where would you like to experience Jesus’ compassion? Can you have a conversation with him in prayer about that?
When we are fully open and honest with God about our heartbreaks, and really invite him in, I believe he comes to each one of us and says, “Do not weep.” What he does next is never predictable – and always worthy of praise.
As Jesus approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.”
Why did Jesus feel for on this widow? He must have seen many a funeral procession; he didn't generally step in to restore life in one bound for burial. Isn’t this why God gets a bad rap in the healing business – the seeming capriciousness as healing occurs in one and not another? It’s enough to cause some to shy away from healing prayer altogether.
Of course, we don't know the why's. I would submit it’s not a helpful question in the first place. We go off the rails whenever we compare the perceived activity of God in one person’s life to that in anothers. There is too much we do not know, so much we cannot see about ways God might be working internally, to judge that one was favored over another.
Yes, many a widow went on to bury her beloved child in Jesus’ day, and since. And yes, many a bereaved person has seen God answer his or her prayers in the peace that comes after the loss, instead of by preventing the loss. We do best when we look at how God has acted in our own lives, bearing witness to the gifts we have received, rather than totting up the gain and loss columns and comparing them.
When do you feel God has been merciful to you? When has Jesus responded to you with compassion? Does it matter that it wasn’t as “big” a response as raising a dead son? Can we simply be grateful for the gifts we have received?
And where in your life would you like to see life restored? Where would you like to experience Jesus’ compassion? Can you have a conversation with him in prayer about that?
When we are fully open and honest with God about our heartbreaks, and really invite him in, I believe he comes to each one of us and says, “Do not weep.” What he does next is never predictable – and always worthy of praise.
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