The Second Sunday of Easter: Seen and Unseen

Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31

The "Old Testament" lesson (see previous cliched complaints of the absence of OT readings in the Easter season) and the Psalm have in the main to do with the unity of believers. As one might expect, this was something of a big deal especially in the early going, when Israel--and, later, the Church--was fighting to keep itself intact against the various intrusions of the wider society. And I'm going to refuse to get into the pseudo-communistic implications of Acts 4. The small "c" should be taken note of. It may be that this little passage in Acts 4 is a description of ideality, not reality, since immediately following upon it is one of those "scare into compliance" stories, with Ananias and Sapphira holding back some of the money from their property sale and saying that they brought everything. Nevertheless, the idea of harmony among the believing community is a good thing, even if stories like Acts 5 with its penalties for noncompliance are not especially helpful. As for the Psalm, it stays more on the ideal level without threats of violence against those who are not in the fold, or not completely in the fold.

The two passages from John--setting aside the fact that they're not from the same author, and probably not from the Apostle John--strike a different note from the unity of the believers, and a slightly different note from one another. Actually, one of the arguments in favor of common authorship for the Gospel and Epistles of John is their common concern for having seen and bearing witness to what has been seen. This emphasis comes out in the two passages today. In the Gospel text, "Doubting Thomas" is upbraided for only confessing faith in Christ when he sees the wounds in his hands. This lends us to the interpretation that we shouldn't ever doubt what is told us by God's authorized representatives, a kind of clerical triumphalism. It also ignores the fact that, earlier in the passage, the other disciples do not rejoice until AFTER they have seen the nail prints and the spear wound. It is rather easy, furthermore, to extract a general principle from Jesus' last statement, "Blessed are those who have not yet seen, and yet have come to believe." For that matter, this makes us better not only than "Doubting Thomas," but also of the rest of the disciples, for they didn't rejoice until after they had seen either. Something to think about.

But, then again, is it really the point that we be "better" than the disciples, who only rejoiced when they saw? Paul later called himself an eyewitness of the resurrection, although he himself and no one else actually saw it, except perhaps for the Roman soldiers, who weren't going to say anything for fear of having their heads lopped off anyway. So it was a big deal for the early Christians to trust the testimony of those who had seen. For that matter, both the Gospel and the First Epistle of John commend their readers to the testimony of "John" in whose name they are written. We know that his testimony is true, asserts the Gospel. We speak to you of the things we have seen, says the Epistle. There is certainly something to that.

But Jesus says in the Gospel text that those who have not seen are blessed when they come to believe. The Gospel of John has lots of healings of blind people, and for that matter begins its presentation talking about hoe the Logos was the light of the world, and how John (the Baptist, not the Apostle) came to bear witness to the light. In speaking this way, John (the Apostle, not the Baptist) bears his own testimony to that which he has seen and heard, looked at and touched with his hands, concerning the word of life. So, then, even though they probably do not go back to the same author and even though neither one probably go back to the Apostle John, nevertheless they are both concerned with vision and witness and testimony. Because "John" has seen, his testimony is true. Because we have not seen, our testimony is true. Therefore, whether seeing or unseeing, the key is bearing witness, living in unity, keeping from sin, and waiting for the Day when all things shall be seen. Amen.

Easter Sunday: Become What You Already Are

I am posting this a couple of days late, for a few reasons. The main reason is that the Internet was down at my apartment Saturday and Sunday. The other reason was that I was a little upset at what went on in the Easter service I attended, for reasons that I will not reveal. But, in any event:

Acts 10:34-43 OR Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; I Corinthians 15:1-11 OR Acts 10:34-43; John 20:1-18; Mark 16:1-8

Of course, I am going to select the Old Testament reading. During the Easter season, the OT gets short changed a little bit by the lectionary. But that's another matter. A few years ago I was taking a course in the theology of Wolfhart Pannenberg, from one of the most influential teachers I've ever had, Craig Keen. The light finally came on for me when I suggested in class that Pannenberg's view was that, in the Resurrection, Jesus became, in the eyes of the disciples, what he had always been in the eyes of God. I think about that line, oddly enough, every time I see the old Disney movie The Lion King. This movie is based rather loosely on Hamlet, without, of course, most of the killing and the adultery and stuff, which wouldn't make a lot of sense for the kiddos.

In the Crucifixion, Jesus won the victory over sin's ultimate weapon. In the Resurrection, Jesus won the victory over death's ultimate weapon. The lectionary passages for Easter highlight that a new day has come. In the case of the identity of Jesus, he became in the eyes of his disciples what he already was. And in the extension of the offer of salvation to all of the world, the intention of God became in our eyes what it had always been. The Gospel lesson from John makes the same point. Thomas was not there when the disciples first saw Jesus, and he doubted, which has given him the unfortunate name "Doubting Thomas." Jesus chides Thomas for believing once he has finally seen, and then gives a promise that those who have not seen and yet have come to believe are blessed. That means us. And that means all who will hear the message because of us. Easter is a triumphant shout of victory, but it is also a battle cry. That Jesus was resurrected doesn't necessarily mean that we are blessed over against all the other great religions of the world, but it does mean that something new has happened. And when we see it, we recognize that this is the way it was supposed to be all along. Amen.

Holy Saturday: Catharsis

Job 14:1-14 OR Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24; Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16; 1 Peter 4:1-8; Matthew 27:57-66 OR John 19:38-42

Different traditions of Christianity emphasize different days of Holy Weekend. The Roman Catholic pilgrims I watched outside the front gate of the seminary--thousands of them--emphasize the penitential aspects of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. Some Protestants emphasize the glorious aspects of Easter Sunday, almost to downplay or ignore the very real suffering of Jesus on Good Friday. I try to hold the two of them together in my mind, but I am not always successful. In some ways the day of Holy Saturday is the most important of the two, because in it the turn is made from sorrow to joy. Many churches, in fact, have a midnight worship service in order to emphasize this turn.

The turn from sorrow to joy, especially coming from the penitential season of Lent into the celebratory season of Easter, is a great catharitic experience. There is somewhat of an emotional release, although it is not merely an emotional release. This is the grand old story of the faith. And we are telling it and acting it over again. That is all that needs to be said. That is all that can be said. Amen.

Good Friday: Not with a Whimper, but with a Bang

Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 10:16-26 OR Hebrews 4:14-16, 5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42

I'm writing this at the end of Good Friday, after the service I attended to hear, again, the Seven Last Words and reflections on them. I did not understand much of the latter, as the service was in Tagalog and my skills in that language are lacking. I did, however, resonate with the Seventh Last Word, "Tapos na!" "It is finished." This is a triumphant shout, not a cry of defeat.

I do not remember who wrote the lines, but I am always struck by

This is how the world ends,
this is how the world ends,
this is how the world ends,
not with a bang, but with a whimper.

But, instead, the world of Jesus the human, God become human and living among us in the world (he came to his own, but the world received him not) ended with a bang and not with a whimper. The Lamb left the world, crucified by the Romans at the instigation of the Jews, but as a Lion. And thus ended and began the greatest story the world has ever known. There is neither more nor less that needs to be said about that. Tapos na! was a cry of victory, that what Jesus came to do was accomplished.

One of my favorite "Jesus films" is The Last Temptation of Christ, a movie which got the evangelical community in the USA up in arms when it was released, in part for its depiction of Jesus imagining--as it turns out, with the help of Satan--living a life as a man, including being married first to Mary Magadalene and then to Mary and Martha of Bethany, begetting several children by the latter. With the exception of this and one or two other years, I have watched this movie either on Good Friday or Silent Saturday every year. At the end of the film and the novel, Jesus, having been returned to the Cross, shouts "It is accomplished!" What is meant by this line in Nikos Kazantzakis' novel and Martin Scorsese's film is that, in the words of George Orwell, Jesus "had won the victory over himself." Jesus had finally overcome the doubts that beset him throughout his career as "Not just a man, but the Son of Man, and more than that, the Son of God, and more than that, God."

The novel and the film explore in depth the human side of Jesus, which too often we miss in our proclamation. Unfortunately, some preaching about Jesus tends to be functionally Docetic. All of the Christological heresies agreed with orthodoxy that Jesus was God, but their disagreements and, ultimately, in the eyes of the Church, errors were constituted by various ways of denying that Jesus actually became human. So, for Kazantzakis, Tapos na! meant that Jesus became what he always was. This is precisely, I think, what we should be confessing about Jesus. On the one hand, Jesus' resurrection made him become, in the eyes of his disciples, what he always had been. But, on the other hand, in accepting his mission, and refusing the last temptation--which was to come down from the Cross, live and die as a man--he became in his own eyes what he had always been. And, in so doing, he also said, "It is finished!" to the old way of human life, living in bondage to the law of sin and death. By his death on the Cross, Jesus overcame sin's ultimate weapon. By his resurrection, Jesus overcame death's ultimate weapon. Tapos na! Amen.

Maundy Thursday: The Funded Mandate

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10) 11-14; Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17; 31b-35

I'm actually writing this entry on Good Friday, because I spent all day yesterday escorting the Work and Witness team on campus on a sightseeing trip. We spent time going up to a beautiful waterfall, enjoying the richness of creation with a view toward praising the creator. Two of us, one of the team members and I, took the additional step of being pulled under the falls on a bamboo raft. This got us exceedingly wet, but we got to enjoy an extra view of various caves and wonderful rock formations behind the falls. So, anyway, that's where I spent Maundy Thursday, and then I ate a Passover meal, of sorts, with my faculty colleague who is the main sponsor of this work team and the team members. I thought I simply couldn't leave out Maundy Thursday as I did with one of the Sundays of Lent. I probably should have written an entry like this for each of the days of Holy Week. I didn't, though, because of responsibilties related to the wrapping up of the semester. Enough of the excuses.

Maundy Thursday has been a significant day for me in the Christian calendar since I was first introduced to some special practices involved with it when I was a teenager. The church we attended at that time practiced foot-washing on Maundy Thursday, an idea which instantly turned me offand in which I consequently never participated. This is in part related to my own squeamishness, but also because the theological significance of the rite was not fully explained to us. This was a failure of the catechetical operation of that particular church, though I am not setting out in this piece to be critical of former churches.

The association of Maundy Thursday with the institution of the Eucharist was communicated to me in college. Then, in seminary, Holy Week took on an especially significant flavor, as Maundy Thursday services--in which I often publicly read Scripture during Eucharist--were joined with the Service of Darkness on Good Friday. I intend to post a Good Friday meditation later today, but I am also attending a service at Antipolo First Church of the Nazarene at 3:00 PM, which I think is perhaps the most appropriate time to have a Good Friday service, for it is the "ninth hour" of the day when our Lord is said to have died.

I once preached a Maundy Thursday sermon under the title "Funded Mandate." At the time, the phrase "unfunded mandate" was all the rage in the American political scene, describing the complaints of state and local leadership that the federal government was mandating certain things (really savage things, by the way, like making facilities accessible to the physically challenged) without providing funds necessary to come into compliance. The name "Maundy Thursday" comes from the Latin Vulgate translation of John 13:34--I give you a mandatum novatum, a new commandment, that you love one another.

That this commandment comes in the midst of Jesus washing the disciples' feet is what was not properly communicated to me when I was a kid. This is the supremely funded mandate, for throughout the Gospel of John Jesus is shown to be doing for the disciples everything that God has done for him--sending them into the world, providing comfort and direction, protecting them from evil. As, therefore, Christ has loved us, so we are to love one another, as says the second part of John 13:34. We are not merely commanded to come into compliance with a new directive from the leadership (a really savage thing, by the way, like loving one another) and left to find our own resources to do it, but instead we are but following the example of Christ. And he left us yet a further example by what happened to him the day after washing his disciples' feet. Though we might not be called to do exactly that in following the further example, nevertheless we are called to follow the example of Christ in expending our lives for the redemption of the world. This is a mandate which we must follow. But there is funding available. Amen.

Palm Sunday: Fully in the Light Again, We See the Cross

Isaiah 40:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 14:1-15:47 OR Mark 15:(1-39)40-47

It is something of a cliche' to highlight the contrast between the chorus' lines "Hosanna! King of the Jews!" on Palm Sunday and "Crucify him!" on Good Friday. So I will not do that. But I do remember once attending Eucharist at an Episcopal Church some years ago on Palm Sunday. After receiving the Sacrament--or maybe it was before; my memory is unclear--someone pressed into our hands a blunted nail. This was to indicate something of the role each one of us had to play in the crucifixion of Jesus. While, at the time, it wasn't a very healthy thing for me to hear, as I was going through a rather dark spiritual time, it does indicate something interesting. In a way, even though none of us drove the nails, we all had a part in the death of Jesus, because it was for our sin that he died.

The Mel Gibson movie The Passion of the Christ, supposedly, showed Gibson's own hand driving the nail into Jesus' wrist. I suppose it would have spoiled the illusion to have left Gibson's wristwatch in the shot, since of course first century CE Roman soldiers didn't know anything of Timex or Rolex or whatever it is Gibson owns and wears. But, at the same time, it would have made a rather profound theological statement, even as did the blunted nail pressed into my hand wherever it was and whenever it was.

I have a dim recollection of an exchange in another film, The Shawshank Redemption. Andy DuFresne is talking to Red Ellis (Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman) and he says, "I killed my wife, Red. I didn't pull the trigger, but I pushed her away" into the arms of the lover with whom she was murdered. Red tries to console Andy: "That doesn't make you a murderer. Bad husband, maybe." But there is a hint of unreality to Red's words. In the same way, I didn't drive the nails into the wrists of Jesus, but it was for me that this was done. And so, surrounded by the great cloud of witness, I cast aside every weight and the sin which clings so closely, and run the race that is marked out for me, keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame.

Hebrews got it right. The light has fully dawned. We have come out of the dark wood of Lent, thinking that the difficult part of our journey is over. But, just around that bend up there... Amen.

The Fifth Sunday in Lent: Is That Light up ahead?

Jeremiah 31:31-34; Psalm 51:1-12 OR Psalm 119:9-16; Hebrews 5:5-10; John 12:20-33

I returned to my dark wood/light fading metaphor of Lent before checking out the lectionary passages for today. I have discovered the title couldn't be more apt. For the lectionary texts today (choosing either Psalm option) seem to signal a shift from darkness to light, from the coldness of night to the warmth of a dawning new day. Jeremiah's "new covenant" passage is justifiably famous in Christian circles, and even though I would quibble with a too-hasty Christologizing of this promise, reading it in the light of Christ is not prima facie abusive of the significance of the text. What gets us into problems is, once we see that a certain text may point forward to Christ, or that Christ may fill full the significance of a given text (and the emphasis is very important), then we assume that Christ is what the authors/editors/compilers of the text in question had in mind first, middle, and last.

Such an assertion is impossible, and indeed is the ultimate root not only of ignorance of the Old Testament but perhaps some anti-Semitic sentiment as well. (NOTE: I do not suggest that ALL anti-Semitism comes from hasty Christologizing of the Old Testament; such a suggestion would suffer from several logical fallacies: ad hominem, post hoc ergo propter hoc, equivocation, and probably many others). There is simply NO WAY that Isaiah of Jerusalem had Jesus in the manger in mind when he gave the promise to King Ahaz that is now enshrined in Isaiah 7:14 and Christmas cantatas from here to eternity. But, that does not mean that Matthew was mistaken or untoward in suggesting that Jesus' coming was like the baby promised so long ago: he will be called Immanuel, for he will save his people from their sins.

In one of my classes this week (the last week of the semester), I believe Old Testament Theology, we were discussing this very point, or at least a similar one. It is one of my maxims that the NT can say it fulfilled the OT, but that in no way exhausts the signficance of the OT. This is a very important point, but it should also not imprison us the other way either. There is nothing to say that there could not be more events to which the prophecies of the OT could be reasonably applied (what the NT means by "fulfillment"). Thus, in the present economic crisis, the word of Jeremiah could be that a new day is coming, in which Yahweh will enter into a new covenant with his people, even though they broke the old one through casual misuse of their financial futures to have the latest gadget or maintain their profit margin on the backs of the poor. This is a word that can be spoken to us. And it is one to which we should listen.

The significance of Psalm 51 and its penitential wailing for the season of Lent should be easy to see, so I'll pass it by without comment. Psalm 119, however, seems to strike a similar chord to Jeremiah 31. In inquiring after how young people can keep their ways pure, this Psalm in some way hits on the theme that the young people do, indeed, have an opportunity to live better than their parents. In the old style capitalist mindset, "young people living better than their parents" meant that they were more wealthy, more secure, more gadgets, more cars, bigger houses, more this, bigger that, more the other thing. And we sacrificed our futures to get it, so now those chickens have come home to roost. The vision of Psalm 119, however, seems to be different--young people living better than their parents is not getting more and keeping more and having more and wanting more--but keeping fast to the law of God, which throughout the OT always has a concern for building up treasure where moth and rust do not destroy, to borrow a NT phrase.

The Hebrews and John passages speak to a similar theme. The sermon of Hebrews suggests that Jesus has brought about a new way of living, by being designated as high priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek. I haven't any idea what this is supposed to mean, other than to dive into the etymology of Melchizedek and say it means "the king of righteousness." And the lyrical statements of Jesus in John 12, namely that the king of righteousness must die in order to produce life in his disciples is very poignant in this time of economic struggle. Something in our world is dying, or was already dead but we didn't notice the smell of the rotting corpse until just a few months ago. And although the death of Jesus was ultimately a happy thing in that it brought about the victory over sin and death, it was still a very painful thing for him and for those who followed him and witnessed it. And ran away. Would that we not run away in the sight of the death of the old way of doing things in our world, but instead construct a brighter future, entering into a new covenant with God. Amen.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

This is yet another of those times when the connection between the various lectionary texts is rather easy to make. The Numbers and John passages make reference to the same event: Yahweh sending poisonous snakes to attack rebellious Israelites, then Moses setting up an image of a snake that people would just look toward and be healed. This is now enshrined in the hymn, "Look and Live:

"Look and live, my brother live!
Look to Jesus now and live!
'Tis recorded in his word, hallelujah!
It is only that you look and live!

Later on, this snake image that Moses is to have set up in the wilderness--and never mind the Second Commandment implications--was removed as part of King Hezekiah's reform efforts. But Jesus uses the image--or John's Jesus uses the image, or John suggests that Jesus might have used the image, or the Johannine community had the theological framework in which Jesus might or might not have used such an image (I'm gonna bang my head against the wall)--as an analogy to what is going to happen to himself soon enough. He is the ultimate thing to be lifted up at God's command for the salvation of humanity.

The Psalms and Ephesians texts also seem to move in the same circles. This is not at all to suggest--as if anyone would think that I would suggest such a thing--that whoever wrote the Ephesians passage had the Psalm text in mind, but it is interesting when things written from a vastly different perspective and several thousands of years apart hit on the same theme independently. Both talk about having moved out of a previous sinful existence and having gone on to a new way. Even though we were "rich" in trespasses, God was richer in mercy and poured out that mercy upon us.

You know what? I don't think there's anything more to be said about that. Amen.

The Third Sunday in Lent: Halfway through a Dark Wood

I didn't post a Christian year reflection last week, principally because I spent the Second Sunday in Lent and the Monday following in airplanes and airports making my way back from Nashville to Manila. Along the way I lost about 12 hours in an instant as my plane to Tokyo crossed the International Date Line. I suppose this was fair since I had been given the opportunity to live February 28 twice. But I digress.

Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

The Sundays in Lent "don't count." That is, the 40 days of Lent are meant as a kind of sorrowful preparation for the deep anguish of Holy Week and the amazing triumph of Easter. But Sunday is the weekly celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus. This weekly remembrance, weekly reliving (what the earliest Christians called anamnesis) of God's ultimate victory over sin's ultimate weapon, trumps everything else that might go on on a particular day. So when the day of a Saint or some other feast happens to fall on a Sunday, it is usually transferred to the following Monday in order to compensate. In a sense, then, all of Lent's somberness is transferred to the weekdays, in order to compensate for the fact that we cannot fast while the bridegroom is with us (Mk 2:19); and when is the bridegroom with us if not when the community of faith gathers together to celebrate the Resurrection?

All of that was said to say this: we are almost halfway through the dark wood of Lent. Yesterday, Saturday, was the 16th day of Lent. We will actually pass the halfway point next Thursday, the 20th day. But as we look forward throughout this entire season to the ultimate victory over the ultimate problem humans and the world face, we can also look forward to the halfway mark, because it will have been in our grasp and gone back out of it by the time we get to the next day that doesn't count for Lent because it counts for so much more. The following is the text of a sermon I once had prepared to preach at a Lenten service. As I recall, something got in the way and i was unable to deliver it, but the sentiment is still powerful. NOTE: The sermon makes reference to Isaiah 49:8-15, which is the Old Testament lesson for the Wednesday after the Fourth Sunday in Lent in Year C.

In J. R. R. Tolkien’s novel The Hobbit, the party going off to confront the Dragon has eventually to go through a dark forest called Mirkwood. A guide tells them that

“Your way through Mirkwood is dark, dangerous, and difficult.” By and by, they come to the edge of the forest, only then to discover that the wizard Gandalf is not to accompany them through the dark wood.

They despair at this news, but Gandalf says, “We may meet again before it is all over, and then of course we may not. That depends on your luck and on your courage and sense.” After a few minutes more of conversation, Gandalf rides away, and the party hears his voice from afar: “Good-bye! Be good, take care of yourselves—and DON’T LEAVE THE PATH!”

The unlikely hero, Bilbo Baggins, wanted to know if there was some other way to get where they were going without having to go through the dark wood. He is told, no, this is not possible, because they would have to go many, many miles out of the way, and even then they would not have a journey free from peril. And so they proceed together into the dark wood, on to the adventures and the dangers that await them.

We’ve been going through a dark wood, after a fashion, for just under three weeks now. It is a dark, dangerous and difficult time. Yesterday was the sixteenth day in Lent, not counting Sundays, so we’re short of halfway through the dark wood. Things are about to turn in our favor, but they haven't quite yet. Sometimes I feel like Bilbo Baggins, wondering if there is any way to get to the goal of our journey without having to go through the dark wood of Lent. But there really isn’t another way, and in any case it’s not a very safe road. The world we live in is not a very safe one, not a very happy one, and in the end we all will face the same fate. And we all must stay on the path. For if we get off the path, then we will be lost.

This Old Testament Lesson is the Word of the Lord for people who are halfway through a dark wood. The Second Isaiah, as it is called, is written to a group of people who are seeing things about to turn in their favor, but they haven’t quite yet. The Babylonian Empire was in decline, and the people from whom the Empire had taken their land could not have been happier. The prophet, seeing the events unfolding on the stage of world politics, testified that the God of Judah was in control of all world history, so that great nations and kingdoms would rise and fall at God’s command. Even if the nations and kingdoms thought that it was by their own might that they had the success they enjoyed, the prophet has a much different view. In this way, the people of God could rejoice in God’s faithfulness and could resist the power of the colonizers. At the beginning of the Exile, they were understandably sad, they were despairing, because their sinfulness had brought them to the edge of a dark wood, and they felt that God had abandoned them. It was a dark, dangerous and difficult time. Really, God hadn’t abandoned them, but instead forced them to go through this experience because he wanted to reestablish a relationship with them. This relationship could not be reestablished until they had gone through the dark wood of having their lives uprooted and their inheritance taken away. When they no longer could depend on the promises of old, when they had to rely on their luck and their courage, they had gotten to the point where they could journey back toward wholeness. While they might have wished that things could have been restored, and they could have gotten on in their journey as the people of God without having to go through the dark wood of Exile, really there was no other way. They had to stay on the path.

The Persian Empire, maneuvering to take control of the ancient near East at the time Second Isaiah was written, you see, had a much different way of dealing with captive and subjugated peoples than did their predecessors. The Babylonians moved their subjects away from their homelands in order to sever the ties between people and land, so as to keep rebellion down to a minimum—because, they thought, people will always fight harder to defend their own turf. The Persians, on the other hand, sought to create loyalty by moving subjugated peoples back to their homelands, and Judah (now called Yehud, but that’s another matter) was no exception. The prophet and the people to whom he preached expected this to happen not too far into the future, but it hadn’t happened yet. They were halfway through the dark wood, but only halfway. It was a dark, dangerous and difficult time. If they only stayed on the path, they would come through the Exile, be allowed to return to their land, and once again enjoy the benefits of a relationship with God.

And so we, too, are called to go through the dark wood, the dark wood of Lent. We know the end of the story. We know that Bilbo Baggins is ultimately successful in defeating the Dragon, we know that the people of Yehud did come back to their land, we know that Easter is just a few short weeks away. But we are still only halfway through the dark wood.

We might wish there were another way to get through to the goal of our journey, triumphant Easter Sunday and the death of death. But there is no other way. Even in the dark, dangerous and difficult time of Lent, things will begin to turn. In a couple of weeks we will again hear Jesus’ prayer in the Garden, wondering if it were possible to get to the end of his journey without going through the dark wood, which in his case was the dark wood of the Cross. Things are about to turn in our favor, and we are about to see the goodness of God once again in our lives. That is, we may meet with God again, depending not so much on our luck as on our courage and sense and faithfulness.

We will meet with God again. If only we stay on the path. Amen.

First Sunday in Lent: The Light is Fading Fast

Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-10;1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

The light is fading fast. I really do not like the Season of Lent. I understand why it is there: to prepare for Holy Week and Easter through a season of penitence. But even though I am generally a very introspective person by nature, I do not like the window that Lent not only throws open on my soul but forces me to look into. I don't want to see that, generally. White-washed tomb and all that. I think it is very interesting that the Old Testament lesson is the reestablishment of the covenant between God and the world after the flood. This is sort of a "this is how the world is" moment, as opposed to the "this is how the world used to be" moment of the history leading up to the flood. In the book of Genesis there is one more story in the "this is how the world used to be" sort of moment: the tower of Babel with its common language and common ambition for humanity, neither of which were the case either at the time of the authors nor at the present time.

The new covenant between God and the world established after the flood includes the provision that God will never again destroy the world by water. This is perhaps a reflection of the ancient motif from other flood stories that the gods became disturbed at their own destructive potential, but I'll leave that point aside for now. After Noah makes his sacrifice, God's wrath is appeased, and the relationship is reestablished. That is often how it works, even if it is present fashion to want to downplay notions of God's wrath in favor of God's mercy and care for creation. Especially coming off my recent experience at the environmental responsibility conference, I would tend in this direction as well. God does in fact care for creation, even if God was willing to destroy creation through water because of the sinfulness of humanity. That in itself says something.

But our texts also include Psalm 25, one of the great hymns of trusting in God in the face of many enemies. While this was not the case for Noah, since he and his family were the only humans and so there were not any enemies, soon enough sin and judgment entered back into the world. But for the singer of Psalm 25, trust is cast upon God in the hopes that God will honor that trust and not put the worshiper to shame. The Psalmist also calls God to remember the promises that were given before. Could these promises that God is called to remember include the promise not to destroy the earth by water again? It is certainly possible, for this is indeed a promise of God.

The passage from 1 Peter indicates something similar, specifically from a Christian standpoint. The judgment has come, just like it did with Noah. The judgment that should have been laid on humanity was instead laid upon Jesus. Nevermind the substitutionary atonement potential in this statement; the point is rather that God has hung his war bow up in the sky. God does not desire that anyone should perish, but that all should come to repentance. That is the essence of the Gospel. That is what it really means when Jesus was baptized, and when the Spirit of God descended upon him with God's judgment that he was the beloved. Even the beloved was sacrificed so that there could be redemption. And even the beloved world was sacrificed so that there could be a renewed relationship between God, humanity, and creation. We pray only that God will not remember our previous sins against us, and the ultimate promise of the Gospel is that God forgets. We are now fully into the swing of the dark wood of Lent. And the light from the meadow now has failed. In spite of the wonderful potential that inheres in the willingness of God to forgive even after his punishment and judgment are meted out, still we have to go through the punishment, through the scourging. And even if we do not like what we see when we are forced to look into the darkness of our souls by the window thrown open by Lent, we stay on the path, praying that God will remember us even as he forgets out sin. Amen.

Ash Wednesday: The Light from the Meadow Hasn't Failed Yet

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 OR Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 51:1-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Naturally, all of the texts chosen for reading today deal with human sinfulness and the consciousness of it. That is the point of Ash Wednesday, beginning the journey into the long, dark wood of Lent. I will use this metaphor throughout these Lenten reflections: journeying through a dark wood. Lent is always a particularly disturbing time for me. I struggle with the "Lenten fast" every year, trying to determine something to "give up for Lent." For the longest time, I resisted this Christian practice. I saw it as trite, a pathetic attempt to identify with the suffering of Christ for just forty days (not counting Sundays), especially in the cases of people who gave up chocolate or sweets or something that they enjoyed, only to pick it up again after Easter. But then I learned the further dimension of Lent: the point of the giving up is not to give something up for a little bit, but to use the time or moeny you would have spent in acquiring that something or doing that something instead in the furtherance of some spiritual, charitable, or otherwise lofty purpose. Once I realized that, I felt a lot more at ease with the spiritual practice of giving something up for Lent. So I'm setting aside the money I would spend on my sodas at lunch for a special offering on Easter Sunday. I have not yet determined the direction this ought to go in, but that's something I can think about later.

A warning is also sounded in the Gospel lesson about making a public display of the Lenten fast. "But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you" (Matt 6:3-4). This is part of a lengthly list of warnings against public piety, which has always resonated with me in particular. Even when I am speaking at a church or otherwise in a prominent position, I do not like really to be in front of people practicing religion. I do not think religion is a fully private matter, and indeed that that sort of thinking has opened up Protestant Christianity in particular to all sorts of abuses and misunderstandings. But there is defintely something to be said about not wearing one's religion on the sleeve.

But we're just at the beginning of the path through the dark wood. The light from the meadow of Epiphany hasn't quite dimmed yet. More properly, the light from Transfiguration Mountain hasn't quite faded away yet. At the same time, we are drawn inexorably on the path of Lent, the path of suffering that ultimately leads to the ultimate horror of "Good" Friday. So there is a pall of gloom cast over this season. That, beyond all else, is why the Lenten fast should not be treated as a flippant sort of thing. It matters. It is a serious thing. It is a serious call for devotion. It is a serious call for devotion to the Lord who did not go up into glory without first suffering pain. And that is what Lent is about. Amen.

Transfiguration Sunday: Did You See That?

The Feast of the Transfiguration is a major feast of the Church normally celebrated on August 6. But on today, the Last Sunday of Lent, the Gospel lesson is always of the Transfiguration, so this has come to be called Transfiguration Sunday.

2 Kings 2:1-12; Psalm 50:1-6; 2 Corinthians 4:3-6; Mark 9:2-9

And again, the creators of the lectionary have brought together a collection of terms that each spin on a particular axis, but their orbits are not even. They are, indeed, unlike the planets, not even in the same direction. In this case, the axis is to be understood as the faithful seeing the things of the divine.

In the story of the assumption of Elijah in 2 Kgs, the senior prophet tells his your assistant Elisha that he must stop while the master goes on. But, repeatedly, from Elisha: "As Yahweh lives, as as you yourself live, I will not leave you. And various members of the company of the prophets come out to remind Elisha that his master is to be taken today, and, repeatedly, "I know. Keep silent." Elisha is not content to remain with his master; he knows that the master must go on--this will become important later on. The climax of the story comes in Elijah's charge that if Elisha sees the chariot of God taking him up into heaven, then Elisha will receive what he has asked for, a double portion of Elijah's spirit. In other words, if Elisha is faithful to see, then his faith will be rewarded.

Psalm 50's spinning on this axis runs in an entirely different direction. In v 5, the direction is entirely from God: "Gather my faithful ones!" The obvious idea is that God wants to see all those who have made a covenant with him by sacrifice, but the clear implication is that the faithful ones will by this action be able to see him. They have been faithful, they are being rewarded, and God says it is time for the reward to begin. It is a supremely eschatological statement, and one that will get replayed throughout apocalyptic literature, particularly in the scenes after the cataclysmic judgments have been rendered on the earth. This, essentially, is the answer to the question of the martyrs under the altar in Revelation, "How long, O Lord?" Wait a little while more, and I will call you.

From 2 Cor 4, the idea of the faithful having true sight and the unfaithful being blinded comes out most clearly. This does not mean that this text has Mercury's orbit to the concept, but just that its particular spin does not have the narrative or theological elaboration that we found in 2 Kgs 2 and Ps 50. If our gospel is veiled, says Paul, it is only veiled against those who are perishing, because they have been kept from seeing the true light. Paul does not proclaim himself as Lord, but he proclaims Jesus for the sake of the Corinthians and all his other audiences. The final verse of the passage links creation and redemption in a powerful way, thus contributing to the ongoing debates with Gnosticism and its deprecation of the natural order. God is the God of all it, says Paul, says the New Testament, and says the Church.

Finally, the transfiguration story itself in Mark 9 picks up on a similar theme as 2 Kgs 2. In v 5, Peter says that it is very good to be here, and he proposes to build three shacks, one for Jesus and one each for his two heavenly visitors. Notice that he doesn't bother with the accomodations he, James and John will use. The theme of course picked up from 2 Kgs is that Elisha never thought of the idea that he would remain with Elijah forever. In fact, this formed part of his hissing rebuke to the company of the prophets: "Yes I know. Keep silent." Maybe he was trying to steel his own nerves for what is about to happen, yet Peter does not have that same compunction. So he desires to stay here; this is the only thing he knows to say, for he is absolutely terrified. The allaying of these fears is given through the heavenly voice, the confirmation of God on the mission of Jesus.

So, did you see that? What? I didn't see it. Oh, too bad, it was really interesting. Maybe you'll catch it next time. Amen.

The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany: Little Steps Matter

2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30; 1 Corinthians 9:24-27; Mark 1:40-45

The Old Testament and Gospel Lessons have in common a curing of leprosy. It is an established fact that this word covered a variety of skin diseases that we have now identified and labeled with appropriately different terms: rashes, skin cancer, burns, eczema, psoriasis, and so on. But the details of the particular disease do not matter so much as the healing from them.

In both cases, there is a choice to be made. In Captain Naaman's case, he has to choose whether he is going to follow the advice of the man of God from Israel. He perhaps rightly thinks that the rivers of Aram are much better than dirty disgusting Jordan. But the servant girl (or perhaps somebody else) shrewdly asks him, "If he had asked you to do something difficult, wouldn't you have done it?" The idea of doing something very simple to bring about a great effect was brought home to me this week as I attended and presented to a conference on ecological responsibility. This really was a life-changing event, and I will make some immediate changes in my life. If I take cloth bags to go shopping, then that is a small step indeed. I have eight or so bags that I could use for this purpose, which is about the maximum that I could carry from the store anyway on public transit. If I go to the store about 3 times a month, and average 5-7 bags each time I go, then if my math is correct that is anywhere from 15-21 plastic bags that don't get used. Sometimes I have despaired of doing anything to help the environment, because all I hear is that the damage is irreversible. But I heard exactly the opposite this week. I have a choice what to do, just like Naaman. And I'm not being asked to do anything difficult. Little steps matter. If I don't do what I know I ought to do just because it will take me a couple of extra minutes, or it will cost me a few extra dollars, then what does that say about my spiritual condition? Now, I'm not going to become a militant environmentalist, yelling at other people when they do not do what I do, for as was pointed out at the conference, such behavior is naught but a new Pharisaism.

What are you doing? Amen.

The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany: What's my motivation?

Isaiah 40:21-31; Psalm 147:1-11, 20c; 1 Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39

A few years ago there was a Sprite commercial in the States that started off with these three tough young guys playing a pick-up basketball game. They talked for a few seconds about how tough they were, how much better they were at basketball, etc., and then someone from offscreen yelled "CUT!" and the illusion was broken. No longer were these three tough young guys playing basketball, but now they were arrogant, sniveling-artist, prima-donna type actors. "Don't speak that way to ME, little man," one says to the director, in a high-class British accent that belies his tough-guy jock exterior. "I studied SHAKESPEARE at CAMBRIDGE!" Then another one wants to know a question of acting method. In an insecure voice, he says, "Wait...wait...what's my motivation?"

I immediately thought if this last line as I read the Epistle Lesson for today. This is Paul's "all things to everyone" speech, or theological chameleonism. I can certainly imagine what lies behind this speech, what, in the words of the actor from the Sprite commercial, is Paul's "motivation." According to his opponents (whose words we have to supply here, but it seems reasonable to do so), Paul is being what my Filipino friends call plastik. That word means just what it sounds like in English--plastic, unreal, synthetic, molding himself to whatever model he needs to fit whatever crowd he's with. In short, such a person is ungenuine, not living up to the courage of his convictions. In a way, although the situations in Rome and Corinth were quite different, one might use Paul's great exhortation in Rom 12 against him in 1 Cor 9, and perhaps something exactly like this lay behind 1 Cor 9. But, for Paul, even his seeming inconsistency contributes to a bedrock of security--his belief in and communication of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, of which he was made an eyewitness, indeed the last of them all (1 Cor 15:8).

The Gospel Lesson for today, Mark 1:29-38, although not indicating something of Jesus' desire to appear one way to one crowd, and another way to another, nevertheless discusses a similar thing. Simon and the disciples find Jesus hiding off somewhere, and they say that everyone is looking for him. In this case, those who seek do not find (see Matt 7:8; Lk 11:10), but instead Jesus wants to spread his message even to those other towns. One might say that those who do not seek him are finding him. Perhaps better, one might say that God in Jesus is the one who seeks. I do not remember the source, but I heard someone give--or someone told me that he/she heard it, or whatever--a very trenchant comment regarding "seeker-sensitive" worship such as that you will find at the large megachurches and many smaller evangelical churches trying to mimic their model and become large megachurches themselves. (Aside: even the pastors of these great megachurches, in their prodigious amounts of books they seem to be able to write even while pastoring multiple thousands of people, say that you can't do it like we did; and yet we try.) This person said, "There is no problem with 'seeker-sensitive' worship, just so long as we understand that GOD is the seeker!"

This comment, while it was directed as a criticism against some contemporary worship practices (a late 20th/early 21st century version of Finney's "new measures?"), at the same time it was a prescient theological comment. And it seems to be in line both with how Paul defends himself in 1 Cor 9 and how Jesus determines to not reward those who are seeking him in the immediate situation and instead go off seeking others. For that matter, this is consistent also with the parable of the sheep; the shepherd leaves the 99 and goes off in search of the lost one. And there is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner coming to repentance than ninety-nine who do not need repentance. Thanks be to God.

The Old Testament contributions this week, both Isa 40 and Ps 147, contribute to the theme in an overarching sort of way. By testifying to the greatness and majesty and, in particular, sovereignty of God, these texts signify that God can move things about as God wills, without any reference or deference to that in which humans put their trust. Paul and Jesus seem to be plugged into that greater mission, such that the seeming permanence of certain human institutions, whether those be political or theological institutions, are but as nothing for God the Seeker. So this is why Jesus can avoid those who are searching for him and instead go off in search of others who haven't yet heard his name. And this is why Paul can appear to leave his convictions at the door when he models himself to those who are inside, but really he is plugging himself into a motivation greater than the "convictions" that he held so dear (see also Phil 3).

It is a great and glorious revelation, a gift from God, to discover that we do not have to mold to a particular form. Would that we really did allow for diversity in worship, so that by all means we might win some. How revolutionary would THAT be for Christian ministry, worship, evangelism, and discipleship? Amen.

The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany: How to move on

Deuteronomy 18:15-20; Psalm 111; 1 Corinthians 8:1-13; Mark 1:21-28

It is interesting that the Deuteronomic "test for prophets" should be the Old Testament reading just after I dealt with that text in class. Specifically, in Old Testament Theology we were discussing the issue of what it means to evaluate the claim that someone has been sent from God. The lectionary text cuts off before what I think is the most important, and yet most difficult to understand, part of Deut 18. For verses 21-22 go on to suggest that, in time to come, people may ask how to decide whether a prophet is from Yahweh. The crucial point there is whether the prophecy or prediction comes true. And it is perhaps better to say "prediction" there instead of "prophecy" in order to avoid the unfortunate identification of prophecy with predicting the future. There was something to that, certainly, but this is not the only thing that the prophets did. The prophets understood the present situation to a greater degree than their contemporaries, and were able to make "predictions" of the future based on that deeper understanding, but they were not in any sense exclusively lookers into the future, like modern-day fortune tellers or the quack of quacks Nostradamus. We should perhaps better think of the Old Testament prophets, in a way, like political pollsters. These people look for the likely behavior of voters in a given election (or even a hypothetical election), and while their predictions are usually fairly accurate, there is always the possibility of surprise on the actual election day. In that sense, no one REALLY knows the future. Knowing the future is more to be understood along the lines of having a more comprehensive knowledge of the possibilities that exist and how to actualize one or the other of them, and the implications that flow from that, and how to actualize one or the other of them, and so on.

Perhaps the only place where this test for prophets is actually applied is Jeremiah 28, the dispute between Jeremiah and Hananiah. There, Hananiah predicts more-or-less immediate restoration for the land, and Jeremiah adds onto Deut 18 the further condition that a prophet who predicts peace is the only one who should be thus tested. But Hananiah dies two months later, rather than having time to wait the full two years of his prophecy to see whether it fails or succeeds. As it turns out, Hananiah was not correct, but we can naturally ask the question whether he would be considered a martyr for the true faith if he was. In any event, both of them certainly had followers/disciples that carried on and supported their message, though it appears that a too-facile, too-hopeful prediction such as that associated with Hananiah soon faded off into the background, like often happens with hopeful predictions in the face of overwhelmingly negative situations.

Psalm 111 and 1 Corinthians 8 also deal with different religious kinds of affirmations. The Psalm is a praise to God for the works he has created. They are established forever, to be performed with faithfulness and uprightness. This seems to indicate something of humanity following in God's example, which is indeed a quite good religious idea. Mark 1 also suggests that Jesus followed in the example of John the Baptist, preaching a gospel of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Specifically, 1 Cor 8 and Mk 1 have to do with doing the work of God by setting aside the works of darkness. This is, it could be said, the "negative side" of the Gospel. Although, as was noted in my Doctrine of Holiness class on Friday, cutting out darkness is indeed a positive thing, a thing to be celebrated, it is "negative" in the sense of "subtracting," in this case subtracting evil and all those things which battle against the purposes of God. John Wesley said that those attitudes and actions that remain within a Christian after salvation are those things which war against the purposes of Christ, and which are progressively removed through growth in grace. See Rom 7 in particular for a Scriptural account of such indwelling sin, that continually crouches at the door (Gen 4, Heb 12), but which we can master through the help of God.

Human life is all about transitions, and religion and theology make it their business to speak important words in the midst of those transitions. Birth to maturation, maturation to feebleness, feebleness to death, death to life, these are the places where religion makes its home. And for all the times in between, God is to be praised, for his works will be established forever. And the gates of hell will not be able to withstand the onslaught. Amen.

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany: Hope extended...again...

Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 62:5-12; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20

The book of Jonah, it can be said, is a midrash (=Scriptural storytelling) on the vision Jeremiah has of the house of the potter in Jeremiah 18. Especially significant is the line, "God changed his mind about the calamity that he has said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it (v 10). See Jer 18:7-8 for the specific language, in a promise form, that is given in Jonah 3 in a narrative form. And specifically for Jonah, while this should be a cause of rejoicing, since his evangelistic crusade in the evil city of Nineveh had such tremendous success, it was only a reason for more bitter complaint against God. This is exactly the opposite of what we should expect to hear from this preacher, but then again the entire book of Jonah is exactly the opposite of what we would expect to hear from the Bible.

The initial resistance and, in Jonah's case, flight, is not out of the ordinary. Most of the prophets are shown as initially resisting the divine call in some fashion (see Exod 3, Isa 6, Jer 1). But whereas Moses, Isaiah, and Jeremiah eventually "enjoyed" their careers and the "success" their preaching had, Jonah is presented as a sulker and a complainer. Jonah represents the typical attitude of Israelites in the post-exilic period who thought that the worship of Yahweh should be confined to those who could establish their proper ethnic identity. The whole story of Jonah and the conversion of Nineveh was a bomb dropped on that exclusive claim. But Jonah is still left sulking, thinking, sweltering under the hot sun--and perhaps that is as good a metaphor as any for the reaction that this little midrash might have gotten.

The common theme running through the lectionary passages for this week is putting trust in God especially in view of how short the time is. Both Testaments deal with the expectation of a quick end to the world and its frustration. As with mamny other groups throughout history, Jews and Christians very quickly developed strategies for reinterpreting the hope of an imminent end of the world into a longer expectation, and a resultant ethic for the time in-between. This shows the brilliance of both groups in that they did not abandon their hopes when they were frustrated; instaed, they recommitted themselves to God and God's promises in the sure and certain hope that these things would come about just as they had been foretold.

At the beginning of a new year, we are always confronted with a choice: will we participate in this creative reworking of hope, or will we abandon it this time since it continues to lie unfulfilled? It seems like the question must be decided in favor of the former, since the nature of hope is that it, well, hopes...and hope does not disappoint, for God in his love has poured the Holy Spirit into our hearts (Rom 5:4). Hope does not disappoint, even when hope itself is disappointed. Will 2009 be the year our hopes are finally realized? Perhaps, depending on the hope: new love, new job, new house, whatever. How about this: will 2009 be the year our Hope is finally realized? Perhaps not, but we still live in the expectancy, for hope--and Hope--will finally not be snuffed out. Amen.

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany: What do you see?

1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20); Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18; 1 Corinthians 6:12-20; John 1:43-51

The reading from 1 Samuel is important for me personally, because in my Historical Books class this semester we just began discussion of the book of 1 Samuel this past Thursday. Explication of the call of Samuel, with the Voice from heaven and the transition in leadership from the evil of Eli's house to the good of Samuel's house will next occupy our attention. It is quite ironic that eventually the house of Samuel will turn evil as well, because just as the sons of Eli--Hophni and Phineas--are scoundrels out for personal gain, so in 1 Sam 8 the sons of Samuel--Joel and Abjiah--are declared unfit to rule by the people of the land, and they consequently demand of Samuel that he appoint for them a king, like the other nations around them. The end of the book of Judges very simply states that "In those days there was no king in Israel, and all the people did what was right in their own eyes." On the one hand, this statement is a direct endorsement of the development of monarchy in Israel, even in the fact of the fable of Jotham (Judg 9) and the warnings Samuel gives about what exactly a king will do to the people when once absolute power is ceded to him (1 Sam 8) and, for that matter, Yahweh's assurance to Samuel that they are rejecting Him, not him, as king over them. And the name of Samuel's second son is "Abijah," which means "Yahweh is my father." And the name of Gideon's son, who took the throne for himself (becoming, oddly, the first king of Israel, not Saul), was named Abimelech, "My father is king." Very interesting names in there.

Up until the kings are established, it is only when someone's son succeeds him that things are bad: Abimelech succeeding Gideon, Hopni and Phineas succeeding Eli, and Joel and Abijah succeeding Samuel. It strikes me that the transitions are important, especially as they deal with the finding out of sin. Yahweh goes on to tell Samuel that the sins of Eli's house have brought condemnation, and his line will be cut off. But through Samuel God will establish a new way. Even if eventually the same judgment is made of Samuel's house, God still has a plan, according to the text, and the institution of kingship is not, as some writers mistakingly suggest, the beginning of the end in terms of "good" Israelite society. True enough, a lot of the kings are scoundrels, but their sin is almost always found out, even in the case of the great king David. When it comes down to it, you simply cannot act for your own advantage, as the passage from 1 Corinthians indicates. God who knit us together in our inward parts (Psalm 139) will be able to find even those things that we are successfully hiding from others: our church members, our pastor, our friends, our coworkers, our students, our spouses, ourselves.

The opposite side of this comes in the Gospel text, where Philip tells Nathanael to come and see this one whom the former says is the one about whom the prophets have been prophesying for many years. Nathanael is doubtful, wondering if worthwhile anything can come out of the hills. It is somewhat refreshing to read that even the disciples had the same kind of cultural provinciality that often affects us. It's almost comforting. But I can hear a bit of embarrassment in Nathanael's words to Jesus, because he has just expressed to Philip his rather derisive opinion of everything and everyone that comes from Nazareth. I have had this experience on more than one occasion, having had a prejudicially negative opinion of someone only to find that person respects me very much, or at least is not at all deserving of my negative attitude. Whether or not I express those opinions--and I usually don't, because I find I always get into trouble when I do--I always feel that at least on some level the other person is being nice to me in order to heap burning coals on my head (Prov 25:22, Rom 12:20). There is no chance that such people know what thoughts I have had about them before meeting them, but there is every chance in the world, indeed it is certain, that Jesus knew what Nathanael had been saying about him just before he and Philip came around the bend in the road. The rebuke of Nathanael goes on a little bit further, with Jesus telling him he will see even greater things than what has already happened. At the end of John's Gospel, a similar rebuke is sounded against Realistic Thomas, and the promise given to him is that those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe (i.e., the readers of John's Gospel in the first century and the twenty-first) are blessed in just the same way as those who have seen and touched Jesus for themselves.

Sin will always find you out (Num 32:23), but thanks be to God that his glorious gift is given to us no matter what our sin. It is not for those who deserve it, but for those who ask for it. "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you" (Matt 7:7). When I was twelve or thirteen (somewhere in that neighborhood) I started to write a Christian rock song that I never finished. The song was to start with the band singing a capella those words from Matt 7:7, and parallels, with the capline: "Jesus knows your mind!" Jesus is the one who searches us and knows us (Ps 139), and promises to us that even though we think we have seen great things, we will indeed see even greater things than these. But blessed, even still, are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe. Amen.

The Baptism of the Lord: Yeah, we're going to get you wet

Responsibilities this past week kept me from posting a meditation last Tuesday, the date of the Epiphany. I'm sure no one is finding these things the only source of spiritual nourishment, so I am not too worried.

Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19:1-7; Mark 1:4-11

Seeing Psalm 29 in the readings for today reminds me of a conversation I had Friday night at the birthday party we threw for the Asia-Pacific regional director, in town for the district assembly yesterday. A friend asked me what was going on with Gen 6:1-4 and the "sons of God" marrying the "daughters of humanity" and creating the giant race called the Nephilim. I suggested it was probably some kind of strange holdover from ancient pagan mythology left in the Bible because it was in the found in the traditional teachings about the old ancient world before even the peoples of antiquity showed up, or something. She said, "Well, if it's old pagan mythology I don't think it belongs in the Bible," or something similar. I said, "Well, yeah, you're probably right. But the biblical writers didn't agree, and so now it is what it is." This is not a bad thing, not something that should be left out or ignored or explained away; clearly the ancient writers and editors did not have as big a problem with it as we do.

Something similar is going on, undoubtedly, with Psalm 29. For when you compare Psalm 29:1-2 to Psalm 96:7-8, you see a definite shift in emphasis. The language of the two Psalms is almost identical, except for the "persons" to whom the summons is addressed. In Ps 29, the summons is to "divine beings," unfortunately but understandably translated as "mighty ones" by the NIV. Ps 29 surely represents something of the older polytheistic context in which ancient Israel came to be. While monotheism was insisted upon with varying degrees of strenuousness throught the history of ancient Israel, it did not finally win the day over polytheistic or henotheistic understandings until the Maccabean Revolt in the middle of the second century BCE (reflected in the apocalyptic book of Daniel).

For that matter, the polytheistic environoment may perhaps lie behind the presentation of the (first) creation story in Gen 1. Since this probably came into being in contrast to polytheistic Babylonia's creation myths, the Gen 1 creation myth (and YES, it is a myth, for myth does not equal falsehood) depersonalizes the stuff upon which God acts in creation as opposed to the battle between the gods that goes on in the Babylonian stuff. But later on down in the Gen 1 creation myth, God says "Let us make humanity in our own image..." This is not (NOT!) a hint of Trinitarian theology, but probably some kind of leftover from polytheism. This is not a bad thing, not something that should be left out or ignored or explained away; clearly the ancient writers and editors did not have as big a problem with it as we do.

The Acts 19 and Mk 1 passages both discuss the baptism of John the Baptist, which was a baptism for repentance. When I was preparing my lecture on NT backgrounds for the doctrine of holiness, delivered Friday, the discussion between Paul and the Ephesian converts caused me to stop short. Paul asks the converts how they were baptized, and they say it was into John's baptism. BUT THEN PAUL BAPTIZED THEM AGAIN. This seems to go against everything I have come to understand about the unrepeatability of baptism. There surely has to be an explanation in New Testament scholarship or in theology for this one. I haven't investigated it. But then again, perhaps I need to take my own advice and let it be. This is not a bad thing, not something that should be left out or ignored or explained away; clearly the ancient writers and editors did not have as big a problem with it as we do.

When I was young, the little sister of one of my friends absolutely hated it when we sprayed her with the hose, which is probably why we continued to do it. "My mom told me I'm not supposed to get wet!" she would scream, which never made any sense to me. It's hot out today, you'll be dry in a few minutes, I thought, so why even tell your mom that you got wet? Jesus submitted to baptism in order to fulfill all righteousness. So following the example of our Lord, and his institution of baptism by offering himself as a participant in it (just like he participated in the Eucharist at Calvary), we baptize in the name of the Trinity, even if we cannot find a hint of it in the plural pronouns ascribed to God in Gen 1.

Is baptism necessary for salvation? Yes. Not in the sense that this is some kind of magical rite that convinces God to save you; this is part of the old polytheistic environment that we should, and have, cast aside. But it is necessary for salvation in that it is the rite of entry into the Church, into Christian fellowship, into Christian maturity. And there is no salvation outside the Church; so says St. Chrysostom. So, yeah, sorry, we're going to get you wet. Not with a hose, probably--unless there is no other water available--but with the water of repentance, to signify your desire to live a life free from sin. For, in the words of Paul's great baptismal meditation, we "should consider yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus" (Rom 6:11). Amen.

The Second Sunday after Christmas: Breathlessly awaiting the promise

Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 147:12-20; Ephesians 1:3-14; John (1-9)10-18

First, a note on the texts. Both the Old Testament and the Psalm readings for today have alternatives listed out of the Apocrypha. Sirach 24:1-12 is listed as an alternative for the OT, and Wisdom of Solomon 10:15-21 for the Psalm. But, in the words of a preacher I used to know, "I'm a good Protestant," so I'm not going to bother with the Apocrypha.

I make New Year's Resolutions every year. Of course, mine are mostly the standard ones: lose weight, don't procrastinate, don't make my temper so great, and so on. I know I'll fail at most of them, or at least not have as much success as I'd like to have. But I make my resolutions anyway, perhaps because it is part of my somewhat breathless anticipation of what this future, this new year, will hold.

The text from Jeremiah is part of the Book of Consolation, the material that seems to turn toward the people in, well, consolation, binding up the wounds of exile and seeming to hold out a promise for the future. It is not quite correct to see the prophetic words turning exclusively from judgment to salvation with the exile, for there are oracles of salvation before the exile and oracles of judgment after the exile. But with Jeremiah and with Second Isaiah (Isa 40-55), there does seem to be an emphasis on God not wanting just to punish the people for their sins, but also to purify them in order that they can live a new life with him under the covenant, sometimes expressed as a new covenant, as later in Jeremiah 31.

Psalm 147, as part of the Hallelujah collection at the end of the Psalter, expresses a similar sentiment. God will strengthen the bars of Jerusalem's gates, making it secure forever. This is a nice promise that, while not necessarily worked out in experience, is still to be made and believed. It is not quite satisfactory, I'll admit, to push off the Ultimate Fulfillment of the Promise into the time of the end, but there is certainly something to be said for groups holding on to a particular promise increasing in membership and in fervency even when the prediction comes to naught.

Ephesians 1:3-14 is one of my favorite passages in the entire Bible. In Greek, this is one sentence. That's right. What gets chopped up into five or six sentences in most English translations, mainly because English teachers do not like run-on sentences, is one long string of participle after participle. It almost gives the sense of a speaker stumbling over the words in the excitement to get them all out. A negative picture of this is the series of servants reporting to Job on all the tragedies that have come on first his possessions and then his family: "While he was still speaking, yet another came up and said..." But Paul--or the one writing in the name of Paul; I am not qualified to take a position on that question--keeps stumbling over the excitement of the message, adding more and more to it to create as comprehensive as possible a picture of what it means to live in the promises of God.

John 1 seems almost not to fit amongst all these breathless, somewhat dreamy promises. True enough, the promise that it speaks of surpasses all of these others, but the language in which it is described is much more formal, almost staid. Yet even in the midst of all the stuffiness of a Hellenistic rhetortician, you can still hear the breathlessness if you listen closely enough. Take a minute to read these words from John in a staccato, catching your breath sort of fashion and you'll see what I mean: "There was a man, uh...sent from God, whose name was, um, John, uh. He came to bear...witness to the light, so that...whew...all might believe through him. Uh...he, um...himself, he was not the light, but he came to...bear...witness to the light. The true...light, the light which enlightens everyone, was...coming, um, into the, uh, world."

Breathlessness. Excitement. Anticipation. That is how the promise of God, which reached ultimate fulfillment in Jesus (see Heb 1) was treated by those who experienced it, or by those who learned at the feet of those who experienced it. And the turning over the leaf from the punishment of exile into the new hope of the life afterward expresses a similar kind of thing: God is coming back to us. Life will be different in this New Year. And as we stand just inside the door of a new year, our anticipation is not the same as what others anticipate. Sure, we're making resolutions and promises to do better with this or that, but the newness of life represented in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ ultimately renders all such resolutions important but not Important, significant but not Significant. In the light of this Christ, while we still live in the world, we are not of the world. In the light of this Christ, although we breathlessly await the fulfilling of the promise, we do not live aloof from the concerns of the world. This is the great tension, the great anticipation in which we find ourselves. Ultimately, we are so torn that we cannot adequately express it, but instead we keep getting tangled up in the breathless retelling of the promise. Amen.

New Year's Day: "We must not commit the sin of turning our backs on time."

Ecclesiastes 3:1-13; Psalm 8; Revelation 21:1-6a; Matthew 25:31-46

The readings this time deal in a very clear way with the passage of time. The Old Testament reading is significant for me because Ecclesiastes is one of my top three favorite books in the canon. If I had not written my doctoral dissertation on Jeremiah, than either Job or Ecclesiastes would have been in focus. I might have even investigated this somewhat depressing poem about there being a season for everything, and a time for every purpose under heaven. The entire book of Ecclesiastes is depressing, really, chasing after all sorts of things that are supposed to satisfy but in the end are found wanting. Ultimately Ecclesiastes does sound a kind of positive note, with a theological twist, but it is a kind of resignation, an ultimate casting of everything upon the will of a generally inscrutable God. This is typical of later Hebrew thinking in antiquity, leading a scholar such as Jack Miles to wonder if God loses interest.

But then this is balanced with Psalm 8, a hymn that shows all of humanity, all of creation, in praise of Yahweh as the sovereign, whose name is majestic over all the earth. Whereas Ecclesiastes 3 suggests that the ultimate good of humankind is, essentially, to eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die, Psalm 8 says that Yahweh has taken such great regard for humanity as to make them just a little lower than the gods. True enough, this reflects a much earlier form of Hebrew religion than Ecclesiastes, and it is much closer to the polytheistic environment in which Israel came to be, but the contrast is illuminating nonetheless.

When I saw that Ecclesiastes 3 was paired with Psalm 8, I immediately saw Tom Hanks' character in Cast Away, which is in itself a pun. Twice in the movie, once before his ordeal and once after, Chuck Noland (=No Land, =Homeless) says that "We must not commit the sin of turning our backs on time." Time is important, and transitons in time are important, for even though, as Ecclesiastes says, there is nothing new under the sun, we do long for the time when the new heaven and the new earth come, and the Son of Man sets up his judgment throne, as said by the passages from Revelation and Matthew, respectively. The hope of the final judgment is not, as Nietzsche says, the product of an unrequited sense of vengeance, but a genuine trust in God that things will come to the conclusion that he intends. Even if the world has gotten off the track, indeed as far back as the first couple, whenever that was or if they even existed, but mistakes by humans do not ultimately thwart the plan of God. This is what our confession of faith means when we say that Christ was destined before the foundation of the world--in the time before time began--to be the redeeming sacrifice. The death and resurrection of Jesus was not "Plan B," was not God returning to the drawing board and ginning up some new plans after the humans messed everything up.

Chuck No Land is much more thoughtful the second time he says that we should not commit the sin of turning our backs on time. No moments can be relived, except in the furtive experiences of memory. This can lead us to an ultimate resigned depression, as with Ecclesiastes. It can also lead us to a sure and certain hope that God will wipe away every tear, as with Revelation. Enjoying ourselves and our days as long as we live, taking care to take care for others, giving praise to Yahweh, following Jesus Christ--these are the things that make for new life under the sun. And under the Son. Amen.