What we are not...

helps us define who we are.

As I said in Tuesday's post, Jesus seems pretty clear about the stuff we should not do; the type of people we should not be. I always struggle with negative definitions. You could spend days defining what something is not, and not even be close to shoring up what it is. It seems to me that definitions of what we are not should help us define who we are.

And so that is, I think, what we will do at five15 this weekend. We will begin the work of defining who we are. And there seems no better place to begin that conversation than in the Psalm. It has a beautiful trajectory from negative to positive. It flows from sinfulness to redemption. In defining who God is, it defines who we are called to be.

[The LORD] gives justice to those who are oppressed, *

and food to those who hunger.

7 The LORD sets the prisoners free;

the LORD opens the eyes of the blind; *
the LORD lifts up those who are bowed down;

8 The LORD loves the righteous;

the LORD cares for the stranger; *
he sustains the orphan and widow,
but frustrates the way of the wicked.

And so we too are called to be justice seekers. We are called to feed he hungry and set the prisoners free. We are called to open the eyes of the (at least the spiritually) blind and lift up those who are laid low. Because we are the body of Christ. We are God's hands and feet and if we really believe that then we have no choice but to live into the work of God. As our prayer says, we are to be like him. Who we are is so much nicer than what we are not.

Stewardship vs. Sacrifice

At lectionary group yesterday Scott raised an interesting point. One which I've chewed on for 24 hours now. Scott is big on language, wanting us always to be careful of what we say and how we say it, and so he takes issue with Stewardship.

"We are not stewards of time, talent, and treasure. We are stewards of Jesus' ministry."

And he's right. Jesus didn't leave his disciples with instructions about how to order themselves as Church, how to raise funds, how to make promotional fliers, or how to get volunteers. Jesus told them to preach the good news and baptize. The rest, the administrative stuff, well that is mostly just a continuation of the Temple.

But Scott didn't stop there, and that's dangerous. Because, he notes, the origin of the Biblical tithe was not food for the priests or coin for the treasury, but burnt sacrifice. He's probably not the first to say this, but the first I've heard admit it.

"If we were going to be true to the basis of the biblical tithe, we give 10%, in cash, and burn it, and then raise the money to run the church."

The problem, it seems to me, is that we see a direct line between my pledge card and the budget of the church. Thus our giving is to the church and not to God. Instead, if we saw our role in life as Stewards of the Gospel and our giving as sacrifice to God, the Church would be an entirely different place. One not worried about mortgage payments or salaries (stipends - another big language thing for Scott). We'd find a church run amuck, doing Kingdom work, whether or not the money was there.

We'd see the Kingdom of God.

Mark 12:38-40 or Why I am a Low Churchman

Jesus seems to be pretty clear about his expectations for religious leaders. Or at least he is clear in what he thinks they should not do. They should not be prideful. They should not wear garments so as to set themselves apart. They should not expect to be greeted with praise and honor on the streets and in the marketplace. And at parties, they should be in the back, allowing guests of higher honor to have the best seats.

As I've said before, I consider myself a soft literalist when it comes to the Bible. Do I think the earth was created in seven literal days? No. Do I believe that God provided enough for Elijah, the widow, and her son? Yep. Do I think that Jesus said what the Gospels tell us he said? You betcha.

And so, if I believe that Jesus said these things, I think that I should probably take them to heart. I wear a long white robe on Sunday mornings because it is the cultural expectation of our community. I wear a collar from time to time, not to be greeted with honor, but sometimes to grease the wheels of the medical establishment, and sometime to offer comfort those who will be in my presence. On Friday I will sit at a head table by invitation, not by assumption.

But for the most part, I try to avoid these things. Because, for me and my personality, to get caught up in the robes and collars and honor and praise would cause me to stumble, and, quite probably, devouring widows houses with my need for more. The materialist game is an easy trap for me, so I do my best, even in the Church, to avoid it at all costs.

Mark 12:38-40 is why I am a low churchman. Any high church priests out there with a counter theology?

All Saint's five15 Convo

Here is the link to the slideshow and notes for our five15 conversation on All Saints' Day.

Dear Stewardship Season,

I thought we had an agreement. I told you I needed some space. You said you understood. You said you'd wait for me to call. It really isn't you. It is me. I just need some time. Can you not understand that? Instead, you appear in full force in both the Old Testament and Gospel lessons? It is so not like you to be so pushy.

Sincerely,

Me <3

Here's the thing about the texts for this weekend. They have nothing to do with money. The oil, the meal, the money, they are all metaphors for something much larger; something much more important.

God wants everything from you. He wants your whole life: from Monday to Sunday and back again. He wants your relationships, he wants your work, he wants your mind, he wants your heart. He wants you to hand everything over to him, trusting that he we give you everything you need.

He wants you to purify yourself, to remove all the impurity, so that he's got all that's left for himself. But, just like the Pur filter on my refrigerator, you can probably only muster a 99.9% success rate in the purification department. And so, he wants you to hand over even the ugly stuff so that he can make you clean, make you whole, make you his.

That's all. Just everything. And in exchange, he offers life, abundant life, full life, joyous life. Seems a decent trade to me. So don't let stewardship season back into your life, let God back in. It is so much better to give him everything.

Readings for Proper 27, Year B

This will be my first week leading the conversation on Saturday and preaching on Sunday. Should be interesting. But I am extremely grateful to Father B. who will take Wednesday's off my shoulders for the next two weeks.

Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

Psalm 127

OR

1 Kings 17:8-16

Psalm 146

Hebrews 9:24-28

Mark 12:38-44

O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen

a quick thought on language

For every week (at least) there is a prayer (The Collect) assigned that may have, at one time, in someone's mind, worked with the theme of the lessons for that week. This week's Collect works. It is All Saints' Day and so, quite obviously, the prayer deals with the Saints. What I find interesting is how often there are words in these prayers that even I, a master's level educated, ordained Priest have to look up.

I understand that I'm not a very literate person. I don't like to read, I find it difficult to do, and so I am at a disadvantage when it comes to vocabulary. But. But, I still think that there is a lot of language thrown around in the Church that is assumed to be understand, and isn't.

For our five15 service we are using the Collect, offering a prayer on behalf of the whole Church, knowing that with 24 hours tens of millions of people will offer the same (well at least a similar prayer). I've taken to rewriting the Collect in an effort to help them be better understood. I just can't ask people to say "Amen" to something they haven't understood. It is like agreeing to a contract that you haven't read.

This week's example is the word "ineffable." I got a text message from my sister when Chase Utley hit his second home run last night that simply said, "no effing way!" I think the root is being used in two very different ways, but again because I have no idea what "ineffable" means, I can't be sure, and as such I don't think my congregation can either.

Ineffable actually means "beyond description" and so our prayer is that we might come to know the joy beyond words prepared by God for those who love him. Yeah, Amen, I want some of that. The other eff? No thanks.

How do you handle the issue of language in your church? What sort of translation do you offer to the various generations who make up your congregation? And beyond word choice in, say, The Collect, how do you make you sermons "speak" to everyone? Language is important. It can do damage or it can empower. It can welcome or it can exclude. It can teach or it can confuse. As those paid to do theology we must be diligent in our role as interpreters for EVERYONE in our midst.

What or Who are Saints Anyway?

Every year I struggle with All Saints' Day. Actually, truth be told, most Wednesday's I struggle with it too. In my tradition we celebrate Saints like Jude, Simon, Paul, etc. We also remember saints like The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and John Crysostom (who the Roman Church honors as St. John Crysostom). And except for some changes in the stuff that doesn't really matter; altar hangings, stoles, etc., we don't make a difference between the two.

So what's the difference between Saint and a saint and let's say me? Is there a difference in the Episcopal Church between a Major Feast Saint and a lesser feast saint and one who has died in the faith and one who still lives the faith on earth?

And if there is, who do we remember on All Saint's Day anyway? Do all the Saints need another day when they each have one of their own (or they might share it with another Saint)? Do all the saints need another when they have a lesser feast of their own (which they too might share)? Do those who have gone to paradise already need a day? Do we who still engage the great ordeal every morning need a day?

I'm leading the conversation at five15 this week, and I hope that people will help me answer these questions. What is a Saint? Who is a saint? And what's the deal with All Saints' anyway?

Do we remember those who have done great things or those who perished as though they had never been born? Do we honor those who have lived the beatitudes to a "T" or those who struggled every day in the great ordeal? These are the things I struggle with.

The Rt. Rev. Keith Whitmore, assisting Bishop of Atlanta (is there such a thing as an assisting Bishop aren't they all bishops (and does that make +Neil an Assisted Bishop?)?) has a good piece over at Day1 that is worth perusing on this topic - check it out.

the great ordeal

I am not a scholar of the Revelation. I haven't read the Left Behind series. I'm not afraid of 2012. I don't so much care about how or when the world will end. I have two reasons for this. The first, every minute of every day the world as we know it comes to an end. Someone dies, someone is born, science finds something new, God reveals something, whatever it is, it is constantly happening. So the world ends like every millisecond or so. The other reason is that Jesus told me not to worry about it. What's that bumper sticker say? The Bible says it. I believe it.

This all came to mind today as I read that famous passage from the 7th chapter of the Revelation of John; you know the one year hear at funerals all the time. For the first time today I found myself wondering about the "great ordeal" and thinking, "you know what, I'm betting that has nothing to do with an apocalypse or the rapture." It seems to me, awake 15 minutes before my alarm by a hungry baby, planning 2 weddings and a funeral along with the regular flow of our liturgical life, busy at home with grocery shopping, cleaning, doing laundry, paying bills, budgeting money, etc. etc. etc. It seems to me that life itself is "the great ordeal." We are in a constant struggle against what the world would tell us to do and to be that quite frankly I don't think we need some super-cosmic-battle-royal to convince us to wash our robes clean in the blood of the lamb.

Life's hard enough without lakes of fire and seven headed beasts. So, let's make a pact. Let's agree to work together to survive this "great ordeal" so that in the end, whenever and however that may be (again I don't care) we can say, as a community with Jesus as our head we survived. Thanks be to God.

they perished as though they never existed

St. Paul's lost a saint this week. J didn't show up to setup for coffee hour with her friends and they were worried. Two people drove to her house to check on her and found her on the floor. No one is sure how long she was there. Medical intervention kept her alive for five more days while they tried to figure out what happened. Her own strength kept her alive for four hours after life support was removed. But at about 1:45 Friday afternoon, J died.

Her friends will remember her.

Her nieces and nephews will remember her.

Her church will remember her.

But J, like so many others, will someday be forgotten. She has gone on to paradise and awaits the Resurrection of the Dead, but as the author of Ecclesiasticus says, she "perished as though [she] had never existed." No state funeral. No eternal flame in Arlington. No sightings at her elaborate Memphis home. No helicopters following her body to the ME's office.

J, a saint in our church and a saint in the Church, has died, without fanfare. But the promise remains true - her glory will never be blotted out. This is why we read from the BCP Lectionary this week. This is why we celebrate all life. This is why when I stand at the altar and celebrate the Eucharist, J's name will be on my heart as I pray that one day we might join all the Saints, even those who have long since been forgotten, in the joy of God's eternal kingdom.

Readings of All Saints (BCP1)

TKT has decided we're using the BCP1 Lectionary for All Saints'. And I don't blame him, the lesson from Ecclesiasticus is a must read.

Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10, 13-14

Revelation 7:2-4, 9-17

Matthew 5:1-12

Psalm 149

Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord: Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen

Sermon for Proper 25B

As the month of October comes to a close so too does our six-week journey with Jesus and his disciples. We've been all over Galilee, The Decapolis, Samaria, and find ourselves this morning fifteen miles outside of Jerusalem on the outskirts of Jericho. The action has been swift all through Mark's Gospel, but the pace quickens as our journey comes to an end. We spend all of one sentence, four words, in Jericho, and then we are off, on the road, on the Way to Jerusalem. The road is packed with pilgrims headed along the same journey; trying to make it to Jerusalem for The Passover. Babies are crying. Children are laughing. Teenagers are flirting. Adults are chatting. Animals of all sorts make noises of all kinds. And in the midst of it all, there is a man, a blind man, who takes center stage.
The road is busy, but the excitement must reach a crescendo as Jesus approaches. How else would the blind man know that the itinerant Rabbi from Nazareth was passing by? Four words describe Jesus' time in Jericho, but details the likes of which Mark has yet to use tell the story of Jesus' interaction with a blind man on the road outside of Jericho. Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting on the roadside.
Here is the first detail – a name. Bar-Timaeus which means the son of Timaeus which means either “the unclean one” or “the highly-prized one.” Which to me, means that a transformation is about to take place. We're about to see the Son of the Unclean One become the Son of the Highly-Prized One right before our very eyes.
Bartimaeus cries out, as loud as he can, above the hustle and bustle of the crowded highway, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” And the crowd barks at him, “Shut up! Jesus is on his way to invade Jerusalem, he is on his way to glory, he doesn't have time for the likes of you, Son of the Unclean One.” Undeterred, Bartimaeus shouts even louder. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”
Here is the second detail – a title. Son of David is not Jesus' title of choice in Mark. It is way too political. It is along the lines of what the misguided crowd expects; a Messiah who will overthrow the Roman occupiers. It is this sort of title that got Peter called Satan. It is this concept of Messiah that made James and John look so foolish. Yet here it comes from the lips of the least. The beggar on the side of the road, one whose standing in life is no different under Roman rule as it would be if the Jews were back in power. Bartimaeus is crying out to the Messiah; God's appointed one for help and healing not for a place in his cabinet.
In the midst of the noise. As if he were existing somehow outside of the ruckus, Jesus hears the cry of the blind beggar Bartimaeus and stops. “Call him here,” Jesus tells those closest to him. And so the large crowd, all those who had worked to stifle the man's pleas turn to him and say, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, sprang to his feet and came to Jesus.
Here is the third detail – an action. The NRSV tells us that Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, but most translations say that he cast it aside; there are very few days in Jericho where one would need to wear a cloak as an outer-garment. In reality, what Bartimaeus did was throw his cloak away. The Son of the Unclean One is claiming a miracle before it even happens. He knows that after his encounter with Jesus he will be made whole, he will no longer be unclean, a beggar, reliant on the harsh streets. He will soon be Son of the Highly Prized One. Soon he will be washed clean. Soon he will be made whole. And so he casts off everything of his old life. His cloak; his suitcase; his wallet; his everything – he throws it away knowing that he will never return to begging on a roadside again.
Jesus asks Bartimaeus, “what do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said, “My teacher, let me see again.”
Here is the fourth detail – an adverb - again. At one time, Bartimaeus could see, but now he can't. Something happened; an illness, an injury, an accident; something happened and it took away Bartimaeus' ability to see. In the worldview of a first century Jew this is a punishment; no two ways about it. In Jewish theology of the 1st century, losing his ability to see was God's way of teaching Bartimaeus a lesson. He had been cutoff from the God of all Creation. God's blessings were no longer available to him. This was not the case of a man born blind, wherein the sin might have been his parents or his grandparents. The only person Bartimaeus had to blame for his blindness was himself. And he wants desperately to be restored. Sure, to see again would be nice. I'm sure he misses the sight of his family, of the beautiful pomegranates and figs that grow in abundance near Jericho. I'm sure being able to physically see would be nice. But what Bartimaeus really wants is to no longer be the Son of the Unclean One. He wants to be restored to wholeness. He wants to be fully human, able to receive God's blessing, able to see the beauty of his Creation, able to see; really see AGAIN.
Jesus responded to him, “Go: your faith has made you well.” Immediately, he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Here is the last detail – a verb - to follow. The healing of Blind Bartimaeus is the final healing miracle in that Jesus performs in the Gospel of Mark. We have experienced him healing other blind people, casting out demons, and raising the dead to life. He has performed healing by touch and healing from afar. He has healed all kinds of people; young, old, rich, poor, men, women, Jews and Gentiles. And, at least as far as Mark tells us, not one of them has responded to their miracle by following Jesus. The last stop on the journey; the last healing in the story; Blind Bartimaeus is able to see again and follows Jesus on the way. Which leads us the detail after that. The way that they are headed is not to the throne, but to the cross. Our journey ends on the precipice of Holy Week. Bartimaeus and his new found crew will reach Bethphage and Bethany where Jesus will mount a donkey and ride into Jerusalem on the Sunday before he dies. Bartimaeus is about to see some things that he never expected.
The question that keeps coming up for me in Mark's surprisingly detailed treatment of the healing of Bartimaeus is this: What obstacle keeps me from following Jesus on the way? For Bartimaeus in his time and in his culture is was his blindness. For him it meant that God's love had left him. What makes me blind? Money? Power? Lust? Envy? Greed? What sort of mercy do I need to cry out to Jesus for?
And then, when he stops and calls me to come to him, what do I need to throw away to accept his blessing? What do I keep trying to hold onto that keeps me from being able to spring up at a moment's notice and follow him? What weighs me down? Insecurity? Laziness? Lowered Expectations? Guilt? Or maybe I don't really dislike my blindness all that much. Maybe I'm slow to respond to Jesus because I think things are better just the way they are.
No matter the reasons for not following Jesus, Mark makes it clear that Bartimaeus – the Son of the Highly Prized One should be our role model. As we seek after Jesus, we are as blind men and women sitting by the road, calling out to him. When he stops and calls us, we must be able to throw everything else aside and run to him. When he heals, we should be prepared to follow him to places much darker, to situations much scarier, on journeys must more dangerous. For it is at the foot of the cross that we find Jesus glorified. It is in death that he is crowned King. It is in suffering that he restores us to our full humanity.
Our journey to Jerusalem may be ending, but the real trip – the lifetime of walking with Jesus through good times and bad – well that odyssey is just fixin' to start.If only you will cry out to Jesus, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Amen.

a helpful question

At lectionary group yesterday, TKT asked a helpful question. As we discussed the Bartimaeus story and how it intersected with ours he wanted to know what you say to the person in the pew who says, "I've been asking God to remove this barrier, heal this infirmity, make me whole for a decade now, and nothing has changed"?

It is an unanswerable question. We do not know the mind of God. We don't know what is going on in the secret life of the person asking. But a few hours later, I got a glimpse of maybe why the mountain doesn't always move out of the way when we ask.

Jesus calls Bartimaeus to come, others relay the message and then Mark gets strangely descriptive as Bartimaeus approaches Jesus, "throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus."

Batrimaeus threw off his cloak. His only possession. The thing that made him him. His tie to the days and nights on the street outside of Jericho. He let it all go to approach the Son of David; the Messiah.

How often do we ask God to remove an obstacle to faith from our lives, only to pick up two or three more? When we ask to "see" do we at the same time hope we can go deaf to God's call in our lives? Do we give up our old life even before our new one is fully revealed? Is our faith strong enough to know that we will be made whole even as we approach the Lord still blind?

I don't think the cloak is an idle detail in Mark. I think it is that last item that each of us carries that gets in the way of the fullness of relationship that God wants. My cloak might be pride. Yours might be money. Others might carry lust or laziness or fear or anger. But in order to receive the gift of wholeness we must cast it aside. Otherwise we end up like the blind man in Bethsaida - our eyes are open, but the picture isn't clear.

May God give us the strength to cast aside our cloaks.

The Rat Race - five15 Convo Starter

We've made a few tweaks to our new five15 service including a change from thematic lessons (which require a lot of forethought) to the Revised Common Lectionary. I think we still withhold the right to change, but for now, we'll be wrestling with the same texts on both Saturday night and Sunday morning. Follow this link to our first lectionary based conversation on Mark 10.35-45 which I entitled "The Rat Race."

Take heart, get up, He is calling you

Have you ever heard (or said) the following words,

"I don't want God to call me because I know he'll make me do..."

That thought never went through the mind of Blind Bartimaeus. He didn't care what Jesus was going to ask of him, he just wanted to be made whole. Missionary to outer Mongolia? OK. Sell everything, give it to the poor? Sure thing. Be nice to your neighbor who won't cut his yard? Got it.

Bartimaeus was in a place most of us are not. He was at the end of his rope. He was poor in spirit. His only hope was in Jesus. And so, with wreckless abandon he cried out, "have mercy on me!"

Our comfort often keeps us from loving what God commands. Our self-reliance keeps us from "taking heart" when God calls. But the lesson we learn from Bartimaeus is that God calls only when we are willing. If you are crying out to God with a heart that longs to be made whole - he will respond. If you are crying out to God while secretly wishing he won't answer - he probably won't.