[Our lessons were Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; and Mark 6:30-34, 53-56.]
I read the other day about a speech given recently by Jack Welch, the former CEO of General Electric. He said that women who take time off for a family do so at the risk of their careers. “There’s no such thing as work-life balance. There are work-life choices, and you make them, and they have consequences.” Mr. Welch said women who take time off can still “have a nice career,” but their chances of reaching the top are smaller. “We’d love to have more women moving up faster. But they’ve got to make the tough choices and know the consequences of each one.”
I read a lot of comments about Mr. Welch’s speech with many agreeing and many disagreeing that this is the way it should be. Only a few comments questioned whether this is, in fact, the way it actually is in 21st Century America.
Unfortunately, I do think that in many cases for women and men, survival, not just advancement, in the work force comes at the expense of the family. When times are hard (and for many of us, these are the hardest times we’ve seen) and jobs are scarce, we see employers often taking advantage of their leverage over their employees to work longer hours, often for less pay. After layoffs, fewer employees are left to do the work which never seems to diminish. Working parents are forced to leave sick children in schools because they either fear or actually have been told that their jobs are in jeopardy if they miss work to care for them. As Mr. Welch says, if you’re “not there in the clutch,” there are consequences. But what does it say about our culture if it forces people to choose between their families or their jobs?
The Church does have something to say on this. It rejects the idea that each person has no value but his or her ability to contribute to a company’s or economy’s bottom line. Instead it calls for a solidarity in which there is a unity that binds us together and works to help the most vulnerable in society, whether they are refugees or orphans or widows. Even when language, culture, or distance separates us, we are still our brother’s (and sister’s) keepers. As Pope Benedict recently pointed out in his encyclical Caritas in Veritate (or “Charity in Truth”), “the primary capital to be safeguarded and valued is man, the human person in his or her integrity: ‘Man is the source, the focus and the aim of all economic and social life’.” If there is no true “work-life balance” as Mr. Welch asserts, that is something to be deplored, not celebrated.
We are a busy people who often don’t feel we can take time for rest, especially now. I read a story not long ago that employees are increasingly feeling that they can’t take their authorized vacation time, because they may be absent “in the clutch” in Mr. Welch’s term. We don’t have the freedom to rest from our labors.
It is against this context that we hear today’s Gospel lesson. Jesus has sent the disciples out for the first time to call people to repentance, cast out demons and anoint the sick. As they return, they are clearly exhausted. That sounds increasingly like us today.
“Many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.” Does this sound familiar at work or even at home? It does to many.
After they report what they did to Jesus, does he urge them to do even more with a greater effort? No, he asks them (and us) to “Come away and rest for a while.”
Many of us are not permitted by our cut-throat economic culture to rest. Many more of us make that choice for ourselves. After all, if we are resting, we aren’t producing. But when we ask people how they are doing, the reply is often things like “I’m exhausted.” “I’m running myself ragged.” “I’m wiped out.” “I’m spent.” “I’m running on empty.” “I just need a nap.” (I myself often identify with the last one.) We are over-worked, over-extended, stretched-thin, stressed-out, and burnt-out.
We are wearied by many things in our lives. Modern life’s pace is faster than ever before, computers and cell phones sending their instantaneous messages around the globe. These technological marvels have not led to more leisure time for us. Instead, most people are busier than ever.
I have read that the Germans have a word for how we often feel: weltschmerz or “world weariness”. As one writer puts it,
We are wearied by many things in our lives. In our work lives, people speak of being tired of the rat race, the daily grind, or climbing the corporate ladder. In our political lives, people are tired of broken promises, empty rhetoric, and partisan bickering. In our personal lives, we are tired of being alone, tired of the bar scene, tired of the routine. We are tired of feeling angry all the time, or feeling afraid all the time, or feeling worthless all the time.
But Jesus tells the weary disciples “Come and rest for a while.” And he tells us that too. While work does have value, it is not the measure of our existence. When we gather around Jesus, we may tell him all the things we have done and all the things we have taught. We hold up before him our busyness and our weariness as objects worthy of praise and reward. We tell him that we have been so busy that we haven’t even had time to eat. Surely all these things will prove how important and valuable we are.
And our Jesus looks past all of this to remind us that all that we are and all that we do are gifts from God in the first place. Rather, he looks into our hearts and sees what we truly desire, what we truly need. In the words of Psalm 23 which we heard today, Jesus makes us lie down in green pastures and leads us beside the still waters and restores our souls. And he says to us, “Come away to a place all by yourselves and rest a little while with me.”
Monday, July 20, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
It's Not About Glory ... [Proper 10, Year B]
[Note: I managed to fall behind on posting these the last few weeks. In a clear sign that the world does go on anyway, I don't think anyone noticed!]
[Our lessons were Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; and Mark 6:14-29.]
Not too long ago, a Lutheran pastor of a small church was asked if her church would grow and become really big. Her reply was, “No, there’s just not a huge market for the message ‘Jesus bids you come and die.’ Instead, people want to hear, ‘Jesus wants to make you rich!’”
That’s the message we want to hear. At some level, we all want to be victorious, successful, and wealthy, so if someone says that Jesus wants that for us too, great!
Or, maybe not. In Mark’s Gospel Jesus keeps telling people not to tell anyone about his healings and miracles. That’s because Jesus knew how tempting it would be for people to jump on the Jesus Christ Superstar bandwagon (to borrow the title of a 1960’s era rock opera), not realizing that the miracles alone were not enough to show what Jesus was really about. Jesus knew that we would only see who he is when we see the cross. Unfortunately, we choose the healings and miracles as our focus every time. So, this week, we get a warning.
If you focus on the details in the story of the murder of John the Baptist—and there are enough colorful, gory details to make a good TV news story—you may miss its true meaning. The real theme of this story is not the drama of life and death that captures our imaginations so well; it is the confrontation between political power and religious faith.
If faith is to be true to itself, its prophets must be willing at need to speak truth to power, even when that comes with a cost that sometimes can be fatal. In his work The Prophets, Abraham Heschel says that a significant aspect of the office of prophet in Israel was to remind the king that “his sovereignty was not unlimited, that over the king’s mishpat [justice] stood the mishpat of the Lord.” This idea frequently clashes with what governments see as their needs. So, it is with Amos.
In 21st century terms, Amos was a threat to homeland security and he might well wind up on a “no-fly list” today. When he prophesies of the fall of Israel, Amaziah, the priest of Bethal says that Israel can not bear all of Amos’ words.
But they are not Amos’ words, they are God’s. The prophet is not guided by his own desires and conviction, but instead is under the compulsion of the Spirit to speak God’s words instead of his own. And in this case, Amos is speaking words of God’s anger against a society which stands on its religion while neglecting common humanity and which has reduced the meaning of sin to cultic, religious, and narrow moral scruples.
John the Baptist is in prison for his prophecy. He has told King Herod that his marriage to his sister-in-law Herodias was unlawful; words which Herod and certainly Herodias did not want to hear. So she works out a scheme which will silence this prophet forever.
This puts Herod in a difficult position. It is clear that he recognizes John’s holiness. But he also wants to please his wife and his daughter Salome and he now feels bound to his rash oath, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you.” We can understand something of what Herod is thinking. We sometimes have to make ethical decisions in our own lives when different pressures conflict within us. While our decisions may not have the impact of Herod’s, we are just as capable of making them for the same reasons Herod gave in and ordered John’s death—pride and security at the expense of the truth. Our challenge is to examine our own decisions as individuals and as a society and ask ourselves whether we are making the right choices to further the establishment of God’s Kingdom in the world.
It may seem that this story is oddly placed in Mark’s Gospel, dropped in after Jesus’ sending the disciples out into the world. But perhaps not. Jesus warned the disciples to do their work in poverty and expect rejection. Just in case, like the disciples, we haven’t gotten the idea that this isn’t about our own glorification, we hear about the end of John the Baptist. Just in case we think following Jesus in the way of the Cross is about glory and not the Cross, we hear John’s story.
It isn’t about wealth and power, glory and prizes. It’s about a crucified God who offers us life and salvation and who bids us come and die. Has the line to sign up started yet?
[Our lessons were Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; and Mark 6:14-29.]
Not too long ago, a Lutheran pastor of a small church was asked if her church would grow and become really big. Her reply was, “No, there’s just not a huge market for the message ‘Jesus bids you come and die.’ Instead, people want to hear, ‘Jesus wants to make you rich!’”
That’s the message we want to hear. At some level, we all want to be victorious, successful, and wealthy, so if someone says that Jesus wants that for us too, great!
Or, maybe not. In Mark’s Gospel Jesus keeps telling people not to tell anyone about his healings and miracles. That’s because Jesus knew how tempting it would be for people to jump on the Jesus Christ Superstar bandwagon (to borrow the title of a 1960’s era rock opera), not realizing that the miracles alone were not enough to show what Jesus was really about. Jesus knew that we would only see who he is when we see the cross. Unfortunately, we choose the healings and miracles as our focus every time. So, this week, we get a warning.
If you focus on the details in the story of the murder of John the Baptist—and there are enough colorful, gory details to make a good TV news story—you may miss its true meaning. The real theme of this story is not the drama of life and death that captures our imaginations so well; it is the confrontation between political power and religious faith.
If faith is to be true to itself, its prophets must be willing at need to speak truth to power, even when that comes with a cost that sometimes can be fatal. In his work The Prophets, Abraham Heschel says that a significant aspect of the office of prophet in Israel was to remind the king that “his sovereignty was not unlimited, that over the king’s mishpat [justice] stood the mishpat of the Lord.” This idea frequently clashes with what governments see as their needs. So, it is with Amos.
In 21st century terms, Amos was a threat to homeland security and he might well wind up on a “no-fly list” today. When he prophesies of the fall of Israel, Amaziah, the priest of Bethal says that Israel can not bear all of Amos’ words.
But they are not Amos’ words, they are God’s. The prophet is not guided by his own desires and conviction, but instead is under the compulsion of the Spirit to speak God’s words instead of his own. And in this case, Amos is speaking words of God’s anger against a society which stands on its religion while neglecting common humanity and which has reduced the meaning of sin to cultic, religious, and narrow moral scruples.
John the Baptist is in prison for his prophecy. He has told King Herod that his marriage to his sister-in-law Herodias was unlawful; words which Herod and certainly Herodias did not want to hear. So she works out a scheme which will silence this prophet forever.
This puts Herod in a difficult position. It is clear that he recognizes John’s holiness. But he also wants to please his wife and his daughter Salome and he now feels bound to his rash oath, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you.” We can understand something of what Herod is thinking. We sometimes have to make ethical decisions in our own lives when different pressures conflict within us. While our decisions may not have the impact of Herod’s, we are just as capable of making them for the same reasons Herod gave in and ordered John’s death—pride and security at the expense of the truth. Our challenge is to examine our own decisions as individuals and as a society and ask ourselves whether we are making the right choices to further the establishment of God’s Kingdom in the world.
It may seem that this story is oddly placed in Mark’s Gospel, dropped in after Jesus’ sending the disciples out into the world. But perhaps not. Jesus warned the disciples to do their work in poverty and expect rejection. Just in case, like the disciples, we haven’t gotten the idea that this isn’t about our own glorification, we hear about the end of John the Baptist. Just in case we think following Jesus in the way of the Cross is about glory and not the Cross, we hear John’s story.
It isn’t about wealth and power, glory and prizes. It’s about a crucified God who offers us life and salvation and who bids us come and die. Has the line to sign up started yet?
Going Home [Proper 9, Year b]
[Our lessons were Ezekiel 2:1-5; Psalm 123; 2 Corinthians 12:2-10; and Mark 6:1-13.]
Going home can be the cause of mixed emotions. It can be pleasant to see people and places that once were familiar, but now are parts of our past. But it is important for us to remember that we aren’t the same people we were then and that the places and people we knew have changed as well. I remember as a teenager returning after only a year to Cocoa Beach, Florida, where I had spent the previous seven years. We stopped by to visit with the people who had bought our house. I was shocked to see unfamiliar furniture in the familiar rooms and that even the kitchen counters seemed lower than I remembered them! The house had changed with its new owners and I had changed as well—after all, I was a growing teenager. I’m sure you can recall examples of your own.
But we have trouble accepting change and growth. Just like us, the people of Nazareth in today’s Gospel had trouble seeing beyond their memories of the youthful Jesus to recognize the power in him. “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?”
The people of Nazareth were unable to see beyond the familiar person to understand what they were hearing and seeing. (What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands!) As Jesus said, prophets were without honor in the home towns.
It’s actually hard to truly honor a prophet. In the Jewish tradition (and thus ours), a prophet’s role was to speak for God, to speak God’s words. Often, those are words that people don’t want to hear. We don’t want to really hear them because God’s truth is hard for us to accept. It requires sacrifices of self and a radical obedience to God that can be costly, unpleasant, and unpopular.
Today’s reading calls on us to listen for the true prophets of God, even when they are familiar to us or when they are not who we would think of as “prophets” or when their message isn’t what we want to hear. May we be courageous enough and open enough to listen to the prophets among us and to heed the word of God that they reveal.
Our Gospel readings the last three Sundays have given us insights into the nature of Jesus’ kingship. He has sovereignty over the created order, so he is co-equal with the Creator. He has authority over life and law; he is one with the giver of life, the source of healing, and the author of law. He has power over evil spirits, so he shares equally in authority with the God of heaven.
Jesus’ authority derives from his absolute obedience and ultimate openness to the will of God.
His authority is exercised by being in relationship with those who come to him in faith, unlike earthly rulers who impose remoteness from those over whom they rule. His rule looks first to the powerless and those on the margins, the celebrated and privileged have no special status with him. Finally, Jesus exercises his kingly power by sharing it freely with those who come to him in faith.
Going home can be the cause of mixed emotions. It can be pleasant to see people and places that once were familiar, but now are parts of our past. But it is important for us to remember that we aren’t the same people we were then and that the places and people we knew have changed as well. I remember as a teenager returning after only a year to Cocoa Beach, Florida, where I had spent the previous seven years. We stopped by to visit with the people who had bought our house. I was shocked to see unfamiliar furniture in the familiar rooms and that even the kitchen counters seemed lower than I remembered them! The house had changed with its new owners and I had changed as well—after all, I was a growing teenager. I’m sure you can recall examples of your own.
But we have trouble accepting change and growth. Just like us, the people of Nazareth in today’s Gospel had trouble seeing beyond their memories of the youthful Jesus to recognize the power in him. “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?”
The people of Nazareth were unable to see beyond the familiar person to understand what they were hearing and seeing. (What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands!) As Jesus said, prophets were without honor in the home towns.
It’s actually hard to truly honor a prophet. In the Jewish tradition (and thus ours), a prophet’s role was to speak for God, to speak God’s words. Often, those are words that people don’t want to hear. We don’t want to really hear them because God’s truth is hard for us to accept. It requires sacrifices of self and a radical obedience to God that can be costly, unpleasant, and unpopular.
Today’s reading calls on us to listen for the true prophets of God, even when they are familiar to us or when they are not who we would think of as “prophets” or when their message isn’t what we want to hear. May we be courageous enough and open enough to listen to the prophets among us and to heed the word of God that they reveal.
Our Gospel readings the last three Sundays have given us insights into the nature of Jesus’ kingship. He has sovereignty over the created order, so he is co-equal with the Creator. He has authority over life and law; he is one with the giver of life, the source of healing, and the author of law. He has power over evil spirits, so he shares equally in authority with the God of heaven.
Jesus’ authority derives from his absolute obedience and ultimate openness to the will of God.
His authority is exercised by being in relationship with those who come to him in faith, unlike earthly rulers who impose remoteness from those over whom they rule. His rule looks first to the powerless and those on the margins, the celebrated and privileged have no special status with him. Finally, Jesus exercises his kingly power by sharing it freely with those who come to him in faith.
Don't Tell Anyone! [Proper 8, Year B]
[Our lessons were Wisdom 1:13-15, 2:23-24; Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; and Mark 5:21-43.]
In our Gospel reading today, after Jesus’ raises Jairus’ daughter—we never learn her name—from the dead, he said something rather odd. “He strictly ordered them that no one should know this…” In fact, that was a frequent instruction of Jesus—that the things he did should not be reported. Why did Jesus say this? Why didn’t he want his deeds trumpeted throughout the countryside?
I think it might be for this reason: At this point, before his death and resurrection, the miracles of Jesus lacked context. To the people of Galilee and its surrounding areas, the acts of Jesus must have seemed only isolated displays of power. But, the real meaning of Jesus’ authority over death was not that he could do miracles or that, with enough faith, the worst things of life would pass us by. (We particularly know that to untrue.)
Jesus’ death and resurrection show us what it really means for Jesus to be greater than death. Jesus wasn’t spared suffering and death. He wasn’t resuscitated merely so he could die again. Instead, God took the life that Jesus had led—a life like ours—and the death he had died—even as we die—and transformed them into something new and better, revealing a new meaning and purpose to human life.
God doesn’t promise us a freedom from the pain and loss and grief and death that is a part of the human existence. Neither does He promise us freedom from the joy and pleasure and passion and excitement that are a part of life.
Instead of removing or protecting us from these things, God does two things. First, God knows all of our human experiences and lives all of them. He sanctifies us and our lives by His experience of them. God shares every aspect of our lives.
Also, God promises us a resurrection like that of Jesus. This means that nothing will be truly lost. God will make something new and renewed of our lives and of our deaths, and of the lives and the deaths of every one for whom he died—which is truly everyone. God promises that there is meaning and hope in each of our lives and in each of our deaths. God promises that His word of love will be the strongest word, and the best word, and the last word. God promises us that He will make all creation new, and that we will indeed be a part of that.
And we can take comfort that our parting from the dead is only temporary. We pray for the dead, not because they need it, but because we do—it helps us keep them close in our hearts. It helps us remember, that as they are with God and God is with us, so they are with us always. As we said in our Psalm:
Weeping may spend the night,
but joy comes in the morning.
In our Gospel reading today, after Jesus’ raises Jairus’ daughter—we never learn her name—from the dead, he said something rather odd. “He strictly ordered them that no one should know this…” In fact, that was a frequent instruction of Jesus—that the things he did should not be reported. Why did Jesus say this? Why didn’t he want his deeds trumpeted throughout the countryside?
I think it might be for this reason: At this point, before his death and resurrection, the miracles of Jesus lacked context. To the people of Galilee and its surrounding areas, the acts of Jesus must have seemed only isolated displays of power. But, the real meaning of Jesus’ authority over death was not that he could do miracles or that, with enough faith, the worst things of life would pass us by. (We particularly know that to untrue.)
Jesus’ death and resurrection show us what it really means for Jesus to be greater than death. Jesus wasn’t spared suffering and death. He wasn’t resuscitated merely so he could die again. Instead, God took the life that Jesus had led—a life like ours—and the death he had died—even as we die—and transformed them into something new and better, revealing a new meaning and purpose to human life.
God doesn’t promise us a freedom from the pain and loss and grief and death that is a part of the human existence. Neither does He promise us freedom from the joy and pleasure and passion and excitement that are a part of life.
Instead of removing or protecting us from these things, God does two things. First, God knows all of our human experiences and lives all of them. He sanctifies us and our lives by His experience of them. God shares every aspect of our lives.
Also, God promises us a resurrection like that of Jesus. This means that nothing will be truly lost. God will make something new and renewed of our lives and of our deaths, and of the lives and the deaths of every one for whom he died—which is truly everyone. God promises that there is meaning and hope in each of our lives and in each of our deaths. God promises that His word of love will be the strongest word, and the best word, and the last word. God promises us that He will make all creation new, and that we will indeed be a part of that.
And we can take comfort that our parting from the dead is only temporary. We pray for the dead, not because they need it, but because we do—it helps us keep them close in our hearts. It helps us remember, that as they are with God and God is with us, so they are with us always. As we said in our Psalm:
Weeping may spend the night,
but joy comes in the morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)