One of the blogs I like to look at (you even see it listed on the right) is "Telling Secrets" by the Rev. Elizabeth Kaeton, an Episcopal priest from New Jersey. But a post I read there today brought me to a dead halt.
Its at least bad manners to reproduce a post on someone else's blog, so if you want to see the complete post (and I encourage it), click here. But here's some selected quotes, hopefully fair use.
She received a call from someone in financial distress:
"'... All of a sudden, we were getting these calls and letters from a lawyer who told us that if we didn't have the money by the end of the week, he was going to foreclose on our house.'
"'For $700?' I asked incredulously. 'He's going to leave a family homeless for $700 in medical bills?' ...
The attorney told them that he had just foreclosed on two other families just that week but he knew a place where they could get a loan that day and save their house. "We went down the street to a place called 'The Cash Store'. They seemed to know that we'd be coming. Within 15 minutes, the papers were all signed and we walked out of the place feeling relieved that we wouldn't lose our home."
When he got home and read over the paper work, he realized the mistake he'd made. The APR was 403%! They would have to make nine weekly payments of $108.50, followed by a payment of $805.50 for total payments of $1,785 on a $700 debt!
By the way, how did they get in trouble? They must have been "irresponsible spendthrifts", right?
His wife has a genetic disorder which their children now have. They lost one son to rectal cancer at 21, their 22-year-old daughter has rectal and brain cancer, and their 12-year-old son has colon cancer. And this is with health insurance! Any other questions?
She then called "The Cash Store" and found out that the loan information was true. The person she talked to said that, yes she did sleep well at night.
She talked to the drug store that was suing the man. They've had so many outstanding debts that he, in his words, "had to resort to a lawyer who has been a godsend to me. He's helping me save my business." When she tried to tell him what the attorney was doing, he said, "I don't want to hear it. I can't hear it. I have to provide for my family, too. You just don't understand how bad it is out here."
The attorney told her to "turn your goody-two-shoes in the opposite direction and mind your own damn business. You just don't understand how bad it is out here."
She worked with some fellow priests to come up with enough money for The Cash Store to let the family off the hook (after browbeating them a bit). Good news, right?
Yes, it is. But it left me with two thoughts:
1. I don't know which hurts the most: what these people were doing to their neighbors or the coldness in the hearts as they did it.
2. If it is "that bad out here", how in the name of God does anyone justify the Government not trying to do everything it can to get people working again?
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The First Sermon?
[Our readings were Acts 3:12-19; Psalm 4; 1 John 3:1-7; and Luke 24:36b-48.]
It’s an ancient tradition that, during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we hear from Luke’s account of the earliest days of the Church in the book of Acts. Today, we hear what Peter says to a crowd that has gathered around him and John in Solomon’s Portico of the Temple after the healing of the crippled beggar at the Beautiful Gate.
What did the crowd want? Healing for themselves? More miracles? An explanation? Perhaps they didn’t know themselves. What they got was a sermon, which is likely not what they expected. (In other words, you’re hearing a sermon about a sermon!) In fact, Peter’s sermon, not the miracle, is the center of the reading.
This sermon is probably the first where Jesus’ resurrection is preached. And, as Archbishop Rowan William has written, the crowd is not ignorant of Jesus and is neither neutral nor wholly innocent. The audience for this sermon is itself part of the story. So, when Peter said “you rejected” and “you killed”, there was some literal truth there.
Some of these words have been the excuse for hideous acts of anti-Semitism over the centuries. Jews as late as our time have been forced to pay the penalty for an act that occurred almost two millennia ago. But Peter’s purpose is not punishment but reconciliation, in fact, he excuses them and, I believe, would have been horrified to see how those who called themselves Christians used his words to persecute Peter’s own people.
The first point Peter makes is that the people misunderstood the source of the healing and thought it came from Peter and John. It seems to be human nature to assume that some person has healing powers and they can make them available to us. We desperately want to believe that they can bring healing and wholeness to our lives. So we order that CD, go to the tent rally, or watch the TV program. As Peter tells the crowd, “Why do you think it was our power that healed? This is about God’s power.”
Peter’s second point is that the crowd wrongly thinks that brokenness is the rule and healing the exception in life with God. We often tend to think this way—that life is apart from God, only punctuated with astonishing acts by God. That’s why the crowd rushed to the Temple; Peter and John’s ministry of healing seemed to be an astonishing exception to life as usual. But Peter asks “Why do you wonder?” and teaches of the Kingdom of God, where God’s healing and forgiveness are as commonplace as sunshine and rain.
Finally, the crowd (as often we do) thinks that healing only calls for astonishment. When we see a sign of God at work in the world—someone is healed, a broken relationship is restored, a hungry child is fed, despair yields to hope—people are filled with wonder and joy. But Peter calls for more. God’s healing reveals a different place, a different kingdom that we can glimpse amidst the ruins of this one. These glimpses summon us to repent—to change our path to God’s path—so that we can claim our citizenship in the Kingdom of God and truly become a part of God’s work in the world.
It’s an ancient tradition that, during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we hear from Luke’s account of the earliest days of the Church in the book of Acts. Today, we hear what Peter says to a crowd that has gathered around him and John in Solomon’s Portico of the Temple after the healing of the crippled beggar at the Beautiful Gate.
What did the crowd want? Healing for themselves? More miracles? An explanation? Perhaps they didn’t know themselves. What they got was a sermon, which is likely not what they expected. (In other words, you’re hearing a sermon about a sermon!) In fact, Peter’s sermon, not the miracle, is the center of the reading.
This sermon is probably the first where Jesus’ resurrection is preached. And, as Archbishop Rowan William has written, the crowd is not ignorant of Jesus and is neither neutral nor wholly innocent. The audience for this sermon is itself part of the story. So, when Peter said “you rejected” and “you killed”, there was some literal truth there.
Some of these words have been the excuse for hideous acts of anti-Semitism over the centuries. Jews as late as our time have been forced to pay the penalty for an act that occurred almost two millennia ago. But Peter’s purpose is not punishment but reconciliation, in fact, he excuses them and, I believe, would have been horrified to see how those who called themselves Christians used his words to persecute Peter’s own people.
The first point Peter makes is that the people misunderstood the source of the healing and thought it came from Peter and John. It seems to be human nature to assume that some person has healing powers and they can make them available to us. We desperately want to believe that they can bring healing and wholeness to our lives. So we order that CD, go to the tent rally, or watch the TV program. As Peter tells the crowd, “Why do you think it was our power that healed? This is about God’s power.”
Peter’s second point is that the crowd wrongly thinks that brokenness is the rule and healing the exception in life with God. We often tend to think this way—that life is apart from God, only punctuated with astonishing acts by God. That’s why the crowd rushed to the Temple; Peter and John’s ministry of healing seemed to be an astonishing exception to life as usual. But Peter asks “Why do you wonder?” and teaches of the Kingdom of God, where God’s healing and forgiveness are as commonplace as sunshine and rain.
Finally, the crowd (as often we do) thinks that healing only calls for astonishment. When we see a sign of God at work in the world—someone is healed, a broken relationship is restored, a hungry child is fed, despair yields to hope—people are filled with wonder and joy. But Peter calls for more. God’s healing reveals a different place, a different kingdom that we can glimpse amidst the ruins of this one. These glimpses summon us to repent—to change our path to God’s path—so that we can claim our citizenship in the Kingdom of God and truly become a part of God’s work in the world.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Heart Attack + 1 [Year, that is]
Today makes the first anniversary of a rather important event in my life. I had a heart attack. Here is how I described it a few days later.
Why do I want to remember having a heart attack? Because I know I was lucky to go in to get help as quickly as I did (thanks to a wise and wonderful wife!), even more, I was lucky to come home at all, lucky to have a job with a large sick leave balance so I could recuperate at home without fearing for my paycheck, lucky to have excellent health insurance, and lucky to have caring friends.
I've made diet changes, some exercise changes (somewhat hindered by arthritis) and lots of medication changes. I'm 35 pounds lighter than a year ago and I'm told I look several years younger.
I want to remember my heart attack to remind myself not to do anything to increase my chances of going back there. There are no guarantees of getting to go back home.
I like stories about alternate histories--where the Civil War turned out differently, for example. As Data said in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, "For any event there is an infinite number of possible outcomes. Our choices determine which outcome will follow. According to a theory, everything that can happen does happen in some other quantum reality." (In the picture, the infinite number of versions of a character get together.)
An unhappy alternate history: somewhere maybe I didn't listen to my wife or just things turned out a little differently. And I didn't come home. My wife would have been a widow for the last year, I wouldn't have gotten to see my son accepted to Georgia Tech (yay!), and I wouldn't have seen our absolutely darling little rat terrier, Hayley. The line between outcomes can be very thin. I don't want to test them again.
And, while I've been back to Red Lobster, I haven't had the fried seafood platter again. The broiled platter tastes just fine, thank you!
Why do I want to remember having a heart attack? Because I know I was lucky to go in to get help as quickly as I did (thanks to a wise and wonderful wife!), even more, I was lucky to come home at all, lucky to have a job with a large sick leave balance so I could recuperate at home without fearing for my paycheck, lucky to have excellent health insurance, and lucky to have caring friends.
I've made diet changes, some exercise changes (somewhat hindered by arthritis) and lots of medication changes. I'm 35 pounds lighter than a year ago and I'm told I look several years younger.
I want to remember my heart attack to remind myself not to do anything to increase my chances of going back there. There are no guarantees of getting to go back home.
I like stories about alternate histories--where the Civil War turned out differently, for example. As Data said in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, "For any event there is an infinite number of possible outcomes. Our choices determine which outcome will follow. According to a theory, everything that can happen does happen in some other quantum reality." (In the picture, the infinite number of versions of a character get together.)An unhappy alternate history: somewhere maybe I didn't listen to my wife or just things turned out a little differently. And I didn't come home. My wife would have been a widow for the last year, I wouldn't have gotten to see my son accepted to Georgia Tech (yay!), and I wouldn't have seen our absolutely darling little rat terrier, Hayley. The line between outcomes can be very thin. I don't want to test them again.
And, while I've been back to Red Lobster, I haven't had the fried seafood platter again. The broiled platter tastes just fine, thank you!
Doubt and Thomas
[Our lessons were Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; and John 20:19-31.]
During one of the tax protests this week, a woman was seen holding a sign which read, “My God, My Money, My Guns”. I suspect she is certain that our country is departing from the true path of capitalism and that capitalism of course is God’s will.
I wonder how she would square that with the words we just heard from Acts: “... no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” The believers sold their homes and land and gave the proceeds to the apostles who distributed the funds so that there “was not a needy person among them.”
Compare that practice of the early Church to the assertions that those who are in dire straits are “losers” who are in trouble solely because of their own irresponsibility with the clear implication that those who have do not have any obligation towards those who do not have. We obviously can’t say that there is not a needy person among us in this country!
While we want certainty in our lives, we must be careful not to confuse doubt—the lack of certainty—with disbelief. And that brings us to the familiar story of St. Thomas.
We really don’t know that much about St. Thomas. What most of us think we know is from this familiar story in St. John’s Gospel. But, on other occasions, Thomas showed that he was committed to Jesus. He was been willing to face death for Jesus when the other disciples were afraid. But the events of Good Friday were too much for him. Can we blame him?
We don’t know where Thomas went, but we know he was not with the other disciples on the evening of the first Easter, when the risen Lord first appeared to them. He missed it! So, when the disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord,” it was too much for him to believe and he demanded proof. This resurrection story was too good to be true.
Thomas had separated himself from the other disciples and missed Jesus’ appearance. Christ appears to us most within the community of believers—the Church—and when we separate ourselves from the Church, we risk missing him.
We can all identify with Thomas. Thomas is a lot like us—wanting to believe, but not able to make that leap of faith without help.
Jesus did not blame Thomas for his doubt. Jesus again appears to the disciples, including Thomas, and gently said, “Do not doubt but believe,” and Thomas responded, “My Lord and my God!” This was the first time Jesus was named as God, not exactly a minor event!
Faith is not the absence of doubt; it is the overcoming of doubt. We all doubt at times—when the pain of loss is too deep, when evil seems to triumph for a day—and we will do so again. To err may be human, but to doubt certainly is.
This reading speaks directly to us. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Scholars believe that John’s Gospel was written later than the other Gospels, possibly as late as 90 or 100. By that time, everyone was one of “those who have not seen.” They needed to be told that those who had not physically seen Jesus are blessed as well.
We often call Thomas “Doubting Thomas” and we don’t mean it in a good way. We seem to believe that it is wrong to doubt. But doubting is a natural part of the human nature that God gave us and it is nothing to be ashamed of.
One of my favorite literary characters, Anthony Trollope’s Duke of Omnium, put it this way when consoling a friend who had been wrongly charged with murder. He said, “I no more believed you could have done that than could I. But I am human and fallible and I could not eliminate doubt.” Even when we say we are “sure”, we can’t escape doubt. And when we doubt, we can look to Thomas’ example. He can give us the courage to face our doubts.
God does not require or expect or even want us to be free of doubt. He calls us to face our doubts, honestly and openly. We need to have courage and wisdom to deal with our doubts, not accept a false idea that doubting itself is wrong. We need this inner-directed kind of doubt that makes us aware of our own limitations and keeps us on the path of discovery—on our journey of faith in Christ.
When we have doubts and we struggle to believe, we should think of Thomas. He shows us that doubt need not destroy faith. “Love can survive in darkness, unveiling in the gloom the presence of the risen Lord.” And when that happens, we can only hope to respond as he did, “My Lord and My God.”
Those of us in our time as ones who haven’t had the opportunity to be eyewitnesses to the Resurrection have the testimony of the eyewitnesses, which was passed on to other believers and to the next generation, until it is here with us today. It is our faith now that believes because of their testimony and the lives of the faithful over the centuries.
[My thanks to the Rev. Canon Daniel J. Webster of New York and the Daily Episcopalian web site for the story on the tax protests.]
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Hearing the Cock Crow
Our priest this morning told us a very moving story that I wanted to post (in paraphrase as I wasn't taking notes):
A priest was hungry at lunch time and stopped at this hamburger joint. It was fairly crowded and while he waited his turn to order, he noticed an elderly black man standing alone at another counter, waiting patiently for someone to take his order, but he was being ignored. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
The priest waited his turn and ordered a cheeseburger and french fries. He saw that the elderly black man was still being ignored. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
When they brought him his food--a cheeseburger with all the trimmings, french fries and a drink, they still were ignoring the elderly black man, who patiently waited, shifting his weight from one leg to another, as someone may do when they're tired from too much standing. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
They charged him $1.95 (obviously this wasn't a new story). While he waited for his change, he saw that a clearly uninterested employee finally took the black man's order--a hamburger. They brought out a shrivelled, overcooked pattie on a stale dried-up bun, no trimmings, no fries, and nothing to drink. When the black man paid for it, he gave the employee three $1 bills. The employee turned his back on the man and walked away, not giving any change in return. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
And, as he left the restaurant, he heard a cock crow...
We can deny Jesus in all kinds of ways, from what we say to what we do. Sometimes it's what we don't do, as when we are silently complicit in wrongdoing.
A priest was hungry at lunch time and stopped at this hamburger joint. It was fairly crowded and while he waited his turn to order, he noticed an elderly black man standing alone at another counter, waiting patiently for someone to take his order, but he was being ignored. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
The priest waited his turn and ordered a cheeseburger and french fries. He saw that the elderly black man was still being ignored. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
When they brought him his food--a cheeseburger with all the trimmings, french fries and a drink, they still were ignoring the elderly black man, who patiently waited, shifting his weight from one leg to another, as someone may do when they're tired from too much standing. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
They charged him $1.95 (obviously this wasn't a new story). While he waited for his change, he saw that a clearly uninterested employee finally took the black man's order--a hamburger. They brought out a shrivelled, overcooked pattie on a stale dried-up bun, no trimmings, no fries, and nothing to drink. When the black man paid for it, he gave the employee three $1 bills. The employee turned his back on the man and walked away, not giving any change in return. The priest was in a hurry, so he didn't say anything.
And, as he left the restaurant, he heard a cock crow...
We can deny Jesus in all kinds of ways, from what we say to what we do. Sometimes it's what we don't do, as when we are silently complicit in wrongdoing.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Hosanna!
[Our lessons were Mark 11:1-11; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; and Mark 14:1-15:47.]
Holy Week is a time of contrasts. We begin Palm Sunday in seeming triumph, which quickly turns to what seems to be final, utter defeat, which in three days itself turns into the victory of Easter Day. One of the things that makes Holy Week difficult for us is these sudden mood swings back and forth.
Around the year 380, a Spanish nun named Egeria visited the Holy Land and described the Bishop and people going in procession from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem, carrying palm fronds and olive branches, re-enacting Jesus’ triumphal procession into Jerusalem.
In his method of entry, Jesus carried out a bit of street theatre, parodying the triumphal entry of a victorious Roman emperor. Instead of the emperor’s war horse, he rode on a donkey, signifying that he came in peace. Much of the symbolism no doubt went over the head of the crowd and probably a part of the crowd was simply attracted by all the commotion. As much as any of them saw that Palm Sunday, Jesus was preparing to chase the Romans out and re-establish David’s Kingdom.
Is it any wonder that these events upset the powers of the time—the Romans and the Priests? When you’re on top, change is not a good thing because you can only go down. A claim that Jesus would re-establish the Kingdom of Israel would be seen as sedition and treason by the Empire. And while the Jewish authorities had no real love for the Romans, it didn’t take much wisdom on their parts to see that the type of Kingdom of God that Jesus was proclaiming didn’t have a place for them. Both groups had a vested interest in bringing about Jesus’ death.
And there’s little doubt that Jesus knew this. He knew that the end of this procession led not to a throne but to the Cross. (No Jew of that time could have any doubt about how the Empire punished treason and sedition—a cross.) He knew that this “triumphal” procession was in truth a funeral procession, as we do when we sing
Ride on! Ride on in majesty!
In Lowly pomp ride on to die;
Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,
Then take, O God, thy power and rein.
Unlike the people of Jerusalem and the Apostles, we know where this is leading. As much as we wish for Jesus to stay away from Gethsemane, for Judas to not betray him, for Peter to not deny Jesus, we know that the Cross is the destination that Holy Week leads us to. Jesus would not avoid it and we cannot avoid it either. It is the Passion that gives the entry into Jerusalem context.
Jesus did not want the Cross; he did not want to die. He could have turned aside from that path and he asked God to let “this Cup” pass from him. But he accepted death and remained obedient to God, knowing the price he would pay. And because he did so, death could be defeated.
Without Good Friday, Easter can’t have meaning. Without death, there can be no resurrection.
Palm Sunday is the beginning of a week-long journey from seeming triumph to utter despair to endless hope that Christians must take, no matter how much we would avoid it. To get past the Cross to an empty tomb on Easter day, we have to go to the Cross first. We must walk the way of the Cross this week so we can reach Easter next weekend.
Holy Week is a time of contrasts. We begin Palm Sunday in seeming triumph, which quickly turns to what seems to be final, utter defeat, which in three days itself turns into the victory of Easter Day. One of the things that makes Holy Week difficult for us is these sudden mood swings back and forth.
Around the year 380, a Spanish nun named Egeria visited the Holy Land and described the Bishop and people going in procession from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem, carrying palm fronds and olive branches, re-enacting Jesus’ triumphal procession into Jerusalem.
In his method of entry, Jesus carried out a bit of street theatre, parodying the triumphal entry of a victorious Roman emperor. Instead of the emperor’s war horse, he rode on a donkey, signifying that he came in peace. Much of the symbolism no doubt went over the head of the crowd and probably a part of the crowd was simply attracted by all the commotion. As much as any of them saw that Palm Sunday, Jesus was preparing to chase the Romans out and re-establish David’s Kingdom.
Is it any wonder that these events upset the powers of the time—the Romans and the Priests? When you’re on top, change is not a good thing because you can only go down. A claim that Jesus would re-establish the Kingdom of Israel would be seen as sedition and treason by the Empire. And while the Jewish authorities had no real love for the Romans, it didn’t take much wisdom on their parts to see that the type of Kingdom of God that Jesus was proclaiming didn’t have a place for them. Both groups had a vested interest in bringing about Jesus’ death.
And there’s little doubt that Jesus knew this. He knew that the end of this procession led not to a throne but to the Cross. (No Jew of that time could have any doubt about how the Empire punished treason and sedition—a cross.) He knew that this “triumphal” procession was in truth a funeral procession, as we do when we sing
Ride on! Ride on in majesty!
In Lowly pomp ride on to die;
Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,
Then take, O God, thy power and rein.
Unlike the people of Jerusalem and the Apostles, we know where this is leading. As much as we wish for Jesus to stay away from Gethsemane, for Judas to not betray him, for Peter to not deny Jesus, we know that the Cross is the destination that Holy Week leads us to. Jesus would not avoid it and we cannot avoid it either. It is the Passion that gives the entry into Jerusalem context.
Jesus did not want the Cross; he did not want to die. He could have turned aside from that path and he asked God to let “this Cup” pass from him. But he accepted death and remained obedient to God, knowing the price he would pay. And because he did so, death could be defeated.
Without Good Friday, Easter can’t have meaning. Without death, there can be no resurrection.
Palm Sunday is the beginning of a week-long journey from seeming triumph to utter despair to endless hope that Christians must take, no matter how much we would avoid it. To get past the Cross to an empty tomb on Easter day, we have to go to the Cross first. We must walk the way of the Cross this week so we can reach Easter next weekend.
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