A Maskil Edition

A what? “A Maskil.” You’ve noticed, I am sure, the odd little headings in front of many of the Psalms. There are all sorts of them and many of them have caused some confusion and debate in biblical scholarship. Even something as simple as “Of David” causes considerable debate. Some argue that a Psalm with the heading “Of David” or “a Psalm of David” means that David wrote it. Duh. But wait, say others. It would be that it is in the style of David. Or that it means in honor of David. Or that someone had what they thought was a hit on their hands but since they were relatively unknown they put David’s name on it so that it would get more airplay by the Temple D Js. (Or should that “Priest Jockeys” since they didn’t actually have Disks to spin - but then no one would take them seriously if we called them P Js, now would they?)

Where was I? As you can see, debate and disagreement is not confined to Congress. Biblical scholars have made it a spectator sport. Even where there is general agreement, the nuance continues. One heading says “The Lilies” or “To the Lilies.” Most agree this is a musical notation of some sort, a tune by which the psalm would have been sung or chanted. But was this fast or slow? Happy or sad? No one knows. And most of us don’t care all that much, to be honest. You’re probably wondering why I am taking even this much space to bring it up.

Well, because I learned something this week and just had to share it. The heading on the Psalm I have chosen as our scripture for this week’s worship says “A Maskil.” Well, it actually says “Of David. A Maskil.” But we’ve already covered the “Of David” meme here. So, I slid over to the other one. A Maskil, it says. If you’re like me then you just bleep over that and get on to the verse. How many times have I seen that word and never really bothered to figure out what it means? Well, lots. And the truth is I get tired of the “we don’t really know” kind of response that biblical scholars give all the time. So, I usually ignore it, and was all set to do so again this week.

But then I had a short course of writer’s block and needed to get this done today (more on that later). So, I started to panic and scan around for a straw to grasp. And my eyes landed on “a maskil” sitting there at the top of the page. So, I started to work. Got out the old seminary texts, even dusted off the Hebrew Old Testament text for a look see. Even looked it up in a dictionary. I know, amazing.

The first thing I saw was this: “a maskil is a member or adherent of the haskalah.” Helpful. Don’t you just love dictionaries? Haskalah is a European Jewish intellectual movement in the 18th and 19th Centuries. Wait. What? A word that appears in the Old Testament is a reference to18th Century Judaism? Call Tim LaHaye, I feel a book coming on.

Dig a little deeper and you discover that the “maskilim” (the plural form of maskil) chose that descriptor because of the references it held in Jewish tradition. The Hashalah movement was designed to reclaim the Jewish culture and tradition, but not so much in terms of artifacts or even of rituals, but in philosophy or theology. It was an intellectual movement, remember. It was a way of thinking, and thinking deeply about what it meant to be Jewish, to be a part of the chosen people, the beloved of God.

A way of thinking. We tend to separate thinking and doing into separate categories of human existence. And that makes sense on some levels. But followers of God know that believing (which is a way of thinking) is only effective when the thinking comes out in living. We understand that to claim certain intellectual certainties without concurrent behavioral responses is to live an inauthentic life.

But since we are all prone to such living, to acting in ways that are often contrary to our beliefs, to living in ways that deny our commitment to our faith, we need reminders from time to time. We need an intellectual kick in the pants to get us back on track. A Maskil psalm is just such a kick in the pants. It is a reminder that we live in certain ways. A psalm that teaches you something, is one definition. I would extend it to a psalm that reminds you of something. There may not be an “aha” moment in the reading for this week, but is certainly an “oh, yeah, I knew that” moment.

Psalm 32:1-11 Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. 2 Happy are those to whom the LORD imputes no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit. 3 While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. 4 For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah 5 Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the LORD," and you forgave the guilt of my sin. Selah 6 Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them. 7 You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with glad cries of deliverance. Selah 8 I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you. 9 Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you. 10 Many are the torments of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the LORD. 11 Be glad in the LORD and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.

But then, you knew that, didn’t you? You knew, maybe from experience, maybe from observation, that sin has a way of messing with you. You knew that guilt erodes any sense of self confidence we might have, makes us feel unworthy even of love, and love from the God who wants to love everyone. You knew that carrying around a burden of brokenness becomes a weight that destroys rather than builds up.

More than that, you knew that confession is good for the soul! And not just in a cliche sort of way. In a real way. In a finally able to breathe, weight of the world off of your shoulders kind of way. You knew that, because you have been there and felt that release. You knew that because you have lived through broken relationships that have been healed through confession and you know the joy of that healing.

We know it. So why don’t we do it more often? The confessing and healing thing I mean. Why do we need a kick in the pants, a maskil to come around every now and then and remind us? Because we’re human? No, because it is hard. It is hard to forgive and hard to be forgiven. We have to swallow some pride, we have to acknowledge that we’ve hurt someone, we have to live with the consequences. It’s hard. Which is why we need teachers. We need mentors in the faith who will show us what a life of graciousness looks like.

Which brings me to why I am doing this epistle now instead of tomorrow like usual. Saturday and Sunday I am going to participate in a Memorial Service for one of my mentors in the faith. On Saturday, I will teach in the morning and then head to Bloomington for the first service. And then on Sunday after church here in Fort Wayne, La Donna and I will travel to Elkhart where I served alongside this amazing man. Jack Pavy was my Senior Pastor when I came back from Scotland with a PhD and a lot of stuff in my head, but still pretty green on how to live in the real world of the church. Jack was patient and supportive and encouraging. He put me in situations that an associate doesn’t normally get to experience. But it revealed a trust and a confidence in me and my abilities that I so wanted to live up to. And sometimes he was a maskil, a kick in the pants kind of reminder that I needed. In short, I am where I am and who I am because of Jack Pavy. It was my honor to be asked to preach at the services being held on opposite ends of the state to honor him, and to celebrate this faith that we shared.

Shalom,
Derek

Picking a Fight

You're touching me!" "No, you're touching me, this is my space!" "Mom, he's touching me." Or "Mom she's looking at me!!" Or even worse, "Mom, he's breathing my air!!!"

OK, my kids have grown past the sharing a backseat stage. Of course bucket seats and a third row helped considerably. But those days of squabbling over real estate haven't completely disappeared. "I was sitting there!" "You got up." ... "Get out of my room!" "Keep your stuff on your side of the sink, would ya?"

Life seems full of ample opportunities to pick a fight. Chances to shift blame or point fingers. Maybe it is a product of our post-modern malaise. It seems worse than ever. And it goes beyond families into communities, or nations. How do we conduct our political conversations these days? Town Hall meetings that are mere shouting matches, Tea Party rallies designed to inflame a sense of panic and frustration and the discovery of a political party's talking points program focused on increasing fear of the other. The enemy. It's their fault. They don't play fair. They aren't like us, they don't value what we value. We are all weaker because of them. "Mom, they're touching me!"

It seems worse. Surely there was a level of civility that we've lost these days. Didn't we used to talk about "the loyal opposition" with respect for the political systems in place? Weren't public debates designed to help make decisions based on ideas and vision and not on making the other guy look bad? Or did we imagine that too?

And what does all this have to do with anything? Or at least with our scripture text for this week? Surely Luke doesn't present us with a political hornet's nest designed to pick a fight. Does he? Take a look:

Luke 13:1-9 At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2 He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4 Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them-- do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? 5 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." 6 Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7 So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' 8 He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. 9 If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"

Oh, great, an obscure historical reference and an even more obscure agricultural parable. Just what we need here in the season of Lent. Maybe we should leave these fields behind and move to the text of the spiritual for the week. That might move this conversation along a little bit. So, what is it this time? "Keep your hand on the plow / Hold on." Uh.

So, Luke introduces this chapter by saying that "some present" came to tell Jesus about an event. We don't have a clue who these "some present" folks were. Were they just your average Joe's and Jane's going about their daily business and trying to get by who wanted to make sure that Jesus had been reading the newspapers? Remember how in school you learned that there were all sorts of speeches that you could learn to give, the persuasive, the informative, the acceptance, the demonstrative, etc. But what they never told you was that there was really no such thing as an informative speech. At least in our cynical age. Everyone has an agenda. One of the questions we have to ask is "why did they tell Jesus this story?" Did they really think he hadn't heard that one yet?

The truth is we don't know for sure about the event referred to here. Either one, for that matter. We don't know anything about a Tower of Siloam and its falling. And we don't know anything about the Galileans who were killed making sacrifices. None of the other gospel writers mention this event and there isn't any real historical account that identifies what happened.

There is speculation and rumor. Pilate, despite the Gospel accounts that make him out as helpless at best or wishy-washy at worst, is depicted elsewhere as a pretty nasty piece of work. Some say that he was exiled to this little backwater of the Roman Empire and he proceeded to take it out on the natives at regular intervals. He was always rubbing the official divine status of the emperor in the faces of the Jews, who considered it blasphemy. He was constantly revoking the "special status" of the temple treasury and claiming funds for his own purposes. He was frequently spoiling the religious festivals and feast days by making onerous public decrees that prohibited or limited their celebrations.

The story was that there were rumors of an uprising coming to Jerusalem, so Pilate sent undercover soldiers into the temple to find and dispatch the ring-leaders. Which they proceeded to do with frightening Roman efficiency. Right in the courtyards of the temple. Spilling human blood to mingle with the animal sacrifices, which immediately profaned all the worship that day and made the temple - the temple mind you - unclean for a period of days, until the proper rituals could be performed.

Most likely, these "some present" in verse one were there trying to get Jesus to take a side in a political debate. They might have been zealots who wanted Jesus to come out for their revolutionary agenda. They might have been the establishment who would hoping he would say something that would get Rome interested enough to take care of their problem. Or they might have been people appalled that such a thing could take place and wanted someone to answer the ubiquitous question: "Why?"

True to form, Jesus doesn't do any of that. He refuses to engage in political finger pointing and name calling. At the same time he side steps the theological issue of whether they somehow deserved their fate - because if they didn't then the world is suddenly less safe, and terrible things happen to innocent people. He does weigh in on this, but only to deny its reality. Were they worse sinners than you to deserve such a fate? "No, I tell you." Pretty definitive there. But then he goes on with that repent stuff. Wait a minute, Jesus, you just said that sinfulness is not the reason they died so horribly. So, why do we need to repent? It won't save us from dying!

Ah, Jesus would reply, salvation is not about dying. It is about living. Then he tells the parable that essentially asks us how we intend to live. Do you want to be one of those who simply takes up space? One of those who is a waste of dirt? Or do you want to be one that produces fruit? Do you want your life to amount to something or for your death to be simply another statistic?

Makes all the energy we spend casting blame and picking fights seem kind of pointless, doesn't it? Jesus' question in the thirteenth chapter of Luke is nothing less than: "What are you living for?"

Shalom,
Derek

What Was That?

Darn that groundhog!

OK, maybe it wasn’t the fault of Punxsutawney Phil or any of his imitators. But it seems too much of a coincidence that a couple of days after that rodent was scared by his shadow, we get dumped on by Snowmaggedon! I didn’t make that up. I saw it in an online news report before it happened. It was a prediction. Snowmageddon is coming! Run for the hills! Or the beach. Or someplace warm. A desert.

OK, reel it in a bit here. Still, February snow storms always catch us by surprise for some reason. Maybe we had a taste of warmer weather (Hey, this is Indiana, 40 is warmer in January), maybe the previous snow had melted, and despite the prognostications of burrow dwelling creatures we were setting our minds to the end of winter. Then, BAM! Another storm hits. We’re out there shoveling again wondering where this came from. We’re out there, and it is deeper than we had thought it was going to be. Deeper than we were prepared for. Deeper than we had imagined.

So, now we have a taste of what those first disciples felt that day on Lake Gennesaret. Here is our passage for this first week in February.

Luke 5:1-11 Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, ² he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. ³ He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. ⁴ When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." ⁵ Simon answered, "Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets." ⁶ When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. ⁷ So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. ⁸ But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" ⁹ For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; ¹⁰ and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people." ¹¹ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

In the conversation we learn that it hadn’t been a good night for Simon. Fishing was done at night in those days. The fishermen would spend the night in the shallows tossing their nets and pulling in the catch. Then as dawn broke, they would bring the fish to shore and sell them at the market. Because of a lack of facilities for preserving fish, this was a daily event. Except this day.

This day, for Simon, was a hungry day. Nothing to sell, nothing to take home for his family. Nothing. It might have been that he was still sitting in his boat because he didn’t want to go home and tell them that he had nothing. It might have been that he was sitting there feeling empty, feeling worthless, feeling shallow. Until that man came and asked him to go out into the deep.

Luke says that Jesus was teaching and everyone kept pressing closer and closer. The crowd grew and pressed in to hear. So, Jesus looks around for options, and sees Peter sitting there in his boat with failure on his hands. So, Jesus steps in and asks if he would mind rowing out a little way so that he could teach without risking getting wet.

An amazing thing, don’t you think? A little invitation, a small inconvenience and before you know it, Simon was in over his head. Did Jesus show up that day looking for followers? Or was that a bonus? The catch of the day?

And what was the lesson that day? I find it interesting that Luke doesn’t say a word about what Jesus taught. In Luke’s haste to get to Simon Peter’s story, we skip over Jesus’ words. Typical, I suppose. We sometimes miss what is right in front of our faces, because we want to get to something more personal. We skim over the article to see if our name is there, we glance through the program to find someone familiar, we scan the crowd to find a certain face, and in so doing we miss everything and everyone else. Jesus may have been talking about paying attention. It was a common theme in his teaching elsewhere, no reason to think it would have been absent here. "Consider the lilies," he would say, "look there, wheat and weeds growing together," that road, this seed, those fields – Jesus was always asking us to pay attention to what was around us. Like a preschool primer, Jesus said "Look and See."

Yet it was never just the appearance of things that interested Jesus. He was really saying look deeper. Which is what he said to Peter when the teaching was over. "Let’s go deep." That’s where the drama is, isn’t it?

I know that tomorrow is the Super Bowl, and I first thought about using that as the entrance into all of this today. But given that I live in a house with non-sports fans all the time, I thought it better to go with the sudden snow storm (besides who could resist a word like "Snowmaggedon"?) Yet, even a nominal fan knows the excitement of a long completed pass that moves down the field with a combination of skill and grace. Going deep brings the big cheers. And while I will join those who are hoping for a Colts win, my secret hope is for a exciting game, filled with going deep - to Reggie Wayne, and Pierre Garcon and Dallas, and Austin and all those other Colts players! Go deep.

Peter was open. He didn’t know it, because he wasn’t paying attention, but he was. He was open to going deep. Even though it was against his better judgement. Even though it wasn’t the way things were done in his business. Even though he had been unsuccessful the night before. He was open. And that small opening is all it takes for miracles to occur. A willingness to look deeper, to live deeper. There is so much right in front of our faces, and we miss it.

Peter knew he was in over his head. "Go away from me," that’s the first thing he thinks to say in the face of someone who lives so much more deeply than he did. Go away, I can’t handle it, I’m not good enough for it, I don’t have the strength. Remember he had been up all night, struggling with his failures. Someone once said Jesus doesn’t come when we are well rested and ready all that often. Usually it is when we have labored all night and caught nothing, often it is when we want to give up, when we think there is nothing left and we aren’t any good at life. Then Jesus comes and says "go deeper."

"From now on you will catching people." Like he did that day on Lake Gennesaret. Like he did because he lived deeply. Like he has done for the past two thousand years, gathering up those who long to live deeply, to live aware of life. It is no wonder that when they came to shore, they walked away from the fish, the biggest catch in their careers. They walked away to go deep.

Snowmaggedon drifted as it fell last night. There were bare spots in the driveway as Rhys and I shoveled this morning. Bare spots and deep spots. Some of it was easy to move, a light touch, a minimal effort. Some of it required more attention and effort and energy. And yet, somehow there was more satisfaction, more of a sense of accomplishment from going deep. Don’t you think?

Shalom,

Derek

Got Plans?

This will probably be shorter than usual. Partly because I’m not preaching this weekend, and partly because Maddie have the place to ourselves. La Donna is off at a UMW Spiritual Retreat, the first for the new Indiana Conference. And Rhys is in Elkhart for an overnight debate meet. Which leaves just Maddie and me. And she’s got plans.

Plans are good, I like plans. Or at least I like them when they coincide with what I wanted to do anyway. Or with something I would enjoy doing had I thought of it. But sometimes Maddie’s plans don’t interest me all that much. Not always, and today we’ve worked out some compromises. But often we rebel against someone else’s plans. We like being in charge of our own destiny. We like being the decision makers of our own lives. In fact we would have trouble with the idea that someone else is making plans for our lives. We can’t think of anything worse than arranged marriages, for example, or indentured service. We would rebel against that, we would rise up in arms. We would charge the perpetrators with oppression, or worse. It is in our cultural make up to determine our own direction.

Which makes me wonder how we hear our scripture for this weekend. It seems to counter our natural, or at least cultural tendency. Or am I misreading something here? Take a look.

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Now the word of the LORD came to me saying, ⁵ "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations." ⁶ Then I said, "Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy." ⁷ But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a boy'; for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you. ⁸ Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD." ⁹ Then the LORD put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the LORD said to me, "Now I have put my words in your mouth. ¹⁰ See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant."

Got plans? Here is the question, is this just for Jeremiah, or is it for all of us? Does God indeed have our lives planned out for us from conception? Or before conception - depending on how you read verse 4? Is this irrefutable proof of predestination? Or are we missing something here?

Jeremiah seems stuck, to be honest. And I’m pretty sure that is how he feels about it. He is called the weeping prophet, because on his days off he spends time running around saying "I wish I had never been born!" He seems to hate his calling. He wishes he could unload it, and given the chance he would. Except that he says that when he tried, he couldn’t. It was a part of him, it was a "fire shut up in his bones" when he tried be silent. It was what he was made for, and even though he didn’t like it, he had to do it.

Seems like a trap. On the other hand, it seems like a gift. I know, talking out of both sides of my mouth there. But I have to confess, I know what it is to do something that you seem born to do. I was called the preacher boy by my grandfather before I was sure that was what I was going to do. When the time came to decide, it didn’t seem like much of a decision. Everyone around me seemed to spend a lot of time wondering, deciding, thinking about what they would do when they grew up. I never worried about it much. It was just a part of me.

I see things in my kids. I can’t say exactly what they are going to be doing to make a living in the years ahead (unless someone comes up with "professional shopper" as a career - Maddie would be all over that in a moment!), but I have a pretty good idea of how they are going to do it. I know their personalities and inclinations. I know their preferences and their leanings. So, am I limiting them? Not at all, I just know them. And I love them. That gives insight and a certain amount of wisdom when it comes to those we love.

Not complete, I’ll admit that. I didn’t know them before conception. I didn’t know them before they were born. But then, I’m not God. I want to know them like that, I want to love them like that. But I’m not there yet. A infinitesimal bit like that, but not there yet. So, I ask again, am I limiting them?

Maybe the point is not that God forced Jeremiah into something against Jeremiah’s will, but that God knew Jeremiah so well, loved Jeremiah so much that he knew what he was going to do and who Jeremiah was going to be. And God told him. Maybe that was the difficult part. Maybe knowing is what makes it difficult.

I’ve been like Jeremiah at times, I have to confess. I have complained about the lot that God has given me. Wished I could work in a factory tightening bolts and not trying to deal with people, wished I could herd cats rather than try to exhort people, something easy. I understand the struggle. But I also understand the passion. While they’ve never complained to me, I’m sure any associate pastor I’ve worked with would like to preach more. But I have a hard time stepping aside. I enjoy a weekend off every now and then, but there is also a desire to be up there. It is hard to keep it in sometimes.

Was I trapped? Tricked into doing what it is that I do? Were you? No, definitely not. But I was shaped into what I am and what I do by a God who works through parents and teachers and examples and friends to make me and you what we are. Take comfort in that. Even when we aren’t as sure as Jeremiah that this is where God wants us to be. Take comfort in the faith that tells us God has plans, God gives gifts, God blesses us with abilities and inclinations and when we follow them, we are usually doing what God wants us to do. Shaped to serve.

And sometimes those who shape are smaller and less patient. Gotta go!

Shalom,

Derek

Today

“Just you wait!” The ultimate threat. “Wait and see.” The perennial promise. “Good things come to those who wait.” The ubiquitous cliche. Wait. Just wait.

Been told to wait, lately? Looking forward to something that is not yet, longing for something that might be, could be, will be? Wanting to get beyond a difficult moment, wanting to heal, to forget, to move on? Wait. Just wait.

We spend a lot of time waiting, it seems to me. A lot of time invested in somewhere other than where we are. That is a healthy thing, I think. We need to have goals, we need to have dreams. It is a healthy thing to anticipate and to hope. Sometimes our today is not so good, and the tragedy need not define our whole existence. We need to trust that there will be wholeness and healing again. We need to look forward to completion, to reunion, to reconciliation.

It is a part of the human experience to look beyond today, to anticipate, to lean into what might be someday. We can celebrate this gift that God has given us, the gift of tomorrow, the gift of Someday.

But there is another gift that we sometimes overlook in our desire for tomorrow. The problem is that we are sometimes blind to this gift. We sometimes forget that to claims this gift takes as much faith and as much trust as to claim the gift of tomorrow. And what is this other gift? Today. Now. This moment.

It might not feel like much of a gift, depending on your circumstances. And yet it is. If only we could see it through the eyes of faith. If we could see it with Jesus’ eyes.

Luke 4:14-21 Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. 15 He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. 16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: 18 "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, 19 to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." 20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

We often concentrate on what comes next. The stories offer differing views of how folks hear the words that Jesus preaches here in the synagogue. But they all end the same, with anger and frustration and cynicism and violence. Or at least attempted violence. And there are various theories as to the source of this hatred - the contempt of the familiar, the prodding of long held exclusivism, or plain and simple jealousy. But, even though the response is not really a part of our reading for this week, I’d like to offer another theory. I think that people got angry, that people discarded his words because he said “Today.”

I watched last night the amazing array of stars of stage and screen sit an speak on telephones to ordinary folks like you and me encouraging donations for the healing and comfort of earthquake ravaged Haiti. I listened to the heartfelt pleas for support, and the heartbreaking stories of devastation and death, the emotion laden music, and the news reports and I wondered how they would hear verse 21. “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

There was a part of me that was offended when I read that. Or maybe, I thought, I read it wrong. That Jesus didn’t really say that it was fulfilled today. Surely, he would want to be saying that this is the year of the Lord’s favor. This year? With crushed bodies and broken homes, with mass graves and scant resources, with limited access to the people with the needs and governmental red tape snarling good hearted response, this couldn’t possibly the year of the Lord’s favor. Maybe we are reading it in the wrong year. Maybe it was a short term fulfillment, only applying while Jesus walked the earth. Maybe it is some obscure interpretation of the word “Today” that we can’t really comprehend.

Fulfillment is coming. We would march behind that banner, we could shout that slogan. Advent is a much more accessible season. Coming, that’s our watch word. It’s coming! What’s coming? I dunno, but it will be good! When is it coming? I dunno that either, but it will come. Someday. Soon. I hope.

Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. OK, we could look at the scripture that Jesus quotes again. The Spirit is upon me to preach... Ah, yes, well, preach. He’s going to preach. That’s a good thing! I am a preacher after all. I like that he is going to preach - to proclaim, to bring good news. That is a good thing. But does it really change anything? Are we really excited about preaching?

There seems to be something more in this promise than just words being spoken. There needs to be something more to this fulfillment than a sermon. Silence sure seems a more appropriate response to tragedy, whatever the scale. This is what I get asked often by well meaning people who want to be present in the midst of a difficult moment: “What do I say?” The words aren’t there. Words that would make a difference anyway. Words that don’t seem cheap or even offensive in the face of grief or hurt or despair. They aren’t there, available to us to bring some comfort or some hope. We would love the Spirit to anoint us to speak.

And maybe that is a part of what is being offered here. That in those spirit filled moments, when words come from somewhere, something is shared, something is offered and a bridge is built. When our words offer true comfort and eyes are raised high enough to see more than the dust of our despair, then we have a sense of the Lord’s favor.

I wonder though if we need to look again at the promise. We get caught up in the fulfillment. We get stuck on the Today. Slide over those words for a moment. Look at the end of the sentence. “In your hearing.” Maybe in your hearing is just another way of saying now. Maybe he is doing that bible emphasis thing, repeating himself - today at the beginning, in your hearing at the end.

Or maybe it is an invitation. Maybe it is the offer of a relationship. In your hearing, this fulfillment will happen today. When the Spirit that has anointed him slides over to anoint you, then fulfillment will be within reach. Maybe the Lord’s favor is felt, not when you observe someone else, even someone like Jesus the Christ, proclaiming and sharing and giving, but when you join in.

They seemed sincere, I know they were actors and performers and all. But they seemed to genuinely want to be there, to be a part of the solution, a part of the healing. Maybe the Lord’s favor doesn’t mean that everything is sweetness and light all the time, but the God’s children will work together to bring about wholeness and hope. Maybe when we give, or help, or speak, or love in some form or fashion, then we are a part of the fulfillment. Today.

Shalom,
Derek

Well Pleased

It is a difficult weekend here at Aldersgate. Difficult because we lost a bright spirit from our midst. We will celebrate her life during the time that I would normally be writing this bible study, which is why I am doing it early. Or at least I am trying to. I’m not being terribly successful. Partly because I am worried about what to say tomorrow that might bring some comfort and some hope to broken hearts. And partly, I must confess, because my own heart is broken.

In times like these is seems like silence is the best response. Even typing these words to send out seems loud and inappropriate. Yet, I am charged with speaking a word into this silence. It is my job, and my calling; it is my duty and my joy. Sometimes it is easy, the words line up to be spoken, the right ones are there to be dealt out like cards in a friendly game of chance. Sometimes they are like ice cream on a hot summer day, dripping down on hands and faces, sticking with sweetness and flavor that lasts all day long. Those are the days I thank God for the gift of call he has placed on my life.

But there are other times. Times when words run and hide from me, when they wedge themselves between the rough places uncertainty and pain, when even the tools of training and experience can’t free them for use. Or worse when they seem to transform before me, and a word that was once a glittering jewel now feels like a lump of coal unfit for the purpose intended. And the “gift” feels like a burden, like a punishment rather than a blessing.

You know that feeling, I am sure. A moment of import, a crisis, a question, an uncertainty happens and eyes turn to you for understanding, for healing, for explanation. And you stand speechless. Someone breaks the heart of your child, says a hurtful thing, casts stones and that tear streaked face looks at you and asks “why?” You find yourself in a crowd staring at a screen broadcasting some unspeakable horror, and a voice says “You go to church. Explain this to us. Where is God?” Suddenly you have a lot more sympathy for Peter that night in the courtyard of the High Priest’s house, and “I don’t know” feels like a betrayal of some kind, but it is the best you can do in that moment.

What do you say? In the mess of living in this world, what do you say? What words might explain, or interpret, or give meaning to what seems to be meaningless? What do you say?

That isn’t really what our Gospel passage is about this week. At least I didn’t think so. But then I read it again. And maybe because I didn’t come to the text full of words, I heard something I didn’t expect to hear. Listen for your self.

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." ... Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, 22 and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

This is the First Sunday after Epiphany, which means that the story is about the baptism of Jesus. It is the second of the three Epiphanies that border this liturgical season. We begin on Epiphany with the Wise men who saw the star, they were given an epiphany, a revelation about who this child really was. Not the son of a poor girl and her husband who couldn’t find a room in the inn, but the savior of the world.

The first Sunday of the season and the last Sunday after Epiphany contain two revelations that also identify Jesus as God’s Son. We begin with the baptism and then we end with the transfiguration, that misty mountain top experience.

What is interesting about Luke’s depiction of the event is that the baptism hardly figures in at all. The verses we skip serve to usher John the Baptist off the stage in favor of Jesus who now begins his ministry. But after John’s bluster, the next thing we know is that the baptism had already taken place. We missed it. Ain’t that always the way? We come for the show and by the time we got our seats, it had already happened. “Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus had also been baptized...” Darn it!

You’d think that if Luke had a clue about the centuries of struggle the church has had about the detail of baptism, he might have spent a little more time with it. We don’t know if Jesus was immersed or sprinkled. We don’t know which liturgy John prefers, or if the vows that Jesus made were the same as the ones we make or not. We don’t know if John was properly credentialed or if Jesus followed the rules. We don’t know who signed the certificate. We need to know these things, don’t we?

Luke doesn’t seem to think so. “Jesus had also been baptized...” That’s the sum total of the description here. If Luke is saying that the methodology isn’t what is important, then what is? Why is Jesus even there in the first place? That’s the question that has puzzled biblical scholars since the beginnings of the church. John was preaching a baptism of repentance. But we know that Jesus was without sin. So, why would he need to be there? What’s going on here?

The other interesting thing is that the next verses in Luke’s third chapter are the genealogy of Jesus. Since the Gospel writers never do anything for the heck of it, we have to ask why is the list of Jesus’ earthly family tree following the story of his being claimed by his heavenly father?

Here is the leap I’m asking you to make with me this weekend: Jesus went to John to be baptized because he was entering into this messy world that we live in. All of us are born into a world not of our making. A world we can barely understand at the best of times, a world we cannot explain at the worst of times. A world that needs repentance, which is a corporate need as much as an individual one. Jesus strode into the river to be buried up to the neck in the sin of the world, and then to rise to the Spirit. He didn’t approve of the brokenness of this world, but he embraced it, he made it his, and he carried it with him, like a chip on the shoulder, like a pack on his back, he carried it all the way to the cross.

And what did he say, when he embraced all that is wrong in this life, all that is less than divine, less than holy? What words did he use to give meaning and understanding and explanation? He didn’t say a thing. Like us he was silent, did he want to speak? Or was the weight of the burden he accepted so heavy that even he was struck dumb. Like us, he was silent. So that he would know what we experience when we have no words to say in the face of death or worse.

There were words spoken in that moment, though. Words that echo in the silence of our moments even to this day. They weren’t his words or ours or any human. They were God’s Words and they said simply: I love you. Words of affirmation, not for deeds done or not done, but for being. Just for being. I love you. Words to hear in the midst of darkness, words to cling to in the midst of doubt. In the maelstrom of living and of dying we hear and then - by grace - speak these words, they are all we have: I love you.

Shalom,
Derek

In A Blue Moon

Did you notice? If you watched TV at all on New Year’s Eve you couldn’t help but notice. Whether it was football, or New Year’s Rockin’ Eve (and does anyone else think it is time for Dick Clark to enjoy his retirement?) and probably the 11 o’clock local news, mention was made multiple times of the rare occurrence of a blue moon that night. Could be a sign, don’t you think?

Now for you amateur astronomers out there, let me say that I know about the debate raging about blue moons. Apparently the popular notion that a blue moon is a second full moon in a calendar month is not the “true” definition. The term originated with the old Farmer’s Almanac early last century, and was used to refer to an extra full moon in a season. Normally, you know, there are three full moons in a season. But once in a while (once in a blue ... ) there are four. And for some reason it is the third full moon that is called the blue moon. I’m not sure why it is the third instead of the extra fourth, but it makes sense to someone. A magi perhaps.

The point is people get excited about these phenomena. They argue about them, just like we argue about other important stuff. Like whether resting key players before the playoffs is a recipe for disaster or success! Like whether blowing a perfect season for the purpose of not getting a owie on the multi-millionaire makes any sense whatsoever!! Sorry. Gotta focus here.

I wonder if the wise men argued about the true meaning of the celestial phenomenon all the way to Jerusalem. Melchoir argued that it meant a king, a true blue-blood ruler with a pedigree and royal birth mark and everything. Caspar snorts in disdain and says that is obviously referring to a warrior, a military type, someone who can wield a sword and look good doing it. But Balthazar declares they are both as blind as Persian fruit bats, it is a leader on fields of play who isn’t afraid of perfection or getting a hangnail and is ready to stick it out to the end, 16 and 0!! The others look at him and ask, “what are you talking about?” “Dunno,” he mutters, “came to me in a dream.”

Could have happened. But probably not. That’s the tricky thing with signs, they are open to misinterpretation. Here’s what Matthew thinks happened:

Matthew 2:1-12 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6 'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" 7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." 9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

I am always amazed at what isn’t told in this story. We don’t know how many magi there were. The traditional number is based on the number of gifts, since no one believes that “this gift is from both of us” explanation. We don’t know where they come from. “The East” is bible talk for foreigners. Persia, what is now Iraq or Iran make the most sense, but we don’t really know. We also don’t know why they went to Jerusalem. Were they heads of state making an official visit, or were they just a bunch of guys who got lost? According to Matthew’s story, it is the star that gets them to their destination and not Herod’s rather dubious directions. So, why stop in the first place?

And then there are the gifts. Much has been made over the meaning of the gifts. Some argue that gold is a gift given to kings. Incense is a gift given to God. And myrrh is a gift given to one who is to die. In that giving, says the tradition, the wisemen told the whole story of this child. The first declaration of who he was and what he came to do was laid there at the feet of the mystified girl who gave him birth.

Did she grasp what was being said as the gifts were placed there before her? Did she grasp what it meant when she said yes to being the vessel for God’s entrance into the world? Did she understand what was about to happen to her? She pondered, says Luke, in her heart all these things, all these signs, but it never said she figured it out. She just said yes.

For that matter, did the magi who opened their treasures even understand what it was they were saying? Probably not. But something about what they saw there in that house in Bethlehem, something about the celestial phenomenon and something about their journey, something about this whole event moved them to generosity. They gave, maybe more than they intended when they set out, but they gave because they saw a sign.

We’d so like to be sure, wouldn’t we. We’d love to know, not just hope or not just believe, but to know that what were doing was the right thing to do, the right direction to follow, the right choice to make. We’d like a sign that would come along and convince us. We keep asking for, looking for a sign.

The problem with signs is that they are open to a variety of interpretations. The wisemen might have argued about the interpretation as they started their journey to follow that star. There might have been others who saw it and came to the meeting, but in the end decided it was just a coincidence and didn’t make the trip. When the travelers returned with their story, one wonders if those who didn’t go regretted it. If they watched the sky for their chance to go with even more intensity.

That’s the message of Epiphany, it seems to me. Not that there will be convincing evidence. Not that something will happen to remove any trace of doubt. An Epiphany is an opportunity. It is a moment of clarity in a dark time, a glimpse of something larger than the everyday concerns of our lives. And it demands a response. Are you going to follow your star? Are you going to say yes to that angel in your living room? Are you going to keep believing, are you going to keep hope alive, are you going to serve as though the most important thing in the world was not you or your happiness, but the one in front of you, the one who needs you?

Then, in the in between times where most of live, we go on in the strength of that sighting, with the memory of that clarity. We go on still wondering, uncertain but hopeful. We go on convinced that a life of service is a better way to live. Convinced that a life of living in community is a better way to find yourself. Convinced that worship is a better way to connect with that something larger.

And we go on because Epiphanies are rare. Some say, only once in a blue moon.

Shalom,
Derek