Set Free on the Sabbath Day

That’s better mama.  It’s a thing we say in our house.  A sign that something has been fixed.  Something has been accomplished.  That’s better mama.  Something was wrong, out of whack, in the wrong place, something just wasn’t right and we made it right, we made it ... better.  That’s better mama.  Rhys said it first.  When he was little.  When he didn’t want to fix all his own problems. When he was under our care completely.  When all his problems were relatively small ones, relatively fixable ones.  He would come distraught about something, or confused by something, or uncomfortable with something and she’d fix it, like moms do, all the time.  And he’d smile that little sunshine smile and say “that’s better mama.”  And it was.  Much better.

I miss my mama.  Actually, I’ve missed her for a long time now.  No, not just since her death or even since her dementia.  Not just since her moving to Tennessee, either.  It’s been longer than that.  It was that moment when I realized that I couldn’t run and crawl in her lap and let her make everything right again.  When the things that go bump in the night became real things instead of the workings of my imagination.  And there was probably a time when I said I don’t need that any more.  When I was glad to be out on my own.  Solving my own problems, making my own way in the world, responsible for my own debts, my own growth, my own sense of better.  There was a time when I was pretty sure I didn’t need her to make things better any more.  I know more now.  And the depth of my own need is one of those things.  But at the time ...

It hurt her, I know that now.  When I launched off on my own, stood on my own two feet, it hurt her. It made her proud too, I also know that.  It was the way it was supposed to happen.  It was what we were building toward.  What she was making me better for, to be independent, to be capable of living in the world.  But I know it hurt her when I said I don’t need you anymore.  I don’t mean I was rude about it.  No prodigal son running off and throwing family back in the face of those who had provided for you.  No, it wasn’t an angry act, not a line in the sand act, not even a conscious act really. It just was.  I just was.  On my own.  But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard, for her, for me, the one who made things better and the one who was made better.  

Luke 13:10-17 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. 11 And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." 13 When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. 14 But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." 15 But the Lord answered him and said, "You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? 16 And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" 17 When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

He could have waited a day.  A few hours really, until sunset, and the Sabbath would have been over and he would have saved a lot of grief.  Would have satisfied the hardliners.  Would have made things easier on himself.  Maybe even the woman he healed that day, we don’t know but she may have been under attack by the same folks who were grumbling at Jesus.  And yeah, it was a bunch.  Not just the leader.  He’s the one who voices the complaint.  But the last verse reveals the rest.  “All his opponents.”  That’s a side you don’t want to be on.  But why not wait?  Why not make it easier on Himself and perhaps on her?  On the followers later?  On us, to be frank.  

It seems spontaneous.  He was there teaching on that day.  Probably because that’s the day that folks might be willing to listen.  Oh, I know He could draw a crowd any day, and did.  But maybe it wasn’t the usual crowd He was wanting.  Maybe it was the ones who only think of faith things once a week. Who think that maybe all this stuff doesn’t really matter to them, doesn’t really affect them.  They’ve got lives to live and bills to pay, they’ve got family issues to solve and health issues to learn to live with.  They’ve got plans to make and miles to go before they sleep.  So, they make a deal with the Almighty, they’ll give Him an hour a week, and think that should cover it.  Maybe those were the folks He was hoping to speak to, to connect with, to offer more.  

But then in the midst of the teaching, she walked by.  Hobbled by.  Did she come to hear Him?  Or was she just there, doing her Sabbath duty?  Had she stopped looking for help?  Maybe she just figured this was her life.  This was what had been dealt to her and she was just living with it.  Who knows?  But Jesus saw her and called her over.  Woman you are set free from your ailment.  Set free. Not you are healed, not you are forgiven, not you are made well.  This time Jesus says you are set free.  I know, I know, we shouldn’t make too much of it.  It’s all the same in the end, isn’t it?  Just words.  It all means the same.  “That’s better mama.”

It is better.  She is better.  But is that all she is?  Notice too that Jesus says “you are set free” and then touches her.  Seems like he should have said “you’re about to be set free.”  Or “hang on, freedom is coming.”  Or “give me a sec, I’m gonna set you free.”  Fix you up.  Make you better. Unless.  Maybe there are two things going on here.  Maybe there is a setting free and then a healing.  Maybe the ailment isn’t her physical condition.  Maybe the physical condition is simply a sign of a deeper bend in her soul.  That’s why in conversation with the complainer, Jesus says that Satan had bound her for eighteen long years.  Maybe in year one she wasn’t as bent over.  But the weight of the bondage almost broke her in half.  What Jesus saw was a soul in torment twisting a body in pain.  And wanted to set her free.  Right now.  Not one more minute.  Sabbath day or not.

Which caused the problem.  There are six days to work, couldn’t he have waited a few hours?  No, he couldn’t.  For two reasons.  First of all, there was this woman, this child of God in bondage to pain, and He couldn’t let that go on one more second.  He just couldn’t.   And second, it was the Sabbath day.  

Wait.  It was the Sabbath day?  He had to heal her on the Sabbath because it was the Sabbath?  That doesn’t make any sense.  The Sabbath day is for resting.  For not doing anything.  Sitting like a lump, which somehow honors God.  Right?  Hmm.  Doesn’t feel right all of a sudden.  The Pharisees had good intentions.  Really, they did.  They took one of the ten commandments and tried to put a fence around it.  Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.  Because God rested, we need to rest.  Don’t work, just .. Sit there.  So, the Pharisees came up with a whole pile of rules as to what constitutes work, and sneezing real hard broke a half dozen of them.  They split the proverbial hair on this one. Even though splitting hairs was probably forbidden too.  

For Jesus, however, it wasn’t about not working.  It was about not working for you.  Take a look at the commandment (this is the longest one, by the way, all that explaining.  Exodus 20:8-11).  Verse 9 says “Six days shall you labor and do all your work.”  Your work.  Caring for others wasn’t your work, it was your way of honoring God.  For heaven’s sake, Jesus said, you’ve got provision for animals in your observance, why not a child of God? 

Jesus had a different view of the Sabbath than the Pharisees.  They were all about keeping yourself pure.  He was all about honoring God.  Serving God.  Worship and praise with our lives and not just our words.  Six days are yours, give God this one.  Because this one is for honoring God.  For setting free.  

In Jesus’ view the woman needed healing because it was the Sabbath.  Honoring God is setting people free.  Because God is in the setting free business.  So what else would you do on a day set aside to honor God?  Woman ... Man... you are set free from your ailment.   That’s better mama.

Shalom,

Derek 

South Wind Blowing

It’s been hot lately.  I know, duh, right?  But still, hot.  Humid.  I got in my car one afternoon after it was sitting in the parking lot and the car thermometer thing said 103 degrees.  Yikes.  It cooled down as I drove home, into the 90's, cooler, way cooler.  I have a little section on the weather app on my phone, it tells the time and the forecast and few other things and then has this section titled “feels like”.  It’s 88 degrees my phone cheerfully tells me, but it feels like 96.  Wow.  How do they know what it feels like?  I don’t, but I know when I read it I feel worse.  It’s a head thing, I guess.  A sign of things to come.

The signs are all around.  I tripped over some of them in the hallway.  I got texts about them, questions too.  Signs of the next diaspora.  Maddie’s heading back to college.  You can’t miss it.  She just said to me with a certain amount of despair, “I’m not sure it will all fit in one car!”  We’ll make it work, I said.  “You sure?”  Yeah.  “Well,” she sighed, “I talked with Meesh and she is bringing even more than me, so I guess that is good.” Yeah.  Good that there is someone else filling up the apartment you are moving into and not just you.  There are signs.

That’s not the only movement upstairs these days.  No another space is being made ready.  Rhys is coming home next week, so his mom thought he needed the bigger room.  Up to now that room had been the place where she dumped centuries worth of family heirlooms (read junk) and papers and photos.  Now, she’s transferring that to the smaller room which is also her home office where she works on her online course with the graduate students who are teaching her new levels of patience and exasperation.  

I just keep my head down.  I’ve learned to read the signs.  We all have, we all do.   It’s part of living in the world, living in community with people who have feelings and expectations and hopes and dreams and such.  Paying attention to the subtle signs that all is not well in the world around you, in the world of those whose lives impact yours on a regular basis.  But how good are we at reading those signs?  That’s part of the question that Jesus is asking in our text this week.  At least it seems to me. Take a look.

Luke 12:49-56 49 "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! 50 I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! 51 Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! 52 From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; 53 they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law." 54 He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, 'It is going to rain'; and so it happens. 55 And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, 'There will be scorching heat'; and it happens. 56 You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

Jesus seems upset, having a bad day perhaps.  He isn’t usually one to resort to name calling.  Makes you wonder what is going on here.  I mean, I understand that fire thing, once in a while burning it all down and starting over sounds like a good idea. Wash your hands, just walk away, Jesus.  Let them be, don’t resort to arson.  Take some deep breaths, count to ten.  Breathe, just breathe.  There now. Feel better?  That messiah thing gets to you every now and then, I would suppose.

Ahem.  Before I go too far and see lightning bolts on the horizon, let me quickly say, I don’t think that’s what going on here.  I mean, sure Jesus probably had bad days.  We were told he wept over Lazarus’s death, or the despair in the folks around him.  He wept over the city of Jerusalem. Remember that day?  Palm Sunday, he was riding into the city, and came around a corner and saw it all displayed there before him, the skyline shot.  And it just got to him, because he knew he had the power to save them, to bring them life and wholeness, joy and peace, but they wouldn’t, they just wouldn’t.  And it felt like a weight on his shoulders, in his soul, and he wept.  So, yeah, he had his days. And maybe there is an element here of that.  Of the frustration of trying to get people to see what is right in front of their faces.  Literally.  I mean he was standing there.  The answer to all their uncertainties, the hope of all their hearts, the fulfillment of all their unspoken needs.  And they didn’t see it.  Didn’t see him.  See him for who and what he was.  What he brought to them.  They didn’t see it.  And he wanted them to burn.

Not burn up.  This isn’t that kind of thing, not a threat, but a promise.  I came to bring fire, he says, it is what I’m all about.  John said that way back at the river, on baptism day.  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire!  You have to put that exclamation point there.  Probably should be capitalized: Fire!  Maybe all caps, knowing John: He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with FIRE!  

Jesus came to bring fire, but no one really understood him.  He was accused of consorting with demons, of working with the Lord of the Flies (Beezelbub), that’s who deals with fire, isn’t it?  The disciples thought it was a punishment - shall we call down fire and burn them up, when a city refused their missionary efforts.  There’s a great evangelism model, offer them Christ, but burn them up if they say no.  

How I wish it was already kindled, Jesus says.  Already at work, purifying and empowering. Equipping and transforming.  How I wish it was already at work, bringing this world closer to the kingdom I can see every time I open my eyes but they haven’t got a clue.  They are frozen into the ice of this cold world, how I wish the fire was burning so they could see it, warm up to it, live into it. “ I’ve got a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!”

Wait, what?  Fire and water don’t mix, Jesus.  Pick one metaphor or the other.  And you’re stressed? Some argue that this baptism is His suffering and death.  Sure He’s under stress.  Sure this weighs on Him.  Who would expect anything less?  Except, He doesn’t really say stressed.  The Greek word is hemmed in. Constrained.  He is limited by the flesh He so willingly put on for us.  Until He goes through His own personal fire, He is limited by time and space, He can’t reach us all.  Before this baptism is completed he is here and not there.  Afterwards He is here and there, and there, and over there, next to you, and within you, behind you.  

So, choose.  Choose to be set alight.  Choose to burn with passion for love of the Lord and the world He died for.  Choose to be fully alive even when it feels like you are on fire.  Even when others say no.  Even when others, important others, close others, say no and tell you to say no.  Choose even though the choosing causes division, disagreement, even disappointment.  Choose.  Because the time is now.

Can’t you see it?  That’s His final question.  Can’t you see it?  You see so much, you’re good at watching the sky and knowing whether those are rain clouds or not.  You know this, red sky at morning, sailors take warning.  You can read the signs.  You know when the market is going to go up, or when the bottom is going to drop out.  You know when the best time to buy a new car or when the mattress sales are going to happen.  You’ve got it all figured out.  You can read the TV schedule, a cookbook recipe, you can instagram and snapchat, you’ve poked all sorts of folk on facebook and have caught a boatload of pokemon. But can you see what really matters?  Discern a good time to pray for a friend, know when to offer a helping hand and when it’s a shoulder to cry on?  Can you find that passage that says just what you daughter needs to hear?  Can you send your son off with a blessing that sticks with him as he walks?  Can you meet a grieving widow and a new mother, can you console a friend who’s lost a job without resorting to platitudes?  Can you invite, can you offer a neighbor to mentor them in the faith, to walk with them through a difficult time?   There is a wind blowing and it isn’t just bringing some heat and humidity.  It is the wind of the Spirit, it is a opportunity to grow, to widen our circles, to build on the foundation that is Jesus our Christ.  It’s time to ride this wind.  Can you feel it?  Can you read it?  The fire is burning.

Shalom,

Derek

Good Pleasure to Give

And another thing.  We’re making lists.  Maddie’s returning to college next week.  Rhys is coming home for a while the week after that.  We’re heading to Tennessee to work on the house and try to get it into a condition that it could be sold, or at least viewed.  La Donna is finishing up the course she’s been teaching at IUPUI, online, graduate level and it’s crunch time.  I’m still trying to catch up from being gone a few weeks this summer dealing with mom’s death and then dad’s needs.  I’m feeling way behind, to say the least.  I suddenly remember something I was supposed to do and panic and write it down so I don’t continue to forget.  Or forget again.  I add it to the list.

We’ve got lists.  And add to them all the time.  Rarely take things away.  Oh, once in a while we accomplish something that we can check off.  But mostly it is add to, revise, start new lists.  It gets overwhelming. And each new addition feels like an added burden, another load to carry, another expectation to fulfill.  Running away sounds like a good option some days.

We feel weighed down.  Burdened, with expectation and the unexpected.  Every knock at the door brings a sinking feeling that something else will need to be done.  I got home from a quick trip to see dad in Frankfort, that heaviness of heart that while we are doing what needs to be done, still feels like it should have been different, it should have been easier.  But no sooner did I arrive home and start to gather things from my car, Maddie appeared at the door.  “You just missed a call.  An emergency.  Someone needs help.”  

Luke 12:32-40  "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 33 Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. 34 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 35 "Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; 36 be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. 37 Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. 38 If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. 39 "But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. 40 You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour."

Jesus is aware of our burdens.  Sometimes He just wants us to relax a bit.  “Come to me,” remember that one?  Oh how we love that verse.  Rest, yes please Jesus, give us some rest.  Except the rest he is talking about isn’t what we have in mind.  It’s clearer in these verses from Luke’s Gospel.  “Don’t be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  Great!  Give it to us!  Hand it over, make it easy, lay it on us.  We’ll unwrap it like a present from under the tree.  Give us the kingdom of rest.  Of joy and of pleasure.  Our heart’s desire.  Hand it over.  Now.  C’mon Jesus.  You said it was God’s good pleasure to give it, so give it.  We want God to have a little pleasure.  

Yeah, it doesn’t happen like that.  It doesn’t just get handed to us.  No matter how many sinner’s prayers we pray.  No matter how many faith seeds we plant in someone’s pocket.  It doesn’t?  No.  Oh, I see, we’ve got to work for it.  We’ve got to earn it, or be worthy of it.  It’s one of those tricks, promise them something free and then show how much it costs.  Bait and switch, fine print, hidden fees.  That sort of thing.  There’s no such thing as a free lunch.  Suckered by Jesus again.

No, that’s not it either.  This isn’t about earning something.  We couldn’t pay enough to earn our way into the kingdom of God, it’s beyond our means.  Nor is this about being worthy.  We can’t make ourselves worthy of anything.  But we are made worthy by the sacrifice of Christ.  So, we are already worthy.  There are no hidden fees, no shipping and handling, no sales tax.  Because it isn’t a thing.  The kingdom that it is God’s good pleasure to give us isn’t a thing.  You can’t wrap it up and put it under the tree.  You can’t hand it over.  It is something entirely different.

A couple of months ago we gathered on a sunny hot Sunday morning in the quadrangle of DePauw University to watch our son Rhys graduate with his bachelor’s degree in History and Political Science.  It was a proud moment, a moving moment.  All the requisite memories flooded through our minds and hearts as we sat and watched him stride across the platform and receive his degree.  And the president, who was on his way to a new station, making this his last graduation on this campus, seemed to enjoy handing it over.  It was his good pleasure to give those degrees.  A beautiful moment.

But wait.  What was given in that moment?  What was handed over to each graduate as they made their way across, some somber and sober, some giddy and enthusiastic?  But what did they get?  A degree?  No, they got a symbol, a piece of paper with some writing on it.  They got the word, they didn’t get the degree.  They didn’t get the kingdom.  A degree isn’t something you can hand over.  It is something you experience, something you learn to live into, something you grow into.  What we watched was the recognition that Rhys and all his classmates had found themselves in relationship with a body of knowledge and a way of seeing the world around them and now were ready to go and live in the implications of that relationship.  Sure, some of them had a firmer grasp on the relationship with their degree than others.  Sure, some will walk away from all they had gained and it will be as if it never really happened.  Yet others will live out this transformed life that they had claimed.

This is the kingdom.  It is more relationship, more experience, more a way of seeing and being than it is a thing that can be handed over or a destination that can be arrived at.  God wants us, desperately wants us to have it, to live it, to claim it as our own identity.  But it can’t be shoved in our pockets or deposited in our accounts.  So Jesus wants to help us.  Like the professors that shepherded the undergrads for four years, Jesus wants to draw us pictures and tell us stories until we begin to get a glimpse of what is on offer.  Until we catch the vision, adjust our seeing, our living, our wanting.  

So, here’s a tip, give it away.  It?  What it?  All of it, Jesus seems to be saying.  All of it.  Just give it away.  Well, um, next option?  OK, how about this, live in relation to your stuff as though it didn’t matter so much.  As if it didn’t define you, become you so much.  A little more take it or leave it, and little less gotta have it.  Hold all that you own in an open hand, as if letting it slip through your fingers wouldn’t be all that bad.  As if you could give it away and still be you.  Still be content.

On the other hand, hold tightly to the things that matter.  To relationships and covenants, to love and joy and living in the moment, being present with those you love, not distracted by the stuff that weighs you down.  Pile up those treasures and begin to live.  Treasure people, treasure moments, treasure laughter and joy, vulnerable hearts and firm handshakes, hugs and kisses.  Treasure them, with your heart.

Because one day...  One day what?  One day everything will change.  In the blink of an eye.  In the beat of a heart.  One day everything will change.  Those you love.  You.  Everything.  And we can live in fear of that.  Many do.  Or we can live treasuring each moment, and discover something amazing.  Grace will apron up and serve you when you least expect it!  That’s the bonus, the icing on this cake.  See, you think you have to work, you have to earn it.  You think it is on your shoulders, like all the other responsibilities on your list.  But it’s God who serves, grace abounds, joy breaks out.  It’ll happen, Jesus says, watch for it.  Watch for it.  God can’t wait to serve you.  Yes, you.

Shalom,

Derek

Whose Will They Be?

I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad / Buy all of the things I never had / I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine / Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen

Bruno Mars’ song captures the spirit of the age.  We want to be rich.  We think it is the solution to all of our problems.  More stuff.  More ability to get stuff.  The latest this, the upgraded that, the new model of those.  It permeates our existence, the need to have, to own. To have and to hold.  

I can hear you rolling your eyes already.  I’m still writing and you won’t see this for a while, yet I can see your sighs.  This again.  This old argument, this warning that we’ve heard a thousand times.  Yeah, we know.  And it’s not that we disagree, you say.  We know it is true, we know the stories of the suddenly rich whose lives go off the rails spectacularly.  Someone should have told Bruno that.   Maybe he wouldn’t have been so freaking desperate. We aren’t desperate.  We know better.  We know that stuff isn’t salvation.  We know that it’s the love of money tat gets us in trouble.  So, we just use it.  We aren’t defined by it.  It’s a necessary part of living in the world we have.  Besides we do good stuff with it.

And not a single tummy around me would know what hungry was / Eating good, sleeping soundly / I know we all have a similar dream / Go in your pocket pull out your wallet, put it in the air and sing // I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad / Buy all of the things I never had / Uh, I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine / Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen.

Yeah, we know better.  And yet when it comes time to give it up we find that surprisingly difficult.  I know I haven’t used that, read that, worn that, in a very long time.  But I just might want to someday soon!  And when we have to be away for an extended period of time, we come back and discover we missed our stuff.  The unimportant, non-defining stuff.  Still we missed it.  My chair I like to sit in, the table I like to eat at, the shelves of books and closets of clothes.  No big deal, except that I know I’m home because here is my stuff.  The late comedian George Carlin said home is just a place to keep our stuff.  Except when we run out of room and have to rent storage space.  One of the fastest growing business in our country, storage facilities.  We’ve got too much stuff.

Luke 12:13-21 Someone in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." 14 But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" 15 And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions."

     16 Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. 17 And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' 18 Then he said, 'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' 20 But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' 21 So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God." 

Does anybody else find Jesus’ answer to the guy in the crowd a little problematic?  “Friend, who set me to be a judge over you?”  Well, I thought you did.  Or God did.  I kinda thought that was the plan here, Jesus the judge.  Now he’s saying that He isn’t that judge.  That seems odd.

Some say it means He isn’t going to judge our stuff.  That He is only interested in the spiritual stuff, I mean, the spiritual matters.  He only judges our souls, He isn’t concerned with our real lives, our mundane, day to day, who gets the stuff lives.  Which doesn’t really make sense to me at all.  I mean, given all that He talks about in the Gospels, it seems that one of His main points is our lives are whole.  We can’t compartmentalize our life of faith from our life in the world.  In fact if we try to do that, and we do, we are only fooling ourselves.  Jesus tells us that it is our doing that matters, all of our doing.  What we do behind closed doors, that’s what matters.  Family doors, office doors, legal doors, commercial doors.  All those doors matter to Him.  Why would he now say, “hey, don’t look at me, kid.  Sort out your family stuff on your own!”  

Unless that isn’t what is going on here.  Jesus isn’t really dodging the issue.  Maybe it wasn’t a “leave me out of this” question.  Maybe it was a real question.  Who set me to be a judge over you?  And the guy in the crowd, who is us, by the way, was supposed to say, I did.  I do.  You are the measure by which I want to live my life.  You are the arbiter to determine what is of value.  Whatever you say, I’ll go with.  To which Jesus might have said, “Really?”  And the guy would have nodded his head and said “Really!”  And Jesus might have smiled and said, “OK then, let them have it.”  And the guy in the crowd might have said, “Can I change my earlier answer?”

Don’t assume by this conversation that Jesus doesn’t care about the stuff.  Or rather that Jesus doesn’t care about our attitude toward the stuff.  He cares deeply.  He cares for our very souls, He cares for our well-being, our satisfaction, our ability and desire to cling to Him above everything else.  Our heart to serve, our compassion, our eyes to see beyond the horizon of our own making.  And He knows that the stuff of this life can get in the way of all of that.  And we get turned upside down and inside out by greed.

Beware of all kinds of greed.  All kinds.  Why in the world would He say it that way?  Probably because He knows how good we are at convincing ourselves that our kind isn’t all that bad.  Isn’t really greed.  It is prudence.  It is right thinking, self preservation, it is being wise as serpents in a difficult world.  He’ll understand that, surely.

He tells this story about a farmer.  A farmer who makes good.  Has a bumper crop.  It presented him with the problem of what to do with it all.  It was more, he had more than he could hold.  So, he has to figure out what to do.  Since there isn’t a storage place in his town, he does the smart thing and creates his own.  Did you know that in Fort Wayne there is a storage facility called “Infinite Storage”?  Wow, infinite.  That’s kind of amazing.

Anyone else telling this story would have made the farmer the hero.  He was blessed, in the theology of the day, blessed by God.  Someone who has that kind of income, that kind of abundance, must be one of God’s very favorite people.  He would have been written up in Forbes Magazine and interviewed by Oprah.  But Jesus seems to have a problem with him.  Doesn’t Jesus like success?  

Where does the story turn, for Jesus?  Is it at the beginning?  “The land of a rich man produced abundantly”?  Some say yes, that’s the problem.  To be rich is by definition to make someone else poor.  Wealth is a zero sum game, winners and losers.  This guy was a winner, others were losers.  Too bad for them.  That’s the problem, the game is rigged.  Well, maybe.  But I don’t think that’s where the problem rises.  I think it is later.  After a dizzying succession of personal pronouns.  This is a self-centered rich farmer.  Me, my, mine, he said too many times in this little story.  And the only one who benefits is himself.  You fool, says God.  What makes you think you are immortal?  What makes you think it’s all about you?  Now that you’re gone, who will get the stuff?  

We’re about to begin the sorting out phase of mourning and caring for parents.  Lots of stuff to go through, and that will be a question we’ll have to ask.  Who wants this?  All this stuff, old and new, useful and not, whose will it be? It makes me tired just thinking about it.  There is an odd little translation problem in this passage.  In verse 20 when God is revealing the foolishness of the rich man, there is a phrase we’ve translated as “your life is being demanded of you.”  A passive tense.  But the verb is actually a plural active tense.  They are demanding your life from you.  “They”?  The stuff.  That’s what I think.  The stuff eats your life away.  Drains you.  Occupies your thinking, makes you worry.  That’s why Jesus keeps warning us about stuff.  It kills us.  We think it gives us life, but it doesn’t.  Only He can do that.  “I have come that you might have life, and have it abundantly.  And the stuff?  Whose will it be?

Shalom,

Derek 

How Much More

A word of warning.  I’m tired.  No, wait.  I’m ... really tired.  La Donna and I just got back from a week at Mission u, the Indiana Conference United Methodist Women’s mission education event.  We taught a course, as I mentioned last week, on The Bible and Human Sexuality.  And let me tell you that dancing around topics is really wearing!  No, actually we had a great time. Eight hours of teaching over four days, with other worship and plenary gatherings, not to mention planning meetings and then intense presentation planning times while La Donna and I got used to different teaching styles and learned to work together.  I think we did quite well, even if I do say so myself.  But then on Saturday we had the fun task of taking those eight hours of teaching and stuff them into a one hour slot.  Oh, my goodness that was difficult, deciding what not to say was as tricky as deciding what to say in the beginning.  

Plus, in the middle of it all, I got a call from the facility where we hoped to place dad.  He had been approved when did you want to move him in?  So, after our session on Tuesday, I drove up to Frankfort, to Wesley Manor, United Methodist Home and signed lots of papers and wrote some pretty big checks.  Then on Thursday, my brother Hank drove dad and a selection of his worldly goods and we unloaded them and moved him into his new apartment.

Plus, plus, it was hot.  All week long.  The hottest it’s been all summer so far, I’m sure.  Hot and muggy and sticky and hot.  And hot.  On Thursday, my weather app said that the temperature was 91, but that the humidity made it feel like 116.  Unloading the truck was sweaty and draining work.  Just walking from the classroom, to the dining room to the dorm across the campus of DePauw University was sweaty work.  Draining.  Hot.  I worked up a sweat teaching in the air conditioned rooms.  Air conditioning that couldn’t really keep up.  At least for me.  Some of the women were wearing jackets and complaining about being cold.  Someone said lets ask them to turn on the heat.  I prayed.  I really prayed.  Good Lord, no.  No, don’t let them.  How much more can we take?  How much more?

Luke 11:1-13 He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples." 2 He said to them, "When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. 3 Give us each day our daily bread. 4 And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial." 

5 And he said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; 6 for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.' 7 And he answers from within, 'Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.' 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs. 

9 "So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? 12 Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? 13 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

We’re talking about prayer in worship this week.  Jesus seems eager to talk about it.  He interprets the question from that disciples as license to tell them not just how to pray, but also how to pray.  Uh, proofreader, you missed one.  Not only how, but also how?  Whoops you’re right.  That not quite right.  Jesus took the opportunity to not only tell them how to pray, and then how to pray, but he also told them how to pray.  That’s better.  Isn’t it?

The disciples showed up, like the collie pups that they are bounding around, wagging their tails at the great idea they had, and spoke to Him.  “Hey, Jesus, you know John, John the B, the guy in the river, remember him?  Well, turns out John’s disciples have a prayer to pray that identifies them as his.  So, we were thinking, since you didn’t like the “Jesus’ Squad” tattoo idea, that maybe you could give us a prayer to pray.  So, when everyone hears it they’ll know we’re on the J-Team!  So, whadda ya think, Jesus, huh, how about it?  Huh?  Come on Jesus, give us a prayer to pray.”  

They weren’t really asking about prayer.  They wanted a slogan, a catchphrase, a chant to out-chant John’s disciples.  But Jesus, being Jesus, is not one to turn away from an opportunity to do more than he was asked to do.  To give them more, much more than they thought they wanted.  So, instead of prayer they could pray, he gave them a framework for praying.  When you pray, he told them, you start with God.  You start with the relationship you have with God because you know me, Father, you are holy, and we can’t wait until all that you have in store for us and this world comes to pass.  Then, he told them, then you can talk about you, how dependent you are on him, how much in need of grace you are, and how much you need God to surround you so that you have the strength to say no when things get difficult.  That’s how you pray.  

The disciples look at each other to see if anyone had written it down.  Levi did, he was always writing stuff down.  So, they said thanks and turned to run off.  But Jesus raised his hand.  I’m not done answering your question.  You asked how to pray.  I told you how to put the words together.  The order of things.  But now I need to tell you how to pray.  Peter says, “But...” before the rest of them clap hands over his mouth and nod to Jesus to go on.  Suppose one of you has a friend...Did any of them have friends, beyond the ones hovering around looking uncertainly at Jesus?  I’m sure at one time they did.  But did they still?  I mean they gave up everything to follow Him, didn’t they?  So, they looked puzzled.  Jesus waved his hand at their confusion.  It’s a metaphor.  They all relaxed a little bit.  Oh, ok, a metaphor.

The metaphor says, keep praying.  Don’t give up.  Keep praying until the need for which you pray is resolved, one way or another.  Jesus says pray with persistence. That’s how we pray. Keep the lines of communication open.  Turn to God first no matter what the need is.  Don’t just go to God for the “spiritual” stuff, whatever that is.  But go to God with everything.  And keep at it.  Teach us how to pray, here’s how, with persistence.  No matter what.  No matter how bleak, no matter how hopeless, no matter how late, pray and trust that God is going to take care of the problem, in one way or another.  Maybe it will be removed just the way you want it to be.  Or maybe you’ll be strengthened in order to continue facing the problem.  But it will be answered.  So keep pounding on that door late into the night.  Ask, and ask, and ask.  And keep looking for the answer, looking for the action, looking for the activity of God at work in your life.  Knock on that door.

Nods all around, they’ve got it now, He gave us the how, the words the framework for every prayer, God first then us.  Then He gave us the how, the activity of prayer, the persistence of prayer.  Keep at it, don’t stop.  Pray without ceasing, they thought and then said, no, that’s crazy.  But keep at it.

They got up to run away, but Jesus had grabbed the lapel of John’s sport coat and they came to halt like they were joined at the hip.  Jesus smiled that smile He has when He knows they are still missing something, but are about to get it.  How do you pray?  That’s what you asked me, right?  Well, let me tell you.  “But you just ... mumph, mmph.”  Go ahead Jesus the rest of them said.  If your child asked for a fish, would you give them a snake?  If he asked for an egg would you give him a scorpion?  Well, would you?  Furrowed brows all around.  They looked for the answers on the top of their shoes, shuffled their feet in the dust.  Um..  Thaddeus tries.  “No?”  Of course not! Jesus shouts, to Thaddeus’s relief. No, you wouldn’t.  So why would God, who is Goodness to the extreme do any less than give good things to those who ask for them?  That’s how you pray.

They all nod, heads indicating agreement, eyes revealing they didn’t have a clue.  So, Jesus sighed and said, how do you pray?  Hopefully.  Expecting good things.  Expecting just what you need.  You can give good things to your children, how much more will God give us just what we need, the Holy Spirit.  That’s what we need.  The Holy Spirit of wisdom, the Holy Spirit of encouragement, of strengthening, the Holy Spirit of discernment, of acceptance, the Holy Spirit of putting one foot in front of another.  

Someone who knew a little of my story told me they were praying for me this week.  I don’t know, she said, how you keep going.  Because you prayed, I told her, because you prayed.  How much more will God give?  Ask and see.

Shalom,

Derek

Choosing the Better Part

How did I get here?  No, that’s not an existential question, or even a religious philosophical question. It’s simply a logistical one.  How did I get here?  Here surrounded by more than I can handle, more than I can successfully navigate, more than I can do well or even passably?  How did I get here in a role I wasn’t supposed to play, trying to parent my parent?  I know I’m hardly the first one in this position, the first one to make this leap.  But there is just something fundamentally wrong about it. And everyone feels it.  Not just me.  We’re all unsettled by this.

We’re all overwhelmed these days.  It is a condition of life in the world we have shaped around us. The lists are long and the responsibilities legion.  Most of the time we just keep going, doing what needs to be done.  But once in a while we get lost in the midst of it all.  Once in while the carefully constructed jenga tower of obligations and opportunities becomes unstable and we are left in the rubble of unfinished tasks, feeling like we’ve let everyone down, like we’ve disappointed those most important to us, like even those we run to are pushing us away because we’ve become a liability.  We can’t carry the load anymore, so we lash out.

The teetering edifice of solutions for dad was beginning to wobble more than I liked, and when my siblings asked a couple of legitimate questions, I lashed out at them, saying “no one cares that you’ve left me to do all the work by myself!  Tell them then to help me.”

Luke 10:38-42 Now as they went on their way, he entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. 39 She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying. 40 But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me." 41 But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; 42 there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her."

OK, that wasn’t exactly what I said.  But it was what she said.  Martha.  Poor Martha.  Oh my goodness, have we given Martha a rough time.  And often for the wrong things.  She wasn’t spiritual enough, some claim.  She should have set aside the dinner preparations and sat down with Mary and listened to Jesus.  He wasn’t going to be there forever, after all.  Don’t miss an opportunity to listen.

Well, I guess we can’t argue with that.  We do need to listen to, and listen for Jesus.  Nobody, especially not me, is going to tell you to stop paying attention to Jesus.  That’s one of my most constant messages, don’t squeeze Jesus out of your busy life.  Take time to listen, to be present, to sit at his feet and be loved into transformation.  But that doesn’t mean we have to drop everything.  St Paul says we are to pray constantly.  How are we to do that and live a life engaged in the world around us?  We have to learn to listen while we work.  We have to learn to be alive to the Presence even while we are elbow deep in family issues and household chores.  Brother Lawrence, a late 17th Century monk known for wisdom amidst the domesticity of life, said I hear God best when I’m washing dishes.  Sounds like a Martha wanna be.  At least what I think Martha wanted to be.  Needed to be.  Could have been.  But instead she got in her own way.

It wasn’t what Martha chose to do that was the problem.  It was the self she chose to do it in that tripped her up.  At the top of the list of social and religious law among the people of Israel was the importance of hospitality.  It was a law woven into the very concept of what it meant to be God’s people.  It was taken very seriously.  You don’t say to visitors, “oh just make yourself at home.”  No, you help them know they are at home.  That they are valued and welcomed and catered to.  It’s hard work this hospitality thing, just ask Martha.

Which is why many churches aren’t very good at it.  Not because they don’t want to be. Not because they are unfriendly.  Friendliness isn’t really the issue.  Sure, we want to be friendly while we greet folks.  That’s the easy part, really.  Being nice is something we church people excel at.  And we should.  We want to present a pleasant face to the world.  But if being nice was all it took then we would succeed at everything.  Hospitality takes hard work, and at the top of the chore chart is setting yourself aside.  Remembering that what you do is not for your own satisfaction, your own growth, your own spiritual lift, but about sharing Christ by serving people, by making them feel like this whole event (worship, discipleship, evangelism, stewardship, mission and witness) is for their benefit.  It is designed for the purpose of bringing them into the presence of the living Christ.  Of lifting them up out of the loneliness of modern living, out of the emptiness of existence, out of the hopelessness of a dog eat dog climbing to the top of the heap kind of life.  Of welcoming them home like a prodigal for whom we’ve been straining to catch sight of every single day.  We don’t do what we do for us.  We do it because we are always with Him and everything He has to offer us is already ours.  We do it because we live the party and we desperately want everyone to join in.

That’s what Martha forgot for a moment.  Luke says she was distracted by her many tasks.  You know the feeling. Being distracted by our many tasks.  That’s a completely different feeling than when we are invested in our many tasks.  When we are doing what we do because we know in some small way the world is better because we do it. We know, we believe, we hope that all that we do is making the Kingdom of God a little more real, a little closer, within reach to those who have lost sight of it. That’s what we want to do.  That’s how we find God in the washing of dishes.  And scrubbing of floors.  But, like Martha, we need reminding now and again.  

Because we don’t feel the Presence any more.  Instead we feel the weight of the dishes we are carrying, we feel the strain on our backs as we knead another lump of dough to make more bread for these hungry disciples who are eating us out of house and home.  We count the costs, we feel the burden, we wipe the sweat from our brow and notice that there are others not carrying their share of the load.  And we snap.  “Lord, don’t you care...”  What a way to start.  Don’t you care.  Nobody cares.  Poor me.  Do it yourself.

That’s what I snapped to my sister and brother when they asked questions I didn’t like.  Do it yourself.  I wonder if Martha dropped a tray of dishes at Jesus’s feet.  Don’t you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself?  Don’t you care?  Tell her then to help me.  If you care, if you really cared about me, that’s how you’d show it.  By telling her to help me.  

Jesus did care.  Does care.  About the burden you are carrying.  Mostly because of how it is affecting you.  “You are worried and distracted by many things.  There is need of only one thing.”  One thing? What’s that one thing?   Sometimes I think church growth strategies are about finding this one thing. If we just do this, whatever this is, then everything will go well.  One thing.  Apparently some commentators suggested that he meant a simpler meal would be better.  Don’t cook a roast, but crackers and cheese will be fine.  Somehow it seems more profound than that.  The one thing.  

Mary chose the better part, Jesus said.  So, it’s the sitting at his feet thing.  That’s better than working in the kitchen, right?  Well, no.  The one thing is being fully present with Him. Whether sitting at his feet, or fixing Him dinner, or singing His praise, or feeding His hungry, or loving His children. Are you aware of His love and support?  Of His grace and compassion for you?  And does it radiate from you in the kitchen or the classroom, in the sanctuary or the street corner, in the office or the shop floor?  Choosing the better part isn’t a specific act, it is a way of acting, of believing, of being.  

Next week I’m off to Mission u to teach for a week on the Bible and Human Sexuality.  You know, easy stuff.  It’s not the right time, I’m way too busy, overwhelmed with responsibilities and duties. I have barely been in the office for weeks, I’ve got Dad to get settled, kids to transition and there still isn’t a marker on mom’s grave and it is starting to bother me.  I know I’ll be on the computer and on the phone all week in between sessions at Mission U.  But it is my prayer and my hope that I will be present with them, even as I attempt to stay present with my other responsibilities.  And when I start to crack under the stain (because I will), I may say, Lord, don’t you care?  And I’ll listen for the voice that says, “you are worried and distracted by many things, there is need of only one thing.  Me.”  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. 

Shalom,

Derek

Half Dead on the Side of the Road

It’s been a long time since I wrote in this space.  The last time I posted here I was on the brink of going to spend a week with Senior High Youth at Epworth Forest for an awesome week of worship and laughter and tears and fun and faith and the constant reminder that I’m an old guy.  I was looking forward to it.  Then halfway through the week I got a call from the facility where my mom was telling me that things didn’t look good.  My sister was there already, I spoke to my older brother, he was heading down.  The next day I packed up and went down.  

It’s an eight hour drive from Fort Wayne.  I hit a traffic jam crossing the Ohio, a torrential storm crossing Kentucky and got a call when I was still about an hour from Paris, Tennessee, the little town where my mom and dad retreated to when life in Indiana got messy some thirty-six years ago.  It was my older brother who simply said “mom’s gone.”

When I got the call on Wednesday from the nursing home I thought it would be a good thing.  Mom had suffered long enough, if she could just go to be in heaven with her brother and parents and her beloved son Stephen, that would be a good thing.  I had said good bye when I was there before, I was at peace with it.  But having driven that far I wanted to be there, to talk to her one more time.  “Mom’s gone.”  To be honest I considered turning around.  Except now I knew there was a lot to be done.  Mom was gone, but dad was there.  And all the myriad things that have to be done when death comes into the family.  So, I kept driving.  Wishing I could pass by on the other side.

Luke 10:25-37  Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 26 He said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" 27 He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." 28 And he said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live." 29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" 30 Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" 37 He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."

The priest and the Levite get a bad rap in this story.  And no, it’s not a union thing that makes me want to defend them.  It’s a human thing.  It’s a me thing.  There are just to many things that are easier to walk by than to get down and get your hands dirty by trying to help.  I write this on a weekend where the security of our nation is shaken, not by an outside enemy, but by a persistent racism that is so deep we can fool ourselves into thinking it isn’t there anymore.  Two young black men were killed in Minnesota and Louisiana by police this past week.  Then Thursday night a young black man, shot and killed five white Dallas police officers and wounded seven more before being killed by a robot with an explosive device after negotiations with the shooter failed. Passing by on the other side seems the safest, if not sanest response.  Pointing fingers and making accusations, finding fault and casting blame aren’t really the same as helping, yet that is what many choose to do.  Better to pass by, don’t you think?

Back up a moment.  Let’s look at the text, that’s what this is supposed to be about, right?  What do we learn here?  Well, we learn that Luke doesn’t like lawyers.  Not sure why exactly, but he casts this one in a negative light, even though the dialog doesn’t support such negativity.  Teacher, he says, an address of respect, what must I do to inherit eternal life?  Maybe he really wants to know.  This isn’t an attack by a roving gang of teachers of the law, or scribes and pharisees.  This is one guy, who interrupts a private moment (see vs 23) with a question.  What must I do?  Not the usual lawyer kind of question.  Not, what must I know, or what must I prove, or where does it say, or what is the law.  He didn’t ask anything like that.  What must I do?  But Jesus prods him a little bit.  You know the law, you’re a lawyer, so you tell me.  And he does.  As completely and eloquently as Jesus does on the occasions that Matthew and Mark tell us about.   Even Jesus is impressed.  See, this answer which seems so simple for us, since Jesus laid it out, is not as evident to them.  The lawyer had to put together two ideas that don’t sit side by side in the Hebrew text.  They’re in there, but you have to go and find them, and put them into one simple package.  

Any good Jew, lawyer or not (and just to be clear, lawyer in this context means he knew the bible really well, it was his profession to interpret the Hebrew texts), would know the first part.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind.  It’s called the Shema, the most precious prayer of every Jew.  Oh, he expanded on it a bit, since “mind” isn’t in the original.  But he was covering his bases, I’m guessing.  Doing the lawyer thing.  So, that wasn’t surprising.  What was surprising was the second one, which is simplified as “and your neighbor as yourself.”  That he put those two together is incredible, really.  Jesus commends him and seems ready to end the dialog.  Go and do.

But the lawyer has another question.  Luke again casts a negative sounding light on the question, “wanting to justify himself.”  Give him a break, Luke, maybe he really did want to know.  But he was a lawyer for heaven’s sake, used to talking in subordinate clauses and parties of the first part and parties of the second part.  He needed a definition he could run with.  

Who is my neighbor?  It’s a question we live with every day.  Like a waitress in a busy restaurant, we want to know which is our table to serve.  Like a manager in a large corporation, we ask which employees are ours to supervise.  Not my problem, not my backyard, not my issue.  Not my row to hoe.  If Luke is right and he was wanting to justify himself, I suspect it was that he was wanting to know if the definition for neighbor that he had known all his life was still valid.  Am I loving the ones I’m supposed to love?  The ones near me, the ones like me, the ones in my camp, my tribe, my family?  

So Jesus drops a little bomb in the midst of his preconceived notions about life and his place in it.  The good Samaritan.  It’s become a cliche for us, a label, something to aspire to, we have good Samaritan laws, a good Sam club of RV’ers, we’ve come to accept the description.  But for this poor lawyer it was incomprehensible.  A what?  A good what?  No such thing.  They, those Samaritans, defiled the law, polluted the race, gave up on God, they are dirty and lazy and hateful and no ... good.  Just no good.  

The priest and the Levite, the good ones, came and saw and passed by.  Never mind why, the reasons are many.  But they did.  The dirty, lazy, hateful Samaritan came and saw and had compassion.  Then he acted.  He saw and had compassion.  Not fear for his life or worry about his reputation or disgust over the stupidity of the man who must have been asking for it when he got beat up, not suspicion over motives and circumstances.  He had compassion. He saw a man, a fellow human being, a brother, a neighbor lying half dead on the side of the road.  He did what he could, went out of his way, put himself at risk.  Out of compassion.

That’s what will save us as a nation, when we learn to have compassion.  Because the truth is we’re all half dead on the side of the road, longing for someone to come and give us life.  Needing someone to turn aside for us, even as we turn aside for others.  We need someone to bandage our wounds, our fears, our doubts, our prejudices, our emptiness, even as we - out of compassion - bandage the wounds of the other.  Maybe that’s what loving the neighbor as yourself really means, knowing that we are as needy, we are as wounded, we are as half dead as the ones we stop to help.  I drove on to Paris and found all my time and energy and effort going to help dad who appeared beaten and robbed and lying half dead on the side of the road.  We’re still tending those wounds, even as we attempt to grieve the loss of our mother.  I wanted to pass by all of this, to be honest, the urge is still there.  But instead I’m unpacking the bandages and pour the oil on troubled waters and hoping there’s enough to bring healing, while feeling half dead on the side of the road.  Because there are many who come to show mercy.  Thanks be to God.

Shalom,

Derek