Palm Reading

Here we are again. We are on the brink of the remembrance of the central event of our faith. Holy Week and Easter shape our understanding of who we are as followers of Jesus Christ more than any other single event. We are, as others have said, Easter people living in a Good Friday world. We are defined by this sacrifice and by this gift of eternity. And it all begins with Palm Sunday.

Well, of course, arguments could be made that it all begins with a baptism and the heavens tearing open that the Spirit might descend like a dove. Or maybe it begins with an announcement in an out of the way synagogue - “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” Or does it really begin on a cloud shrouded mountain of light and glory? Or maybe we should look back at an angelic announcement and claim it began with Incarnation in a back alley of a small town. Or, like John, should we recognize that it began at the beginning, the beginning of all that is, all that we see and know. It was at this beginning that the plan was in place that would culminate in death and resurrection.

We could argue where it begins until the cows come home. Since I don’t have room for those cows, maybe we should just let it go. Let me start over. The curtain rises on this final act in the divine drama to a palm strewn parade. Take a look:

Luke 19:29-40 When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, 30 saying, "Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. 31 If anyone asks you, 'Why are you untying it?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it.'" 32 So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. 33 As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, "Why are you untying the colt?" 34 They said, "The Lord needs it." 35 Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. 36 As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. 37 As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, 38 saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!" 39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, order your disciples to stop." 40 He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."

On the one hand it might seem like a diversion and not a prologue. This event provides a bright spot in a dark time, a respite from the burdensome journey plaguing the whole company. Maybe this is a Sabbath rest that steels them all for what lies ahead. Maybe it is the calm in the midst of, or on the edge of the storm. Or maybe it is more.

It is a declaration, this diversionary parade. It is a pronouncement. For these three years of Jesus’ earthly ministry he has asked for silence. Don’t tell anyone, he would say, keep your knowledge, your revelation to yourself. There has been and continues to be a lot of speculation as to why he told people not to tell. Some argue that it was reverse psychology. He knew the surest way of getting the word out was to tell people not to tell. That never seemed to be a convincing argument to me. Too devious, too underhanded. Jesus was a up-front kind of person. Which means we have to go by his own explanation - the first one he gave, to his mother no less - “it is not my hour.”


He was concerned about time, about the right time. He was, with his Father, ordering these events in the way that would reach the desired outcome. He had to build the story, he had to design the drama so that we who would come to see and hear would finally understand and accept, so that we would understand that his story is our story. We had to see ourselves lived out in him, we had to find ourselves in him. Too soon and we wouldn’t hear, too late and we would have missed it. He had to wait until it was time.

Now it was time. Jesus had an announcement to make. But rather than sending a memo, rather than posting a thesis on the church doors or writing in fiery letters across the sky, he used the language of the culture. He orchestrated a processional drama, an enthronement scene acted out in the symbols that were a part of the common understanding, and he touched a need or hope that was rising in the hearts of the people. This was why they responded to his announcement so readily.

He arranged for a colt, an unridden donkey symbolizing purity and peace. They waved branches as an acknowledgment of his authority. They threw down their cloaks to cover the road to usher the prince into their midst. They shouted the traditional welcome to a new king: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Given his earlier reticence to declare himself, he was practically shouting now. Here I am, he announced, your king, your prince of peace, your savior. And they heard it, loudly and clearly. Which is why they shouted back “Hosanna!” Which means “save us.” Maybe it was mob psychology, maybe it was desperation, or maybe they had an inkling that this indeed was the one who could save them. So, they shouted, and pulled branches off of trees and threw their clothes into the street as a welcome. They heard.

But the crowd that gathered weren’t the only ones who heard. Some of the Pharisees (and notice Luke’s careful identification of “some” of the Pharisees - like he is preparing the way for the division that was coming), some of the Pharisees heard, and didn’t like what they heard. “Keep it down!” they shouted to the self-professed king on a colt. “Shut them up, or there will be trouble.” They had one eye looking down their noses with contempt at the rabble grasping at their palm straws. And the other was cast over their shoulders in fear of Rome who didn’t like any disturbance that they didn’t cause. “Tell them to stop!”

And here is what distinguishes Luke’s memory of this event from the rest. Luke leaves out the Hosanna that the other three record. But he is the only one who records this curious response to the plea of some of the Pharisees to keep quiet. “I tell you,” says Jesus, “if these were silent, the stones would shout out!” The necessity of praise is how one commentator describes it, the absolute necessity of praise. When it is time, it is time. The purposes of God will be fulfilled, the only question is will we join in or get out of the way? It is time, says Jesus as he sits astride the humble little colt. It is time for events to unfold, events that can gather us up and carry us to a new reality, a new way of living, a new hope. Or events that we can let pass us by, if we so choose.

But choose we must. It is time. Palm reading is a delicate enterprise, but this is our story being told in an ancient text. It is your future, your opportunity. What do you see?

Hosanna.

Shalom,
Derek

You Shouldn't Have

Have you ever received a gift that left you speechless? I don’t mean the one that you couldn’t figure out. Or the one that made you wonder if the giver even knew who you were! No, I mean the one that took your breath away. The one that seemed beyond the reach of the giver. The one that must have caused an accountant to gasp.

No doubt all sorts of emotions ran through you as you held that precious gift in your hands. You might have felt excited and ashamed at the same time. Perhaps you were embarrassed by the gift, as though you weren’t worthy to receive such extravagance. Maybe you felt bad for the giver, afraid that he had extended himself too far to give this gift, worried that she would suffer because of what it must have cost. And it is also possible that when you did finally find your voice, the only thing you could think to say was “You shouldn’t have!”

We often don’t mean it when we say that. We are excited by the gift, flattered, honored. But we say “you shouldn’t have” out of sense of humility - maybe false, maybe real. But we are glad that they gave it. On the other hand, sometimes we mean it when we say that. We really wish that the giver didn’t give such a gift. Maybe it feels like burden to accept it. “You shouldn’t have,” we think because now I have to live up to your image of me, or live up to the gift itself.

And then sometimes an extravagant gift produces anger. At least that is what happened in our reading for this week. A familiar story, here on the brink of Holy Week, the anointing of Jesus.

John 12:1-8 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3 Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4 But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5 "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" 6 (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7 Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8 You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

Six days before the Passover, which means it is five days before Jesus is killed. So, it is no wonder that he makes the connection between Mary’s extravagant gift and his burial. Whether Mary saw it as such is debatable. For her it was a pouring out of self and soul, it was an act of surrender and of giving to the one she came to love so deeply. She didn’t think about the cost, only the giving.

Jesus didn’t think about the cost, only the love behind the giving. John saw this act as a prelude to Jesus’ own act of service and giving at the Last Supper only a few days away. John is less concerned about the meal than the other gospel writers, but he is more concerned with the sacrificial service that Jesus performs for his disciples. Mary shows him that she understands the kind of loving service that Jesus calls for. Even Martha shows she understands this time. The only comment about Martha that appears in this story is the two word phrase: Martha served.

And then there’s Judas. In Matthew’s version of the anointing the complainer is “the disciples.” In Mark’s version it is “some were there.” Only John identifies the complainer as Judas. Now, Mark and Matthew might also be talking about different events. In their versions the woman (also unnamed) pours the ointment on Jesus’ head. Luke has a story about anointing of Jesus, and there it is his feet and wiped with the woman’s hair. But there it is tears that are used to anoint, and Jesus talks about forgiveness and not about his death. So, is it possible that this sort of thing is a regular occurrence?

If that were the case, then Judas’ outburst would be even more incomprehensible. If he had seen this sort of thing many times, if he was used to Jesus accepting such gifts, then it seems he should have simply muttered to himself - “There he goes again!”

Judas was a man who knew the cost of everything, but the value of nothing. He was willing to shout at Mary and say, “you shouldn’t have,” but it wasn’t the false humility of a grateful receiver. No, John says it was the cold look of avarice that was aware of what he was not getting. He wouldn’t be so bold as to say it should have gone to him, so he condemned the whole act as wasteful.

But you can’t help but wonder if John put those words and that parenthetical explanation in the story to cover his own guilt. Maybe he had been the spokesperson earlier, maybe he was one of the “some who were there” and was now looking for someone to blame. Surely, I couldn’t have said that, or thought that. That jealousy, that hunger to have could only have come from someone truly evil, right?

Jesus points out, to all of them and to us as well, that no gift is wasteful when it is given in love, no matter how extravagant. No act of service can be demeaning when it is given in love, no matter how humble.

What about that last verse, though? Aren’t we in danger of misinterpretation here? Luke thought so. Luke has a consistent call toward solidarity with the poor in his Gospel. And while his story, particularly in the last days of Jesus earthly ministry, mirrors Mark’s version in many ways, Luke leaves out this story completely. It is as if he was sure that we would seize these words as permission to let up in our ministry to and with the poor. He was afraid that we would claim this loophole in the clear command to share and give and help.

“The always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.” What does that mean? Give to Jesus more extravagantly, give to the poor out of duty? Give to Jesus everything, give to the poor some things? Give to Jesus always, give to the poor when you can?

I don’t know. Honestly, I am puzzled and troubled by this verse. But I find it hard to believe that Jesus would ask us to back off of giving wholeheartedly. What I wonder is whether Jesus is once again speaking to our experience, giving us a warning about how our lives are lived out sometimes. I mean, I am sure that at the time, he was trying to get across to his followers - even the slow ones - that his earthly life was coming to an end very soon. But at the same time, I wonder if he was saying to us that sometimes when we give to the poor, we will see his face and sometimes we won’t. Sometimes we will know his will and feel his presence and other times we will wonder what he would have us do and wonder why he seems so far from us. But that no matter what, we should give and serve out of love, with extravagance.

We should give so that those who receive might be moved to say “You shouldn’t have.” Even though we know we should.

Shalom,
Derek

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