A Table of Grace--August 21, 2024

A Table of Grace--August 21, 2024

"Jesus also said to the one who had invited him, 'When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for your will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." [Luke 14:12-14]

You reward--you encourage--the kind of behavior that you approve of. And generally speaking, you approve of the kind of behavior you see in yourself. That may run the risk of sounding obvious, but preachers are notorious for repeatedly stating the obvious. And it seems pretty straightforward on its face that people typically encourage others to do what they already see as "good" in themselves.

When I try to teach my kids to help out with setting the table before dinner, it is because I want them to learn the importance of everyone in a family pitching in to do what needs to be done. When I want to encourage them to take on responsibility in the family, sometimes there is compensation, too--money paid for mowing the lawn, or the promise of an ice cream treat if everyone gets their laundry put away, or whatever. The goal of the reward is not just to get the table set or the lawn mowed, but to teach a whole way of thinking and acting--a whole mindset--that we all pitch in to help take care of the family. And that is an important lesson I want my kids to learn, one which I hope they can already see in me.  In other words, I only ask them to do things I am also willing to take my turn doing as well.

Or, when I catch my kids sharing with each other, or sitting next to the kid who seems left out, and then I go out of my way to praise them for their small acts of compassion, it's because (obviously) that is the kind of behavior I want to promote. I want my kids to be the kind of people who share what they have, and who look out to include the people who have been left out. And so it makes perfect sense, too, that I try myself to be the kind of person who shares and looks out for people who are feeling left out. It's all pretty straightforward, right? The values that I hold at my own core are values I want to pass along to my kids... and because I want to instill those values and practices in my kids, I look for ways to encourage them to do things that fit with my values.

If we think sharing is important, we will not only model sharing ourselves, but we will encourage it in our kids. If we think honesty is important, we will not only be honest ourselves but will promote truth-telling in our families. If we think hard work is important, we will not only work hard ourselves but we will reward hard work in our children so that it can become ingrained in them, and ultimately, so that they will do what we are encouraging them to do even without a dollar or a cookie or a prize. In other words, the real goal of the rewards and encouragements that come with parenting (or classroom management for teachers) is ultimately to shape the kind of people that our children become; and one hopes that we are encouraging them to follow the examples we set ourselves.  And part of being an example is that we make the commitment to do good in certain ways even if those we are trying to teach haven't caught on yet.

If all of that is obvious, good. I was hoping so. Because that connection between what we encourage in others and what sort of people we are ourselves is at the core of Jesus' teaching here about radical hospitality. When Jesus encourages his listeners to invite the outcast, the powerless, the ones lacking influence or wealth, and the disinherited, it is because Jesus is convinced this is God's character, too.

Let's be clear about this. Jesus isn't just making a harmless suggestion for how to win etiquette points, and he isn't offering party advice to make us more popular or well-connected. Jesus is encouraging a particular way of acting because he is convinced that God acts the same way. We are supposed to welcome and include people who cannot pay us back, regardless of their social standing or status, or even whether we like them or not... because Jesus is convinced that this is how God acts toward all of us... all the time.

In other words, according to Jesus, when God throws a party, it is for everybody. When God makes out a guest list, it is not about God collecting favors or getting something in return. When God spreads out a table, there are places set for the people on the margins and people who are against the ropes. In a world that seems more and more obsessed with getting something back in return for a favor done or an invitation given, God messes all of that thinking up by throwing parties for the anybodies and nobodies who can never pay God back.

And it is only because that kind of reckless hospitality is at the heart of God's character that Jesus then calls us to practice it as well. The talk about being "repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" is not to say that only the gracious hosts of the world will go to heaven. It is to say that God is teaching us and shaping us much the same way we teach and shape our kids. I want my kids to learn to set the table without being asked and without complaining, and so part of training them is to encourage and reward that behavior now when I see it, as well as to model it in myself.

The bottom line today, then, is that God's kind of party is one that has a place for everybody--including a special focus on including the people who will never be able to pay God back (all of us). We aren't good at that--maybe that's why we need to listen to Jesus' words again and let them kick us in the pants. We keep getting sucked into the old quid-pro-quo, deal-making, I'll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch mine kind of thinking that only asks, "What will I get out of it?" And God continues to try to reshape our hearts to become people who can be generous without wanting something in return, who love without expecting attention or rewards, and who include the least, the last, and the left-behind. That matters to God because it is how God loves us and welcomes us to the table--recklessly, unconditionally, and without getting something in return. In a word, it is a table of grace. And Jesus is set on shaping us to be people of such grace, too.

Lord Jesus, encourage us and shape us to become more and more fully like you--and like the living God whom you have shown us. Make us to be generous, gracious, and daring in our welcome.

Groceries Without Price--August 20, 2024

Groceries Without Price--August 20, 2024

"Ho, everyone who thirsts,
     come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
     come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
     without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for
     that which is not bread,
and your labor for
     that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
     and delight yourselves in rich good.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
     listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
     my steadfast, sure love for David." [Isaiah 55:1-3]

Sometimes I am surprised God doesn't give up on this grace thing. It's got to be frustrating to be giving away good things for free, only to have everybody lining up for junk food and being willing to pay top dollar for the chance to get it somewhere else.

This, I suppose, is the tragedy of unrequited love that makes up the first act in the great love story of the Gospel's divine comedy: God keeps holding out the gifts that bring us to life, and offers them like a free meal, but we keep chasing after lesser things and lesser loves thinking they will fill the empty places in these fragile hearts of ours. And for whatever things God can think of to get our attention, we keep spending our lives, our energy, and our love for "that which does not satisfy."

What gives me hope on a day like today, though, is that despite the ways we surely break God's heart in the quest for an ever-elusive Something Else or Someone Better, God doesn't back down on the free part of the offer of groceries without price, and God doesn't give up on the invitation to life in the fullest. I surely would have given up, if I were God. I would have long ago decided with a look of smug self-righteousness, "Well, I gave them all their chance to receive the good I have to give, and they ran off in another direction, so now I'm just done with them." I would have bailed out, cut my losses, and stopped trying--I'm like that sometimes. My willingness to love would have gotten gun-shy along time ago, after one too many times of holding out my hands and being ignored. Maybe all of us are like that, too--we just feel we come to limits of how much we can keep risking love after being hurt, dismissed, or thrown away before.

But God does not. God keeps holding out the gift of grace, even to ungrateful stinkers like me who have convinced themselves that what will really make us happy is found in job titles, bigger salaries, larger houses, political power, candlelight and romance, or having our names carved in stone on a building to leave behind as a legacy. We've been chasing all those dead-end rabbit trails forever, while God has been standing in the center of town offering a gift that sounds too good to be true.

That's an especially powerful message knowing when this word was spoken. The words we call Isaiah 55 are most likely spoken to people on the other side of exile--in other words, people who had been chasing after other things, other gods, and other loves for so long they got themselves carried away into Babylon. The prophet speaks this offer to people who had broken their relationship with God so badly they all swore it was beyond repair--it was a like a marriage ended with divorce, a child who had run away from home, or a friendship in shambles (in fact, those are all ways the prophets talked about the broken covenant between God and Israel from time to time). And yet, despite the ways the people have blown a good thing that was right in front of them, God offers again: come, receive water... bread... wine... milk... life... for free. God offers that the people will be given life again, despite all the ways they have sold themselves out to lesser things before.

It reminds me of a lyric from a song of Mumford and Sons, called, "Roll Away Your Stone," that goes like this:

"It seems that all my bridges have been burned,

But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.

It's not the long walk home that will change this heart,

But the welcome I receive with the re-start."

That's the offer. When we've burned the bridges, God builds a new one. When we've spent our last buck on fool's gold and junk food, God gives away the good stuff for free. When we've turned in the wrong direction again and again and gotten ourselves lost in the valley of the shadow of death, God brings us back to life. As a gift. Without price.

And if that's how God's offer meets each of us today, maybe we can let some burned bridges be rebuilt today, too. Maybe we can extend grace to someone who has been waiting for forgiveness, knowing we've already been given a restart from God. Maybe there's someone you can share abundance with today, knowing that God keeps giving good things to us beyond our deserving. Maybe... well, maybe today is just the day you and I decide not to give up on someone else, because we know God hasn't given up on us, either.

That's what makes that tragic first act of unrequited love into a divine comedy: grace keeps on offering, insistent on outwaiting and outlasting our misguided quests to fill the God-shaped empty spot in our lives with anything or anyone else.

Here's the offer again--grace is yours already. An honest to goodness free lunch in a world full of hucksters.  And what's more, the offer from God isn't a limited-time promotion to inflate sales numbers; it is persistently, perpetually, free of charge.

Lord God, outlast our waywardness with your enduring love.

At Wisdom's Table--August 19, 2024

At Wisdom's Table--August 19, 2024

 Wisdom has built her house,
  she has hewn her seven pillars.
 She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine,
  she has also set her table.
 She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls
  from the highest places in the town,
 “You that are simple, turn in here!”
  To those without sense she says,
 “Come, eat of my bread
  and drink of the wine I have mixed.
 Lay aside immaturity, and live,
  and walk in the way of insight.” [Proverbs 9:1-6]

God is not running a club for members who meet strict membership requirements. Nope--just the opposite: God is running a free meal service for people who wouldn't get past the gatekeeper of the clubhouse.

These words from the book of Proverbs, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, are a case in point.  Here in this passage, the Wisdom of God is personified like a woman throwing a dinner party, but there's a surprise to it.  Wisdom doesn't have a fixed guest list of the Who's-Who or the elite Big Names in town.  She has gone to all the work of putting on a huge feast, but her invitation goes out to the least-expected and least-impressive.  Wisdom invites, not the CEOs, the Medal of Freedom winners, or the university Board of Trustees, but the drop-outs, the uneducated, the mess-ups, and the unschooled to her banquet.  Her feast isn't a reward for being the brightest or the most prestigious, but a gift for those who hunger for what she has to give. Wisdom's table is a gift of grace, through and through.

The plot twist here is utterly divine comedy.  After listing all the lengths Lady Wisdom has gone to for the sake of throwing this dinner party (butchering the meat, preparing the wine, setting her tables, and getting her servers ready), the invitation goes out, not to an exclusive set of worthy socialites, but to anybody and everybody.  In particular, the invitation is for "the simple" and those "without sense."  That's a polite way of saying that Wisdom is inviting the folks without a lick of common sense.  This is a meal for the ones who have been told they "aren't the sharpest tool in the shed" and are "not the brightest bulb." The meal at Wisdom's table isn't a prize given out to folks who have earned it or shown their worthiness; it's a free gift for people who are in need of what she has to offer.

And to be clear, this is the way God operates.  The figure of Wisdom here is a sort of stand-in for God's ordering of the universe.  She appears in the book of Proverbs almost like the imagery of "the Word" in John's Gospel--the "Logos" of God's Self-Expression through whom all things were created and in whom all things hold together.  In other words, in the Bible, what "Wisdom" does is a glimpse into how God operates.  And therefore, this passage is a glimpse to God's own economy of mercy. God gives good things to the empty-handed because of their need, not as prizes for the perfect peaches.

For a whole world full of us who consistently miss the point, make bad choices, reveal our ignorance, and get stuck in foolish ruts, the Wisdom of God specifically invites us to her table.  She is giving away exactly what we need, precisely what we have been hungering for.  She brings no conditions or prerequisites, because that's not how her meal works.  All we bring are empty hands and hungry bellies, and she will feed us with what we need.  That's how God runs the universe.

All too often we make the assumption that God is running the world like the prize-counter guy at Chuck E. Cheese, doling out cheap plastic trinkets in exchange for however many tickets we have earned playing the games.  We imagine that the Christian life is a matter of racking up points (whether for good behavior, or knowing the right religious facts, or public displays of piety, or voting with the party that has co-opted our faith), and that we get the prizes we want as a reward for getting enough points.  But that's precisely the opposite of what the way of Wisdom does here: she sends her wait-staff out in every direction to the people who don't have it together, who have messed up and made mistakes, and who weren't on any guest list, and these are the ones who are called in to receive a free meal.

Maybe today it's time to stop treating God like a prize-counter and instead to receive the gifts that can only be received by grace.  Maybe it's time to stop treating our faith like a country club and more like an open table.  That's what Wisdom says it always has been.

Lord God, draw us to your table to be filled with wisdom where we are lacking sense.

Beyond Carrots and Sticks--August 16, 2024

Beyond Carrots and Sticks--August 16, 2024

"Thieves must give up stealing; rather let them labor and work honestly with their own hands, so as to have something to share with the needy." [Ephesians 4:28]

If we actually pay attention to it, the New Testament really is wonderfully strange.  It can take even the most seemingly obvious, self-evident ideas and turn them on their head.  

This is one of my favorites. In these words that many of us heard in worship this past Sunday, we get a sketch of the life of the Christian community: how we are to live together, speak to one another, and care for one another.  And in the midst of a larger conversation about not using hurtful or mean-spirited speech, the writer takes a surprising turn here.  He says, "Thieves must give up stealing." I say that's surprising, not because it's unusual to have a moral prohibition on stealing, but (1) because the writer seems to think that there might actually be thieves or bandits in the Christian community who need this reminder, and even more importantly (2) because of the rest of the train of thought.

We might expect a warning against stealing to threaten punishment or damnation as a consequence, or an invocation of the commandments.  We might expect the argument to go, "Thieves must give up stealing, or else they will be disqualified from inheriting the kingdom!" or "Don't steal from anyone, or else you won't get into heaven!" or even just a simple, "Don't steal--that's one of the Ten Commandments, after all, and we all have to follow The Rules!" Rather, the writer of Ephesians makes a turn toward love and generosity.  Thieves need to give up stealing so that instead, they can find honest work "so as to have something to share with the needy." In other words, in this passage, the reason to stop stealing isn't so much fear of punishment as the opportunity to share with a hungry neighbor. Stealing just takes away from someone else, but working a legitimate job allows everybody to get to eat.  It's not at all about the threat of a lightning bolt or a ticket to hell, but about the chance to show love to someone else who is in need.  I've got to be honest with you: that's not where I expected this verse to be going the first time I read it.  

But this is the whole key to the freedom and beauty of the Christian life according to the New Testament.  We no longer have to be driven to avoid bad behavior through the threat of punishment or to pursue good behavior in order to get some kind of self-interested reward.   We are past carrots and sticks.  Instead, it is all about love that feeds the hungry neighbor.  The writer to the Ephesians says we are called to honest labor rather than theft as a way of making sure we have enough abundance to share with someone else.  It is a completely neighbor-centered train of thought, rather than about me personally avoiding punishment.  It's about saying, "There are other members of the community who are going hungry--how can I be a part of the solution to the problem, rather than ignoring their need?"  It's about taking seriously the idea that everyone in the household of God gets to eat, and then making the choices in our own lives that help to feed everybody.  And to be very honest, that kind of thinking is radical. 

I say that because the conventional wisdom about religion is often pretty self-centered.  For a lot of folks, religion self-centeredly boils down to saying, "I should be good so that I get into heaven, or at least avoid being bad and getting sent to hell."  Sometimes it is phrased a little more elegantly or with theological window dressing, but yeah, sometimes it is put just that crudely (and wrongly).  Ultimately, that's a pretty selfish view of the universe, in which faith is just a means for me to get what I want or avoid the pain I don't want.  But of course that's not really how the New Testament sees things, especially not this passage from Ephesians. The New Testament reframes the whole conversation to say, "What if you weren't earning anything or avoiding punishments? What if you were so grounded in the love of Christ that you were free to do good for others simply out of love for them and concern for their needs?"  The Gospel pulls us out of the old self-centered carrot-and-stick scheme to see that because God has provided us what we need for life, we are free to care for the needs of the hungry neighbor next to us.  Doing God's will, then, isn't so much about how I earn a ticket to heaven or avoid a trip to hell, but about the freedom to love the people whom God loves.  As our older brother in the faith Martin Luther put it, "What is it to serve God and do God's will? Nothing else than to show mercy to our neighbor."  That's a very different answer from what we've heard from other voices of Respectable Religion.  

All of this is to say that our perspective changes when we find ourselves welcomed to the table of Jesus.  Instead of being solely concerned with our own self-interest, we discover that we are free to attend to the needs of the folks around us, including the willingness to do honest work--not to avoid jail time for stealing, but in order to make enough income to be generous for the hungry neighbors around us.  That is downright revolutionary... and it is lurking there right in the New Testament, waiting to be found and to change our lives forever.

What else might be reframed or turned upside-down in light of this kind of love? What lengths might you and I be led to because we have been changed by the love of Jesus, who attends to our needs generously?

Let's see where this takes us...

Lord Jesus, change our perspective today so that we use our time and resources for the good of others around us in need.

Good News for Empty Hands--August 15, 2024

Good News for Empty Hands--August 15, 2024

[And Mary said:] 

"...God has shown strength with his arm; 

     he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,

    and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

     and sent the rich away empty..." [Luke 1:51-53]

Of all the things God could be known for, God chooses a reputation for giving out free lunches to poor people who can't afford it.  Just ask Jesus' Mom.

Today is the date in the church's peculiar way of keeping time (called the liturgical calendar) when we remember Mary, the Mother of Our Lord. And personally, I have come to appreciate the chance, here in the late dog days of summer, to reflect on Mary's story and her faith, apart from the hectic bustle and schmaltz and saccharin of Christmas time, when she is often overshadowed by sparkle of angels and bathrobe-wearing wisemen in the church Christmas pageant.  Here, in a moment when we least expect it, Mary unsentimentally sings about the God who meets real people in the midst of real need.  And she sings in particular about the way God's agenda prioritizes feeding the hungry rather than helping the billionaires heap up bigger piles of money. Like it or not, and whether we were expecting it or not (I confess, I was into my twenties before I had really paid attention to the mere existence of this passage from Luke, even though I had been sitting in pews and going to Sunday School all my life), Mary teaches us about the kind of table her son (Jesus) will spread, and the kind of people who will find a welcome there.

It's all right there in these words from what the church has come to call the Magnificat (from the Latin words from the opening line of the song/poem, "My soul magnifies the Lord...").  As she reflects on the meaning of the baby she is carrying, Mary says that God's strength is shown by scattering the proud, pulling the powerful from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, and feeding the hungry with good things, while the smug and self-satisfied among the well-heeled are sent away.  It's a reversal of the usual order of the day, and surely one that turned heads and raised eyebrows among the Empire.  But to hear Mary tell it, this is how God's kind of banquet works.  God is more interested in making sure the empty-handed have something to eat than in multiplying the fortunes of the upper crust.  God is more invested in feeding the kids with nothing in the pantry at home than in nudging up the value of the stock market's closing number. Like we say to kids lining up for pizza at a birthday party, you make sure that everybody gets a first piece before anybody is allowed to pile six slices onto their plate.  And if you come to God's party expecting that you can elbow the other guests out your way and take their place in line because you've got more expensive clothes and shoes on, well, Mary has no qualms about showing you to the back of the buffet line or out the door altogether.  Mary knows that God is more concerned that everybody have a place at the table than in letting the meal become a free-for-all where the ones nearest to the platters take all the food for themselves.

When we talk about the kind of table that Jesus spreads, this is what we mean.  In the Reign of God, the priority is always going to be on making sure everybody gets something to fill their bellies and making sure even the lowliest are honored with a seat at the table, over the supposed "freedom" to heap your plate with as many appetizers as possible.  It's not to say that Jesus has a salary cap or a maximum allowable net worth if you want to go to heaven (although he does certainly warn that wealth can make it harder to access than getting a camel through the eye of a needle!).  But it is to say that if Jesus has to choose between everybody getting to eat on the one hand, and unrestrained cutthroat free rein for anybody to take more than they can possibly eat just for the sake of having a bigger pile than everyone else on the other, Jesus will always choose everybody getting to eat.  And yes, that may well mean that the hungry are filled with good things while the ones who already have filled their bellies from their abundance don't need to get extra.  They're not going to starve, Jesus promises; they just don't need to gorge themselves while others are going hungry.

If we take Mary's song seriously, it will affect our priorities, too, of course.  If we become people who sing her song, too, or if we dare to celebrate the birth and life and resurrection and reign of her son Jesus, we will come to care more that everybody get to eat than we will about demanding our "right" to amass bigger fortunes than we can possibly ever use. If we find ourselves welcomed and fed at Jesus' table, we'll care less about the unfettered "liberty" to acquire more-for-the-sake-of-having-more, and we'll see the utter beauty of Mary's vision in which the hungry poor still get to eat even if their wallets are empty. That's the kind of world Mary sang about as she carried her baby to term. It's the kind of world she gave as a lullaby to the child in the manger.  It's the kind of world that Jesus grew up to preach about when he announced God's blessing on the poor and hungry.  And it's the kind of world we step into, despite the insatiable greed of the culture around us, every time we share the bread and cup of communion.

After all, what is it that happens every Sunday around our altars, if not the free gift of Jesus' meal to people who come with nothing but empty hands?

Lord Jesus, take hold of our faithful imagination to dream of a world in which everybody gets to eat--and enable us to act in line with that vision today.

For the Life of the World--August 14, 2024

For the Life of the World--August 14, 2024

[Jesus said:] "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." [John 6:51]

When you think of Jesus, don't picture a vending machine dispensing snacks for paying customers with exact change.  Picture a banquet given freely for the whole world.  That's how big, how wide, Jesus understands his mission to be.  He has come for no less than "the life of the world."

I want to ask us to stop right there and just let that sink in.  Jesus himself says that he has come to give his life like bread for the hungry, not just for a holy few or for elite members in Heaven's Country Club, but "for the life of the world." All too often, we settle for a distorted version of the Gospel that makes it sound like Jesus just gives perks to the card-carrying members of Respectable Religion.  Plenty of preachers have sold a version of Christianity that goes like this:  "Once you believe this list of facts about Jesus (according to the following points of doctrine I have determined are the essentials), then you start to reap all the benefits of club membership, and you'll be saved OUT OF this sinful world, and you'll get access to the Bread of Life Buffet, hosted by Jesus for members in good standing."  If that isn't Pop Religion in a nutshell, I'll eat my hat.

Trouble is, it just isn't the way Jesus actually talks about things.  Jesus doesn't describe his coming as a matter of giving perks to a select few, as though he'll settle for feeding just a handful of devoted disciples and giving up on everyone else.  Jesus says he has come "for the life of the world."  That is, in order that the whole world may live.

It is also worth noting that Jesus is not naive, and he knows full well that "the world" is precisely "the world that typically rejects God, turns away from God, and rebels against God's good Reign."  Look through the Gospel of John and you'll see that in general, the phrase "the world" doesn't have a very positive connotation.  "The world" is John the narrator's shorthand for "the whole mess of sinful systems that are bent on rottenness and turned from God."  And yet, without blushing or second thoughts, Jesus says he has come to feed that very world, so that the world might be brought to life.

And for that matter, Jesus doesn't describe himself in that scene as the bakery's delivery man bringing a fresh baguette to everyone's house for dinner.  He describes himself as the Bread.  In other words, Jesus says he has come to give his very life for us--so that as he gives himself away, we are filled--with his own presence.  That suggests Jesus is willing to pay a pretty costly price for our lives.  After all, the hired delivery guy for the bakery doesn't lose anything when he comes and drops off your order of bread--he actually gets paid for it.  But the bread, on the other hand, gets consumed in the exchanged.  You get to live from eating it, but the bread is gone--it gives itself away, so to speak, in the transaction.   That's how Jesus sees himself.  He is not merely the one doling out goodies at no cost to himself, but the One who gives himself away that we and the whole world might be fed.

The other thing I want to note in this whole discussion, too, is what a different take that puts on the meaning of Jesus' death.  Here Jesus plainly talks about giving up his life--his own flesh and blood--in order that the world might have life. That's absolutely about the cross, but notice that at least here it's not really about "paying a debt" or "making a sacrifice for sins" or "placating an angry deity who is wroth and seething at the impulse to punish sinners."  To be sure, sometimes, the Bible talks about Jesus' death as a sacrifice.  And yes, sometimes, the writers of the New Testament will describe the cross like the cancellation of a debt or the covering over of sins.  But not always--the Bible uses multiple metaphors and perspectives to describe what happens at the cross, sometimes called "theories of atonement," too.  And here Jesus gives us something different.  Here, the cross is not about paying off a debt or appeasing an angry god, but about feeding hungry people.  Jesus casts himself here, not as "Lamb of God," or "ransom for many," but as the "living bread that came down from heaven" who gives himself away "for the life of the world."  In other words, here Jesus isn't saying, "The rules demand that sin has to be punished, so God sent me to receive all of your punishments in your place," so much as he is saying, "The world is hungry, and I am offering myself to satisfy the hunger of that whole world."  For whatever else the Bible has to say about the meaning of the cross (and, again, yes there are multiple angles and images for its meaning), here Jesus simply sees himself as the Bread that feeds the whole world.

What difference does any of this make in our lives?  Well, let me offer at least this much: sometimes we Christians make it sound like Jesus is only here to offer perks to us, like the reason to be a Christian is to get the exclusive benefits of club members.  But to hear Jesus himself tell it, he is simply not interested in advancing the self-interest of "what is good for Christians" at the expense of others.  Jesus is interested, rather in drawing disciples to himself who will share in his work for the well-being of all people.  He is interested, not in handing out snacks to insiders, but in feeding everybody with his own self.  Jesus has come not just to get church folks into heaven when they die, but "for the life of the world."  

If our picture of Jesus' mission is any smaller than that, we are the ones who need to stretch our vision wider.

Lord Jesus, allow us to be a part of your work to bring the whole world more fully to life in you.

Called to the Table--August 13, 2024

Called to the Table--August 13, 2024

"Then the Judeans began to complain about [Jesus] because he said, 'I am the bread that came down from heaven.' They were saying, 'Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, I have come down from heaven?' Jesus answered them, 'Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, And they shall all be taught by God. Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me'." [John 6:41-45]

There's a recurring bit in classic cartoons that I bet you've seen before. Someone will be cooking something delicious in the kitchen, and the aroma wafts out from the kitchen like finger-shaped wisps of cloud, where it finds some other character who catches the scent.  And in the beautiful absurdity of Looney Tunes-style physics, the aroma of the pie in the window or the turkey in the oven actually picks up the person who has smelled it and carries them, often by the nose, into the kitchen.  

Sure, it's obviously exaggeration, but there is something undeniably truthful about the way the smell of a good meal can pull you in.  Whether it's the smell from the barbecue on a hot summer day, or the way the house fills with the spicy heat of a pot full of chili when the weather gets cold, or the aroma of brownies cooling on the stovetop after they have been baked, you surely know the way sometimes it seems like the food itself is drawing you closer, as clearly as when your grandmother called the family to the table for Thanksgiving dinner.  

And when you find yourself called to the family table, or when the aroma leads you by the nose into the kitchen to sample a chocolate chip cookie, you know that you are not being given a reward or a payment, but a gift.  You are welcome to partake, not because you were clever enough to figure out there was food, or because you have earned your daily bread, but because someone has gone to the trouble and effort of cooking and baking so that you may be fed.  The ingredients are grace... the same as the labor that went into preparing them... the same as the invitation to eat.  These are things we do not earn but find ourselves the recipients of by grace, which is to say it is love that makes us welcome.  

If you can picture that madcap moment in the cartoons, or if you can recall the way someone called you to the table as the aroma of the meal pulled you closer, then you already know what Jesus means when he talks about the way God "draws" us to Jesus, who offers himself to us all as the "bread that came down from heaven."  It's important that Jesus doesn't just envision a meal sitting in some fine dining room without telling people to come and share supper--he pictures God pulling us, drawing us, calling us, to be fed by Jesus.  You know what a shame it is if there's a good meal being offered but nobody has been told they are welcome to eat--that's a waste of a feast!  So to hear Jesus tell it, God takes the initiative to pull us in close and to call us to the table. There are no prerequisites of good behavior, no prices on the menu to be paid, and no dress code like at a fancy restaurant where they can turn away would-be customers who don't have a suit and tie.  We don't earn our place at God's banquet--we find ourselves called to the table by grace.

Now the catch to recognizing that truth is that I don't get to deputize myself to be the bouncer or some snooty maître d' keeping out the people I think are riff-raff, because it's not my banquet, and I'm not the one in charge of letting people in.  God is the One who draws us, and Jesus is both the Host and the Bread.  When I find myself at Jesus' table, it means I relinquish any pretense that any of us got there by our own achievement, and therefore, I have to let God be the One in charge of bringing others to the Table as God chooses, in God's way, and with God's timing.

It's really easy to start passing judgement about the people we don't think are worthy to come to the table of Jesus--that is, unless we actually look at Jesus' kind of table-fellowship.  From dinner parties with the notorious sinners and sellouts like Zacchaeus and Levi to breaking bread with total strangers on the shores of Galilee to including Judas at the Last Supper (and thereby at the first Holy Communion), Jesus has always insisted that our place at the table has nothing to do with our performance of piety and everything to do with his calling us. Like it or not, we are drawn to the table by the compelling pull of the Bread of Life, not by our own talent or skill.  

May we be gracious companions with everybody else Jesus draws to himself in this day.

Lord Jesus, call us and draw us to you, and let your gracious pull lead us to your table and to be filled with your very life like bread for the hungry.