God Chooses Mercy--January 24, 2025

God Chooses Mercy--January 24, 2025

"And the foreigners who join themselves to the LORD,
    to minister to him, to love the name of the LORD,
    and to be his servants,
all who keep the sabbath, and do not profane it,
    and hold fast my covenant--
these I will bring to my holy mountain,
    and make them joyful in my house of prayer;
their burnt offerings and their sacrifices
    will be accepted on my altar;
for my house shall be called a house of prayer 

    for all peoples.
Thus says the Lord GOD,
    who gathers the outcasts of Israel,
I will gather others to them
    besides those already gathered." (Isaiah 56:6-8)

Just when you think you've got God figured out and pinned down, God squirms out from underneath your grip and makes a move you didn't see coming.

Just when you are confident you have a final version of the list of who's allowed "in" and who is "out"--written in permanent marker, or even chiseled in stone--God stretches the welcome wider and sends out more engraved invitations.

Just when you are certain God will insist that the "outcasts" stay cast out ("They might be dangerous, and they're not OUR KIND of people, you know..."), God chooses mercy and gathers those outsiders all in.

That's God for you--consistently pushing us beyond our comfort zones because God has a thing for strays, rejects, and refugees.  Including you and me.

These words from the book of the prophet Isaiah are just one passage of many in the Bible that remind us of God's bewildering (and beautiful) habit of choosing to include people who had reason to believe they would be left out.  And as we consider them on this day, it's worth remembering that these words would have been a challenge for many in Isaiah's audience to hear, because accepting them meant moving beyond what they were familiar with, and it meant accepting that God could widen the circle with or without their permission.

This section of the book of Isaiah addresses folks who are picking up the pieces after exile.  They were coming back home to their ancestral lands after a generation before them had been forcibly taken into exile.  They and their parents had learned in Babylon what it was like to be the foreigners who were looked down on and treated with suspicion.  They had felt the glares from the citizens of the superpower of the day, and they knew what it was like to be mistreated there in a strange country. 

But once those exiled people finally came home to their ancestral lands in Judah, they had to deal with the new fact that there were others--foreigners--in the picture now, too.  Some were people who had married into the family, and others had been transplanted to live in Judah when it was occupied territory under the Babylonians.  And for the Judeans home from exile, they were pretty sure the old rules said that no foreigners were allowed to belong in the assembly of God's people, no matter how they had gotten there or how long they had lived there in Judah.  Rules are rules, right?

Well, except that God--as you may have heard before--reserves the right to surprise us by gathering the outcasts in.  In fact, that's exactly what God says in this passage of Isaiah 56. This whole section is the prophet speaking for God and saying specifically to the foreigners who find themselves living in the land of Judah that they are now able to be included among the servants of God and the covenant people.  God is well aware that the conventional wisdom was that no foreigners--that is, no non-Israelites or people of Judah--could belong among the people of God.  And God is surely also aware that some of those Israelites wanted to get the foreigners out altogether (you can read that perspective in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah).  That group saw all foreigners as a danger and even wanted people who had married people of foreign ancestry to leave their spouses--or rather make their spouses leave!  Again, you can read that whole episode in places like Ezra 10, where the people with foreign wives and children were told to send their whole families away.  But... over against that perspective, the prophet here in Isaiah 56 says, "No! They don't have to leave! They can belong!" People from whatever background or nationality or ethnicity could belong among God's people, provided that they were willing to live the covenant way of life--to do justice, to practice mercy, to keep God's ways, including the rhythm of sabbath rest which was unique to the heritage of Israel and Judah.  In other words, the voice here in Isaiah 56 says that all those people who would have been sent away, even separated from their families, can be welcomed into the covenant and belong as God's people.  God chooses mercy, rather than sending them away.  God chooses to gather the outcast foreigners in, alongside the Israelites who had been outcasts in exile and come back home.

Now, this announcement from the prophet would have been obviously good news if you were one of those foreigners living in Judah and were wondering if there was a place for you among God's people.  This would have meant that you were no longer an outcast and no longer cut off from God.  It would have meant that you were welcomed into the Temple, too, which was now to be understood as "a house of prayer for all peoples" rather than the exclusive possession of one group.  But if you were one of those returned exiles, this was all very, very challenging.  This was about as far out of your comfort zones as you could imagine, not only because it meant accepting that God was doing a new thing, but also because it meant that you were going to have to make room to accept and welcome these foreigners as your own neighbors (which they were already, after all) because God had decided to include them.  And for the returned exiles, it also meant the uncomfortable recognition that they had been outcast foreigners before, too--back in Babylon, of course, and farther back when their ancestors had been the oppressed foreigners held as slaves in Egypt.  And it was difficult for many of them to accept that since God had gathered them in, God was also free to choose to gather in other people who were foreigners and welcome them into the covenant people.

For every voice in Isaiah's day who said, "But we're different!  Those people shouldn't belong with us!" the prophet said, in effect, "Sorry--you're both people who were outsiders and outcasts... but good news! I have chosen to show mercy to both groups!" We often have a hard time, don't we, with the realization that when God chooses to be gracious to us, God reserves the right to be gracious to other people we were not prepared to welcome?  But that's how things work in the sweep of Scripture.  God gathered the people who were foreigners in Babylon back home when they were outcast, and so God could gather in the foreigners living among the Israelites once they got back home, too.  Nobody had to be sent away.  Nobody had to be a permanent outsider.  Nobody had to be separated from their families, the prophet said. And all of this welcome was possible because God chose mercy.

It is possible, even now, even on this day, for us to choose mercy, too.  It is possible for us to see that we were once outcasts, strangers, and foreigners from the ways of God and that we have been welcomed in, and that therefore others could be welcomed in as well.  It is possible for us to choose surprising welcome.  After all, God does it all the time.

Lord God, you who have first mercifully gathered us to belong to your people, grant us the courage to show mercy to those waiting for welcome today, too.

The Grace of a New Name--January 23, 2025

The Grace of a New Name--January 23, 2025

"For Zion's sake I will not keep silent, 

     and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, 

 until her vindication shines out like the dawn, 

    and her salvation like a burning torch. 

The nations shall see your vindication, 

    and all the kings your glory; 

and you shall be called by a new name 

   that the mouth of the LORD shall give." (Isaiah 62:1-2)

Some of the bravest people I know are the ones who have reinvented themselves completely, even to the point of going by a new name and new identity.  They continually teach me what the prophet means when he speaks of God calling us by a new name that somehow also reveals our truest selves.

I say this as someone who typically only makes incremental changes in my own life--and even then, pretty slowly and often with great internal turmoil.  I tend to get the same haircut every time I go to the barber, buy new shoes or jeans that replace my worn-out ones as closely as possible to the previous pair, and stick to the same set of familiar scents for shampoo and soap.  I like my morning routine--same glass of grapefruit juice while unloading the dishwasher, and same travel cup of coffee to take to work--and I like the beats of consistency throughout my day and week. In other words, I am not typically one to launch into personal reinventions... at all.

But I know folks who have.  I know people who went away to college and came through it, not only with their horizons broadened but with a whole new sense of self.  I know folks who came to decision they didn't want to be known by an old name anymore but found a new one that fit them better.  I know people who answered the call to ministry after putting in full careers in some other field and completely rearranged their lives and their old identities to go where they were certain God was leading them.  And I can only imagine the courage it takes to make those kinds of changes and step into a new reality.  And all of it begins with the brave realization that we do not have to be defined by where we have come from, what we have done, or what someone else has said about us.  It begins with the leap of faith that is willing to let what God says about us be more definitive of our identity than anything that has come before.  Even if it is a whole new name, and with it, a whole new sense of self.

And to be honest, it happens in the Bible more often than we realize.  Not just the dramatic turn of events from being a "notorious sinner" to a "striving saint," and not even just the sea-change of vocation like fishermen and tax collectors who are called to become apostles for Jesus, but deep-down-to-the-bone changes of identity.  There's Abram and Sarai who are given new starts and new promises, signified by new names, Abraham and Sarah.  There's Jacob, who had been stuck with the old identity chained to his name, which means "usurper," who is given the new name Israel ("strives with God") and a new identity to go with it.  Simon gets the nickname Peter and the new calling to be the "rock" (the name "Peter" means "rock" in the Greek), and of course Saul of Tarsus starts going by Paul when he is turned around from persecuting the early church to spreading the news of Jesus to the Gentile world.  You can't go too far in the Bible before you bump into another story of someone being given a new identity and even a new name because God was daring them to become a new creation.  And maybe when God calls you by a new name, the new identity leaps into being like God calling to the light when there had only been darkness before in the beginning.  Maybe the whole history of the universe is the story of God calling each of us, each being, and each creation, by a succession of new names.

And that's the same kind of bold, beautiful moment happening here in the words of Isaiah 62, words that many of us heard this past Sunday in worship.  Speaking to people who are still defeated and despairing in the wake of exile, God gives a word of hope.  The old identity of the people (symbolized by their city, Zion, another name for Jerusalem) is given the promise of a new beginning, the prophet says, because God will give them a new identity.  "You shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD shall give," the prophet says.  It is an utter gift of grace that when we find ourselves in a dead end, God speaks new possibilities we could not achieve ourselves.  But it does require great courage to step out in faith and believe what God says about us in the face of what our past, our inner monologue, or other people say about us.  It takes great trust in God to believe that we are who God says we are, and to answer when God calls each of us by a new name.

I don't know what the details of your story are. I don't know what past mess-ups you wish you could leave behind, but are afraid or unable to let go of.  I don't know what parts of yourself have been foisted on you by others, that you wish you could release.  I don't know what new directions you are feeling called to.  And I don't know if there is something inside you that has been feeling unsettled, like you were waiting for someone, even the living God, to finally call you into a new identity and call you by a new name.  But I know that's the sort of thing the Bible announces that God just might do.  And I know that when it happens, and at last you hear a voice calling you by a name that is different and yet somehow summons forth who you were really meant to be all along, something beautiful and holy is happening.

Maybe today our work is to listen for the voice of God, and to be ready when God calls us by that new name, to let God transform us into who God says we are meant to be.

Lord God, you who have called light out of darkness and called your people into new identities and new hopes, call to us now, and make us brave enough to believe your word when you say we are your new creations.

More Than Mesmerized--January 22, 2025

More Than Mesmerized--January 22, 2025

"Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him." (John 2:11)

There were plenty of people who once saw Siegfried and Roy put on their magic act, complete with white tigers, over the years, but nobody left the theater quitting their day jobs to follow the show wherever it toured.

There were certainly numerous crowds who watched David Copperfield or David Blaine making things disappear before their eyes, only to bring them back with a flourish to thunderous applause, but I don't believe anybody then committed their lives to the philosophy of Copperfieldism or became born-again Blaine-ians.

Jesus' disciples, however, find themselves compelled by what they have witnessed at a village wedding reception after the caterers ran out of wine, and they rearranged their whole lives forever after.  That's something, isn't it? That's really something.

I don't mean to belittle the miracle here, not at all, but simply to say that I think there was more going on here than just that Jesus' disciples were impressed that Jesus did "a cool trick" when he turned water into wine.  After all, we might all be stunned, impressed, or dumbfounded by seeing some spectacle we cannot explain, but we typically don't overhaul our whole lives just because we saw a rabbit pulled out of a hat or a lady sawn in half.  Even if you see some astonishing image while you are doomscrolling on social media, my guess (and my hope!) is that you don't automatically decide to believe every crazy conspiracy theory that also gets dumped into your feed by the algorithm because you saw one photo or video clip that left you speechless. You know better--or at least you should, especially in this age of doctored photos and AI-generated images--that just because someone shows you something inexplicable or amazing, you are not obligated to believe everything else that comes out of their mouths.  So if somebody at a party should one day make it appear that they have turned clear water into dark-red burgundy, I would advise caution to you before you leave your family to become their roadies simply on the basis of a parlor trick.

My point is to say that if you and I know not to be bamboozled solely on the basis of a magic trick, no matter how impressive it might have appeared, that Jesus' disciples are drawn to faith in him by more than just being impressed at the unexplainable cups of wine where there had only been jars of water before.  They are more than mesmerized--they are captivated in faith by the compelling way of Jesus. They didn't rearrange their whole lives simply because they got an unbelievably good glass of Bordeaux from nowhere.  They did it because in this moment, they became convinced not only that Jesus had amazing power, but that he was using it for good... for compassion... for the sake of life.  And that was worth upending everything else to be a part of.

Mind you, the disciples do in fact uproot their lives as a result of this story.  When John says that Jesus' "disciples believed in him" because of what they witnessed at the wedding banquet, it's not as passive spectators in the stands, shouting, "We believe in you!" to a team they are merely watching.  To say that the disciples "believe in" Jesus marks the beginning of a relationship of trust that would change their lives. They did in fact leave behind their day-jobs--literally dropping their nets at the shore, in some cases--to go follow Jesus.  They did in fact let go of their old view of the world and how God works in it, trading it in for the vision Jesus gave of the Reign of God.  They did in fact discover Jesus was pulling them across boundaries--social and cultural ones, as well as geographical--to strike up conversations with Samaritan women at wells, to join tax collectors throwing dinner parties with paid escorts on the guest list as well, and to help foreigners and even sworn enemies who were in need.  The disciples of Jesus were changed because they "believed in him," that's for sure.

All of which brings me back to the underlying question: was it just because they had seen something unexplainable that they put their trust in Jesus?  Was it only a matter of being astounded at the water turned into wine?  Were they only hoping for front-row seats for the next show, the next trick, the next spectacle? Or perhaps was there a sense that this Jesus was worth giving direction of their lives over to because, for someone with this previously-hidden astounding power, he was willing to use it, not to draw attention to himself or make himself the hero, but precisely as a behind-the-scenes gesture of compassion?  Could it have been that the disciples longed to be transformed, too, even if they didn't know what this Jesus would make of them, only that they knew they could trust themselves in the hands of someone who turned water into wine? Perhaps, did they see that the "sign" they witnessed pointed to the character of Jesus, who stood out as someone whose power was used for love rather than for fame, power, wealth, or self-interest?

Honestly, I have to think that something like that is going on here.  Sure, the spectacle at Cana was eye-catching, but I am convinced that the thing that held the attention, and ultimately the faith, of the disciples, was that the One who wielded this miraculous power used it to help a poor couple on their wedding day rather than to make himself rich or crown himself king.  What makes Jesus different is not merely that he works wonders, but that he uses his wondrous power for life, for healing, for others, and not to build an empire, smite his enemies, or amass a fortune.  That's the difference between Jesus as the professional illusionists, traveling hucksters, and magic acts throughout history: the others might put on a great show, but they're doing it for the paycheck, the power, or the prestige.  Jesus is compelling because whatever power he has access to is used in love for others. That's why the disciples see this wonder and put their faith in him.  

I don't know about you, but I'm just plain tired of seeing folks who cast themselves as Big Deals use their power, position, or perch only use it for themselves.  I'm wearied by the ones who wield their influence or aptitude to make themselves richer, stronger, or "greater." I'm disgusted, honestly, every time I hear someone with a grip on power use it like a cudgel to smash other people down in petty revenge or leverage it for their own advantage--because Jesus so very clearly gives us an alternative.  And when the followers of Jesus hear those loud voices bragging about their power, it falls to us as Jesus' disciples to say, at least for ourselves, "No.  This is not how WE do things, because this is not how JESUS does things."  We find ourselves captivated by the way Jesus uses power in the service of compassion--like the first disciples, that is what first caught our attention and kindled our faith, and that is what we dare to embody, as well as we are able, for the world.

Today, as people who are drawn to Jesus, not merely because he channels divine power, but because that power is never self-serving, we step into the world to speak against all other self-serving abuses of power and to act for the use of our own power, such as it is, for the sake of those most at risk across our path, whether in a wedding reception in Galilee, in the next aisle at the grocery store, taking an ESL class at a local church fellowship hall, or crossing your path in the next ten minutes.  That's what it looks like for us to behold Jesus' glory... and to believe in him.

Lord Jesus, let us be captivated again by your compelling way of using power in love, and let us do the same as we follow you in faith.

Called to Risk--January 21, 2025

Called to Risk--January 21, 2025

"[Jesus] said to [the servants who filled the jars], ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ "(John 2:8-10)

Imagine for a moment you are one of the wait staff at this wedding reception, and some stranger (and his mom) just start giving you absurd-sounding directions.  I know we church folks are no longer surprised at the unexpected plot twist of this story, so it's no longer a shock that Jesus turns water into wine, but imagine if you were living through this moment.  Imagine some upstart rabbi tells you to do something that sounds downright preposterous without even explaining to you what his plan is, all while the guests at this wedding are getting increasingly suspicious about the lack of refills at the bar.

And now imagine... that for some reason, you just go ahead and do what the stranger directs you to do.  And something amazing happens.

Like I say, we are so used to this story that we call it "The Water into Wine Story," or the title headings in our study Bibles give away the ending before it's even begun.  But if you didn't know how things were going to turn out--and if you were one of the people asked to do something that sounded insane by someone you had quite possibly just met, what would do?  Would you have followed Rabbi Jesus' directions and filled the heavy, awkward stone jars with water?  Would you have dared to serve some to the wedding planner who was running the party without knowing what had happened to the water from the jar? 

My guess is that it would have been very hard for any of us to follow Jesus' instructions if we had been on the service staff at the wedding banquet that night.  We don't like to make utter fools of ourselves.  We don't like to risk getting people mad at us (as surely, the steward of the catering service would have been if the cup you just handed him turned out only to have water in it).  And to be quite honest, we don't like to be directed out of our usual routines and familiar tasks with nothing more to go on than the instruction of a stranger who hasn't told us his plans.  But there's something about Jesus, I suppose, that makes people willing to go beyond their comfort zones and risk looking like fools.

Maybe that's how we have to let this story hit us: we haven't been asked to fill up stone jars with water in the seemingly impossible notion that it will become wine just on Jesus' say-so. But we have been called by Jesus to risk ourselves, our routines, our reputations as Respectable Religious Folks, in other ways.  When he calls us to share our resources so that the hungry can be fed and neighbors without safe housing can have a warm place to call home, that can sound risky.  When Jesus directs us to love our enemies, or to welcome foreigners, or to forgive the ones who have hurt us, it might well sound as preposterous in our ears as filling up those stone jars with water and waiting for them to become Cabernet Sauvignon.  But we dare those things, as outrageous as they are, because we have found Jesus compelling.  Somehow, when Jesus calls us to go into all nations, to eat with sinners, or to walk on water, we go, because when he tells to dare, we can't help but dare.  Somehow it doesn't matter that Jesus will take us far away from our comfort zones and beyond the bounds of the "reasonable."

I wonder: where his call will lead us today?  And I wonder if our willingness to risk making utter fools of ourselves in the ways we love... and welcome... and forgive... and serve... and celebrate... and proclaim... will turn out to be the most powerful witness we have.  After all, because a handful of servants at a wedding did the crazy thing Jesus asked them to do, a miracle happened, and people came to believe in Jesus from that crazy thing they saw and tasted.  Maybe you and I will turn out to be part of the reason someone else dares to place their trust in Jesus, because they see what happens when we let Jesus direct us as he will.

Lord Jesus, make us confident by your call to do what you direct us to do, and to share in the joyful miracles you have in mind.

Stepping Past Plan A--January 20, 2025

Stepping Past Plan A--January 20, 2025

"On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, 'They have no wine.' And Jesus said to her, 'Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.' His mother said to the servants, 'Do whatever he tells you.' Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, 'Fill the jars with water.' And they filled them up to the brim...." (John 2:1-7)

One of the things that gives me hope on the days I am struggling in this life of faith is the assurance that Jesus never calls us to do something he isn't already willing to do--and in fact, that he has done first. That's an especially needed encouragement in a season like this one as we are focusing on "life on the edge... of our comfort zones," because, well, because I'm so often afraid. We are fearful of going out beyond our comfort zones--and yet Jesus himself did the same first.  This story, which many of us heard in worship on Sunday, is evidence of that.

I know it might sound strange to our ears--Jesus, had to be coaxed out of his comfort zones?  Jesus had to do something he didn't seem ready to do at first?  Really? That somehow doesn't seem right, does it?

And of course, most of the time, Jesus does seem to be completely at ease and in control of what he does and when.  Most of the time Jesus seems to walk into situations knowing exactly what he intends to do or with whom he'll talk, and it's everyone else who is left surprised or awestruck.  But this scene from the beginning of John's Gospel has a different feel to it, doesn't it?  It's Jesus who has to deal with an unexpected situation, and it's Jesus who has to decide ultimately if he will insist on keeping with the original timeline of Plan A... or if he will let himself respond to someone else's need and figure out a Plan B on the fly.  Let it sink in for a moment just what it means that Jesus--the Incarnate Word of God whose coming was the fulfillment of centuries of hoping and the result of infinitely complex timing--decides ultimately to improvise and come up with a Plan B.

That's really what's going on here.  When Jesus' mother alerts him to the situation--that the newlyweds have run out of wine at their wedding celebration, and they will be utterly put to shame if the secret gets out--at first, Jesus' response seems rather cold.  "What is that to you and to me?" he asks in reply.  In other words, helping produce wine for a party doesn't seem to be what Jesus had planned for the evening.

But on second thought, let's consider why Jesus might not be looking to start his public ministry by becoming known as "the guy with the wine trick."  For one, this is not a life or death situation.  There will be times when Jesus takes the initiative to help people or to heal them, and there will be times when action is urgent.  But this is not about saving life.  You wouldn't ask a new resident ER physician to help you buy a keg for a tailgate party or your high school reunion, would you? No, my guess is that you would know that while an ER doctor might be a lovely person, it's not really their "thing" to score you free booze in large quantities.  And you can see why Jesus might think that this is not a wise precedent, as well.  If Jesus helps this couple out, is he now obligated to provide cases of Merlot for every young bride and groom in Galilee for the foreseeable future?  Is he on the hook for making ice cream sundaes at his second-cousin Jacob's bar mitzvah in two weeks?  Is he derailed from his mission to become the Free Caterer of Galilee?  You can understand why Jesus wouldn't want to be put in that position, or in the difficult position of having to say to somebody else, "Sorry, I don't do that sort of thing anymore."  Once you open that door, it's hard to get it closed again.

And deeper than that is a second reality. Jesus says to his mother that his "hour" has not yet come.  Throughout John's gospel, that's a sort of shorthand for the timetable that takes Jesus to the cross.  Later on, when an angry crowd wants to string Jesus up, he is able to pass right through their midst, because "his hour had not yet come." But later, when he knows that it is at last time to head to Jerusalem and the cross waiting for him there, he says, "Now my hour has come."  In other words, Jesus has a sense that once he begins his public ministry, the sand starts slipping out of the hourglass, counting down to his own death--as well as heartbreak for his mother, who will end up being there at the foot of the cross when it happens.  So here at the beginning of it all, at the wedding in Cana, you can almost hear in Jesus' voice a hesitancy for her sake. It's almost like he's saying, "Mom, you know that if I help out now, and if I launch my public ministry right now, it starts the clock running out on my time with you, too.  There is heartbreak waiting for both of us there, and you're asking me to start racing toward it when we would have had a little more time together otherwise."  You almost get the sense that Jesus sees how much more is at stake than just one wedding banquet running out of wine.  And I think I can at least understand why Jesus would have decided that Plan A was not to do anything about the wine.

And all of that, as reasonable and sensible as it is, is also why I find it amazing that Jesus is willing to let his mother persuade him to change his planned course of action and pull him out of his comfort zone to help the couple with their wedding reception. For all of his good, well-thought-out reasons to keep a low profile at the wedding reception while the DJ played Cha-Cha Slide and the Macarena, Jesus was ultimately willing to step in and help spare a couple some embarrassment and to make their wedding joyful.  It wasn't a life-or-death situation, granted; but it was a moment when compassion was called for.  And Jesus answers.  That matters.

Like I say, it is an encouragement to me when I am being pushed out of my comfort zones for the sake of my faith to remember that Jesus, too, was willing to be led out beyond his comfort zones, too, in a manner of speaking. He was willing to set aside Plan A and to figure out Plan B on the spot, for the sake of compassion--even when it wasn't a matter of someone's life being in danger.  Life is going to send those kinds of situations at all of us, and in those times, there is something terribly powerful in the impulse to stay where we are comfortable and not stick our necks out.  There are going to be times when it's easier to keep our heads down, not to step up and help, not to take the risk, and not to deviate from our planned itinerary for the day.  I know, and obviously, so does Jesus.  But Jesus also shows us what can come from being willing to let love lead us outward, beyond what was comfortable and on the schedule, to what the need of the day is.

You and I won't always be able to fix or help or make things better in every situation that comes our way.  But we don't have to let fear or inertia keep us from showing up in those situations where we can do something.  Jesus allows himself to go beyond his plans and into something new in this moment, and it made a difference for that couple. Maybe we can keep our eyes and ears open in a new day, too, and let compassion--and the nudgings of the Spirit!--lead us beyond our comfort zones to the places we can offer help to someone in a way we never expected, too.

Lord Jesus, give us the courage like you to be willing to step beyond our Plan A framework when you are leading us into something new.

Taking Jesus Seriously--January 17, 2025

Taking Jesus Seriously--January 17, 2025

(Jesus said to his disciples:) "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 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. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." [Luke 12:32-34]

"The thing is, Jesus, I like my stuff."

That's the long and the short of it, really. I like my stuff. I like my clothes. I like having a car. I like my collection of books. I like my computer. I like my favorite coffee mug, and I like having a bag of my favorite dark roast coffee handy to make more at the end of the day. I like these things... and therefore, I will confess, I will do an awful lot to go out of my way to ignore, blunt, divert, or shrug off Jesus' words here.  Maybe the question for me (and all of us) to ask is whether I prefer the comfort of my familiar possessions more than I love Jesus, because listening to Jesus might well lead me beyond those creature comforts.

It's funny (or maybe I mean, it's sad) how my attachment to my "stuff" leads me to willfully deflect Jesus' words or even to convince myself he isn't speaking to me. It's like somehow I use my piles of belongings (and all the storage space they require, in closets, in the basement, in the garage, and so on...) to block Jesus' words from my field of vision like an eclipse, so I don't even know they are there. I can't hear him speaking... because I have turned up the volume on my Amazon Echo smart speaker to drown out the sound of his voice.

I confess to you--I have heard many a sermon, read many a book, and been in plenty of Bible study discussion groups over the years in which the claim was made, "Jesus may have told that one rich young ruler to sell his possessions and give to the poor, but he never made that a universal statement. It was just this one time, to that one guy... and therefore he is not speaking to us now." And for a while in my life of faith, that resolved the question. "Jesus doesn't talk about giving up possessions as a general practice for his followers," I had been taught, and therefore, any time I read him saying something that sounded like that, I should assume, "This must be a message for someone else." I had even convinced myself until recently rereading these words of Jesus in today's verses that all those sermons and books were correct--that Jesus had only once ever told one person to go sell his possessions, and that it was never a broad directive of Jesus for his followers.

And then my eyes fell on Luke 12 again... and I realized that I had been missing these words staring me right in the face, but which I had been unwilling to see, or had chosen to forget.

Because here it is, right in black and white on the page: Jesus is talking to a whole group of followers, (part of a block of teaching addressed to "his disciples" at the start of the passage, starting in 12:22), and these words are found on Jesus' lips: "Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven..." And now I have nowhere to run: Jesus isn't just saying it to "one rich person on one random occasion," but he is saying it broadly, without asterisks, without fine print, and without qualifying it or putting conditions on it, as part of his way of life for "his disciples." If I am going to make a fuss about how important it is to take Jesus seriously, or for people to read their Bibles more, I am going to have to come to grips with this directive of Jesus to get rid of stuff in my life, so that I am free to use my energy, time, and resources for what matters to God.

We church folk, we Respectable Religious Crowd, we can be real stinkers when it comes to Jesus and his authority. You'll hear lots of people saying (often they are shouting) or posting memes on Facebook and Twitter and elsewhere that cry out, "What our country really needs is more people reading the Bible!" And believe me, I am all for reading the Bible. But it is funny (again, I think I really mean sad here) to me how curiously selective we can be when it comes to beating the "Read the Bible more!" drum. It's funny to me how we can cherry pick this issue or that issue and insist with fiery indignation (whether it is righteous indignation or not I will not venture a guess) that "People just need to listen to what the Bible clearly says on this!" and be absolutely sure we know exactly what Jesus thought on our modern questions and issues, and yet when we find Jesus saying something simply, directly, and clearly like "Sell your possessions and give the proceeds to the poor," we all of a sudden become all thumbs and start hemming and hawing about how uncertain and unclear Jesus' teaching is, and whether it really applies to us or is "just for another time and another group of people." We are stinkers, and that's the truth. We already have a set agenda we want to get Jesus to endorse, and we will be happy to quote him in support when we can find a Bible verse we can shoehorn into supporting our preferences. But when Jesus says something that threatens to get between me and my stuff... all of a sudden, we decide he's being metaphorical, or he's talking to someone else.

We show our true colors pretty quickly, we Respectable Religious people: we don't really want to learn or to hear what "the Bible clearly says," in most cases--we want someone to confirm for us that that Bible says what we already want it to say, and when someone (say, even Jesus) says something counter to that preconceived picture, we fight it tooth and nail. There's a powerful quote of Kierkegaard's along these lines, that goes (in part) like this:

“The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand we are obliged to act accordingly. Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything else except pledging yourself to act accordingly. ‘My God,’ you will say, ‘if I do that, my whole life will be ruined.’ Herein lies the real place of Christian scholarship. Christian scholarship is church’s prodigious invention to defend itself against the Bible, to ensure that we can continue to be good Christians without the Bible coming too close. Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Yes, it is even dreadful to be alone with the New Testament."

But here we are today, coming face to face with words from Jesus that we can't run from any longer. Jesus really does dare his followers not to be possessed by their possessions, and that will lead us out of our comfort zones as people ensconced in affluence. Jesus really does say it would be better to sell our stuff and give the money away to those who have nothing--not so that they can have our discarded dregs, but so that they can eat. And on top of that, Jesus also doesn't seem to have any qualifications about the inherent "worthiness" of the people who receive your and my alms--the word "alms," after all, comes from the Greek word for "mercy," (and the same word that Christians in many traditions sing out week by week in the liturgy when they sing out, "Kyrie eleison--Lord, have mercy!" as our own prayer), and mercy is not dependent on worthiness or earning.  As Dorothy Day put it so well, "The Gospel takes away our right forever to discriminate between the deserving and the undeserving poor."

Jesus seems to think that our possessions get a stranglehold on us, and that I would be freer myself if I wasn't tied down to keeping track of all my belongings... and buying a large enough home or storage shed or rental storage place to house it all... and paying for special extended warranties on it all... and getting all the accessories... and always having the latest upgrades... and then having to take regular time from my weekly routine to dust and vacuum and clean around all my stuff. Possessions aren't inherently evil--but they certainly do take up a colossal chunk of my available time and resources, not just to buy, but to maintain, to insure, to polish, and to store. And before I know it, I am drowning in piles of things and stacks of bills to go with the things, dying of affluenza and calling it all the American Dream. And maybe Jesus knows, too, that anything that commands such a large chunk of my life's attention, time, resources, that isn't a living thing... is an idol. And idols are terribly possessive gods--they keep on taking more and more of what's around until they have it all. So maybe being freed from some of my possessions might be easier on my knees, when I don't have to worship at their altar any longer, and maybe I'll be able to breathe easier, too, when I don't feel like I'm drowning in "stuff" that requires more and more and more space and time and money for their upkeep.

The underlying truth in all of what Jesus says here in today's verses is that he really does believe that the living God is trustworthy to provide for our needs, and that exorbitant hoarding beyond what we need is not good for us, but turns out to be stifling and suffocating. Jesus knows--and challenges us to trust him on this--that more is not always better; sometimes it is just more.  If that leads us to do some uncomfortable inventorying of our lives, then so be it.

So the question on this day is simply this: will we trust Jesus enough to take him up on his dare, and to part with... at least something? Will we dare to look honestly at the piles we have each amassed, and to see where there are things that are not making us more fully alive, but which might actually be choking us out? Nobody will check--I cannot go to your house and audit the contents of your closet. But maybe might we, dare we, could we find things in our lives that are dead weight, get rid of them, and give the money (either what we make from selling, or just what we don't have to pay any more for managing and upkeep) to someone who has greater need that we do? Could we dare it, and see what happens?

After all, Jesus says, all the treasures we hold onto in this world are bound for the trash can eventually. Maybe we could start taking out some of the trash now.

Lord Jesus, we will admit that we sometimes do everything in our power to avoid listening to you. But in this moment we dare to listen, and we ask your help to accept your challenge to let go of the possessions we have allowed to possess us.

Somewhere Over the Guardrails--Devotion for January 16, 2025

Somewhere Over the Guardrails--January 16, 2025

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; 

 and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; 

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, 

and the flame shall not consume you." (Isaiah 43:2)

As beautiful as these words are, I have a hunch that a lot of us don't quite know what to make of them.

After all, if I hear someone tell me they'll be with me as I'm wading through rivers, something in me wants to raise my hand and ask, "Wait--why would I be in the middle of a river in the first place?"  And if someone, even someone I deeply trust, tells me that they'll keep me safe when I'm walking through fire, my gut instinct is to say, "Hold on--who said anything about fire?"  Even if those assurances come from God, I've got to admit that I am more used to thinking that it's God's job to keep me out of the water and away from the fires altogether, rather than picturing God going with me through both.

All of that is to say, I think for a lot of us--and I'll confess, often for me as well--we tend to assume that faith is about getting God to keep things safely the same for us, rather than leading us somewhere new or pulling us to take a risk somewhere over the guardrails or beyond the rainbow.  We tend to approach prayer as a means of trying to get things in our lives "back to normal" when they are out of their usual order, more than we seek to have God make us faithful or daring.  We tend to see God as a way of getting back to our comfort zones, rather than being drawn out of them because God is leading us somewhere.

And yet, the promise here in Isaiah 43, which many of us heard this past Sunday in worship, is not, "Don't be afraid, because I'll let you stay home instead of ever having to cross the river," nor is it, "Keep those prayers coming and I'll just guarantee there will never be a fire to walk through." Rather, the promise is that God will indeed lead us through the waters and through the flames--and God will be with us there.  That's really the way the whole arc of the Scriptures goes: it's the story of God calling people into wilderness places (like Abraham, or the newly liberated Israelites, or the exiled people of Judah at last coming home, as Isaiah 43 depicts here), and of God calling people to precarious new missions, from Moses raised up to lead his people out of slavery in the face of Pharaoh's tyranny to prophets like Amos sent to be holy troublemakers, to Daniel in the Lion's den, resisting an arrogant empire.  In other words, the constant thread of the Bible is of a God who leads us through dangerous, risky, and uncomfortable places, rather than a deity who just piles blankets on us and lulls us back to sleep.

These words from Isaiah 43 only mean something to people who are being led like that.  The reason that God promises to be with them through the rivers and the flames is that as these words were spoken, the people were hundreds of miles away from their ancestral lands in exile, and God was daring them to imagine a journey home.  But the hitch for those exiled people was that a whole generation grew up in Babylon and had only ever known life there--it was the "devil they knew" rather than the fearful and unknown notion of going to a place that was "home" but somehow new to them.  Trusting God meant being willing to leave behind the comfortably familiar to go into another wilderness journey.  And indeed, there were literal rivers to be negotiated and the memory of smoldering ruins back in Judea to be dealt with.  The prophet had to persuade people that it was worth packing up the lives they had settled for under the boot of the Babylonians and going where God was leading, and that meant also preparing them for a new (and frankly scary) way of life along the way.  His job was to convince them, as Octavia Butler once put it in her novel Parable of the Talents, that "in order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix must first burn."  Rather than tell people God's job was to keep things the way they were, predictable and pat, the prophet said that God was leading them beyond what they knew and outside of what was comfortable.  Only then would it mean something to say that God would be there with them in the flames.

In our own lives today, I wonder if we need voices like Isaiah 43 again (or, actually, if we just need to listen to these ancient words on their own terms!) to remind us that the life of faith isn't about keeping us comfortable, but about going where God leads us, even when that is through the waters and through the fires.  I wonder if we have told ourselves that Christianity is basically a scheme for keeping things familiar and comfortable in our lives, when the Scriptures themselves say the opposite.  Could we hear the prophets again tell us, "God is doing something new, for all the world--and it will be worth it, but getting there will sometimes feel like swimming across a river or walking across a fire. And God will bring us through..."?  Could we let these ancient words help us see our journey with God not as a predictable round-trip outing to the shopping mall and back, but an adventure to somewhere we have never been, and yet which turns out to be home?

Lord God, lead us where you will, and make us brave rather than merely comfortable.