The Other Side of Too Late--May 26, 2020

“The Other Side of Too Late”—May 26, 2020

“While [Jesus] was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, ‘Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?’ But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, ‘Do not fear, only believe.’”  [Mark 5:35-36]

Jesus has a wonderful way of redefining what is too late. 

Here in this scene, you can feel Jesus is in a vise-grip.  Time is running out, and there are two people who need saving. Jesus starts out on his way to help the young daughter of Jairus, the leader of the local synagogue, but on his way, another woman has stopped Jesus in his tracks needing his help. Jesus does in fact help her and heal her of her malady, and he even protects her from any blowback from the crowd over an unclean woman touching another man in public. But there has been a cost: it now appears to be too late for Jesus to heal the young girl he first set out to help. 

Maybe there was only ever enough time for one of the two to be helped, but now it is certain. Jesus was pulled in two directions, had to make a choice, and now he will have to live with the disappointment in the voices of these messengers: Why trouble the teacher any further? All along this scene has played out in my mind like a set-up in the comic books—there’s Batman, staring up at the latest trap the Riddler has cooked up for him, with the whole city in danger on the one hand, and Robin the trusty sidekick in danger on the other. Will Batman defuse the bomb and save the city, or untie his young fellow crime-fighter? Will Superman save Lois Lane from the clever ploy of Lex Luthor, or will he save Metropolis from certain destruction? It seems that there is only enough time to pick one. That’s always how the super-villains set it up: there’s enough time to rescue one, so you pay your money and you take your choice. One will get rescued, and for the other… it will just be too late. 

Now, of course, when Batman or Superman or some other costumed hero meets with this situation in the comics, they are somehow usually able to save both the girl and the world, or the sidekick and the city. But those kind of endings seem too good to be true—and here in Mark 5 we don’t get one of those saved-at-the-last-minute endings. We really don’t. We reach this point of the story, where one of the two people in need was helped, but for the other… it really is too late. All the sand has run out of the hourglass. The story has pinched around Jesus and closed off any possibility that both could be saved from death. By anyone’s rational description of the situation, it is now simply too late for Jairus’ daughter. She has died. 

Except… Jesus still has this look in his eye. 

Jesus doesn’t propose some cheesy, far-fetched, Just-in-the-nick-of-time way to prevent Jairus’ daughter from dying. It is indeed too late for that. It’s just that Jesus has a way of redefining what is “too late” and what can happen on the other side of “too late.” Do not fear, he says, like a man who knows that there is more coming and the end of the story has not been written. Only believe, he says, confident that there is more to be said. Of course, for us who have grown up hearing these stories of Jesus, we have more than a hunch of what Jesus has up his sleeve. 

We are coming to see that Jesus has a way, not of jumping in at the last minute to save the day before it is too late, but of showing up after the last minute has ticked away to restore life after everyone else would have said it clearly was too late. It is the Easter story in preview—not that Jesus escapes from the cross, but that he goes through it, into the tomb, and then arises long after everyone else had given up hope. Easter Sunday happened on the other side of too late, also, and maybe here in today’s story, Jesus is tipping his hand to let us know where he is headed. 

We Christians are not guaranteed that we will be spared from ever having to go through suffering in this life. We are not ever promised that when things look darkest—look, up in the sky, it’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Jesus!—just in the nick of time we will be beamed out of having to go through something painful or sorrowful. Instead, we have a Savior who goes through those sufferings with us, and who does not abandon us in the face of them. We have a God who endures, who stays well after “the last minute” has ticked away, who rolls away the Friday stone on Sunday, and who says, with a look in his eye, “Do not fear, only believe,” after everyone else has given up hope. Let us be honest: there may be places in our lives where it is now “too late” by any human reckoning. And yet it is possible, too, that Jesus will bring an unexpected echo of Easter in those very places, beyond our predicting or imagining. Who knows what will be possible today on the other side of too late? 

Lord Jesus, your time is not our time. For all the things we are sure are past redemption or beyond hope, come in your own good time and work your Easter power in our midst again today.

Learning to Be Alive--May 20, 2020

Learning to Be Alive--May 20, 2020

“Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and living in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us in love, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)
There are two kinds of imitation in this life, really. There is a sort of false, slimy-feeling, deceptive kind of imitation, where someone or something pretends to be what they are not in order to fool you. And on the other hand, there is an honest, humble, learning kind of imitation, where someone is earnestly seeking to become something they are not yet, but which they will eventually be.

In the first category of imitation products go things like spray-cheese, cheap faux-wood-grain molded plastic trim in unnatural colors, and unconvincing cheap hairpieces and the like. These things are cleverly and clearly packaged to make you think they are something they will never be. Spray cheese is just not cheese. It's just not.  Fool's gold ain't the 14K real McCoy, either. This kind of imitation can never be truthful, because it always carries with it a vibe that it has to hide some of the truth from you and mask itself as something else, rather than owning what it really is. And therefore, when you run into a product like that, you can’t help but feel somehow kind of icky (yes, I just said “icky,” but there’s no other good word for the repugnance it brings up, and the feeling of someone trying to fool you). You feel like you are being sold a line, and also a little insulted that someone thought you could be so easily duped.

There are times when each of us live in this state of denial, too, pretending to be things we are not and always coming across as door-to-door salesmen or robocall messages peddling a fake version of themselves. They always seem like they are trying to convince you of things about them—they project the appearance that they have it all together (“Just look at my new car, after all—that proves my life is going well!”) or that they have everything figured out by making themselves sound like the expert on everything. Maybe we all fall into this pattern from time to time. Maybe we are all in the camp of being fake people, imitation-spray-cheese-humans convincing others we are something other than we really are, from time to time. But you know what it’s like, don’t you, to run across someone who just doesn’t seem comfortable in their own skin because they seem to be spending as much energy and effort trying to put on someone else’s skin rather than learning to live in their own lives? And maybe this is just a personal quirk or peeve of mine, but nothing quite so poisons a relationship in my experience, of whatever sort from casual acquaintances to work colleagues to supposedly close friendships, like being lied to, and badly, at that. This kind of imitation is bad news all around.  When we play that sort of imitation game, we are always going to lose--not just the game, but ourselves.

But there is another kind of imitation that somehow rings true, if that makes sense. It’s the way young children learning new words parrot back what their parents say because they look up to them as examples of how to be human. It’s the way my son, even at eight years old, still takes my shoes, sitting there on the floor, and puts his own feet into them to try and walk around because he has seen that these are the kind of shoes grown-ups wear. It’s the way the young girl learning how to dance stands on her dad or her mom’s feet to learn where your steps are supposed to go in a waltz. It’s the way you catch yourself picking up mannerisms and habits from the friends and mentors you most deeply respect—not because you are insecure about how to handle yourself, but because they are just rubbing off on you. 

These are forms of imitation that are really signs of becoming. They are moments in which we learn to be alive, which is the only way to really get through this life, since there isn't a manual with all the answers in the back.

When little kids dress up as grown-ups, it isn’t deceptive, like they think they are really fooling anybody into thinking they are police officers or doctors or superheroes. Rather, they are trying out the traits of bravery and strength and compassion that they have seen in grown-ups who wear those uniforms, in the hopes that they will become brave and strong and compassionate themselves as they mature. When you catch yourself saying something and then think to yourself, “I picked up that phrase from so-and-so…” it’s not a sign of being a liar who pretends to be someone else—it is a sign that your friend or colleague is affecting the kind of person you are becoming. This kind of imitation isn’t about trying to fool anybody, not any more than a seedling is trying to fool you by looking like a little version of the great sturdy oak it will one day be—it is about growing into maturity. This kind of imitation is good news.

Well, guess which kind Paul intends for us? When he says, “Be imitators of God,” it isn’t with the sulfur-smelling deception of the serpent in Eden who says, “Eat this, and you will be like God.” He says it like an older brother telling us younger siblings about learning to be like our Father. He says it like someone who has tried walking around in Jesus’ big shoes and is learning how to wear them himself—and wants us to try it, too. He says it like someone who sees what we can become, and wants to let us be made into living reflections of Christ.

It’s not about fooling anybody or pretending to be something we are not in a deceptive, tricky way. It’s about learning to become who we are—children of God growing in to who we are meant to be.

Our whole lives of faith are really the ongoing practice of people who are learning to be fully alive.  We learn it by seeing what Jesus does, and by stepping in his footsteps.  We see it in the lived examples of others who somehow just seem to "get it" and show us the face of Christ in their own lives.  We step into the life that is already ours as a gift.  That's the beauty of this kind of imitation--it's not trying to fool God, or persuade God that we're good enough to "get in" to heaven; it's growing into the grown-up shoes that are ours already to wear when we are ready for them.  It's becoming more fully alive, like children maturing into adulthood by copying what they see in other adults.  In other words, it is all a gift of grace.

And the key, Ephesians says, is love--if you want a guess for how to start learning to be more fully alive, spend your life doing good for others around you.  That is to say, love them.  Love others the way Jesus loved them--not with the fear that if you don't do enough you won't get a passing grade, but more with the sense that love is what we are growing into.  So the question for today, and maybe every day after that, is something like, "How can I practice getting better at loving people today?  Where are there places I struggle, or people I struggle to love, and how can I get more experience doing good to people who really rub me the wrong way, or who I have a hard time sympathizing with, or who can't do anything for me in return?"  That's where we start today, because that's part of what it looks like to learn to be fully alive in Christ.

Let's get to it.

Lord Jesus, let us become more and more like you today in ways that are honest and real and true.

The Blessed New Abnormal--May 19, 2020

The Blessed New Abnormal--May 19, 2020

"While they were searching for Paul and Silas to bring them out to the assembly, they attacked Jason's house. When they could not find them, they dragged Jason and some believers before the city authorities, shouting, 'These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also, and Jason has entertained them as guests. THey are all acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor, sayign that there is another king named Jesus.' The people and the city officials were distrubed when they heard this, and after they had taken bail from Jason and the others, they let them go." [Acts 17:5b-8]

While we are all in our own ways longing for a return "to normal" these days, maybe it's worth calling a brief time-eth out to remember that for the first Christians, it was precisely their faith in Jesus that wrecked their old understanding of "normal" life, and left it in shards.  For the earliest followers of Jesus, living out their faith didn't mean trying as hard as possible to get things "back" to how someone imagined they "used to be," but in fact, living in a blessed new abnormal, a life that reordered everything in light of the resurrection of Jesus.

Don't get me wrong.  In these days when businesses have been closed, schools moved online, church buildings locked, and restaurant dining and movie theaters all relegated to memory, there are lots of things I would like to get back to doing.  More importantly, I look forward to seeing folks in my community without the worries of where their income will come from, or whether their businesses can make it.  If I got wishes, yes, all of that would be my wish.  But in a deeper kind of way, I know there is a temptation all the time--not just during pandemics--to see faith as a sort of force field of inertia, a sort of insulation against things changing.  It can be really, really alluring to assume that there is some perfect "way it once was" from earlier in our lifetimes, and that Christianity is always on the side of getting things to "how it used to be," because, honestly, there is something comforting about the idea of going back to what is familiar.

We certainly don't like to see Christians as "disturbers of the peace" or "troublemakers," but would rather think of the church's calling as being a big soft blanket for all the world to snuggle up in, rather than overturning tables.  It is always comforting (but with a false comfort) to assume that God's job in the world is to maintain the order of the status quo--of keeping things the way they are, or at least of getting things "back" to how we imagine in our selective memory that "things used to be."  And so often, we turn the resurrection of Jesus basically into a cosmic "And everything went back to normal" happy ending, like on a sitcom.  In the sitcoms of my childhood, tensions could be raised and situations could be stressful up until about the last five minutes of each episode, so that everything could be resolved and "go back to normal" in time for next week, so that you could start again from the same wacky premise and have another short-lived round of problems.  And I think sometimes we project that onto the story of Jesus, like his death is the problem and his resurrection cancels his death, so that everything can go back to the way it "used to be."

But the earliest Christians certainly didn't see things that way.  They were convinced that with the death and resurrection of Jesus (together, as one united event) changed everything in the world, and that things were never going back to normal--at least not completely.  In fact, the early church was convinced that was at the heart of the Good News: because Jesus is risen from the dead, nothing will ever be the same--thank God!  Their hope was that Jesus' resurrection changed everything.  The message they spread was that because of Jesus, "the way it always was" was not coming back--because they had seen and lived through all kinds of rottenness in the old order of things.

So notice that when a group of Christians in the city of Thessalonica welcomes Paul and Silas, the local authorities get called in on charges that these followers of Jesus "are turning the world upside down."  They are charged with being a threat to the rule of the emperor, and even the one who was just the host (someone named Jason) gets accused of disturbing the peace and causing trouble.  Notice, too, that we don't get any speeches here from Paul or Jason or anybody refuting that charge.  They don't say, "Oh, no, don't worry--we won't actually say or do anything that would change the world; we're pretty much harmless that way."  But in fact, these are the charges that stick against the early Christians--we were seen as people who announced that God was doing something new, not that God was propping up the ways of "how it used to be."

I wonder, then, whether we need to reconsider how we see the moment we are living in.  Like I say, there's a lot about life before we all got used to words like "quarantine," "stay-at-home order," and "coronavirus," that I will be tickled pink to get back to.  And, yes, we can be voices of encouragement and a presence of help for friends and neighbors who are just trying to get through and get by until they can get "back" to where things were before, whether in their business life, or family life, or schooling.

But if all we have to say in this moment is, "How long until things can go back to exactly-the-way-they-were before?" we will have missed a chance to step into God's promised future, and the world will be the poorer for that missed opportunity.  Maybe this is a time for us not only to grieve the disruptions and losses of this season of our lives, but also to acknowledge how much was broken and how many suffered in what we all agreed to call "normal."  Maybe we can expand our faithful imaginations to see God doing something new that brings us more fully to life in the next chapter of history that will be written.  Maybe we can see with new eyes how Jesus' resurrection turns everything upside down.

After all, in the ancient Roman Empire, what everyone called "normal" (you know, before them trouble-makin' peace-disturbin' Christians came on the scene) was a world in which a lot of people lived their entire lives in slavery, women were regarded generally as property, children were often treated as non-persons, and the assumption was that whoever had the most power, biggest army, and greatest wealth was "right," no matter who they conquered, killed, or stepped on in order to maintain their empire.  That's the world of the Roman Empire in the first century, and that's what everybody accepted as "normal."  Normal, after all, just means "the ways we have gotten used to."  

When Christians spread across the empire, in a lot of places it led to people questioning what "normal" was, and why it was so important to preserve it forever.  Christians created this new kind of community where women and men were both treated like equals (at least in some places, see Galatians 3) and could hold leadership positions. Christians view children as important and of infinite worth, even if they couldn't earn a living and apart from carrying on the family name.  Christians insisted that those who were enslaved were made free in Christ, and pressured those who owned slaves to release them.  Christians created a new kind of community where language, culture, and whatever other labels you had stuck on you before didn't define you or limit you anymore.  And they did all this, well aware that to the powers of the day, it all looked like turning the world upside down.  But they were convinced that if Jesus was Lord, the Caesar wasn't, and that all the things Rome insisted would remain in place forever were being turned upside-down by the God who raises the dead.  The early church didn't draw people by promising, "Jesus will help get things back to normal!"  They set the world on fire by announcing, "God is doing a new thing, and it is blessedly abnormal! Come be a part of it!"

I am reminded of a speech of Dr. King's (delivered at Western Michigan University in December of 1963) that seems very much steeped in this passage from Acts 17. King said, "There are certain things in our nation and in the world (about) which I am proud to be maladjusted and which I hope all men of good-will will be maladjusted until the good societies realize. I say very honestly that I never intend to become adjusted to segregation and discrimination. I never intend to become adjusted to religious bigotry. I never intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few, leave millions of G-d’s children smothering in an air tight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society. I never intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism, to self‐defeating effects of physical violence."

What if the goal for us as followers of Jesus is not merely to get things always and forever "back to normal," just because we assume "normal" equals "comfortable," but what if, rather, our calling is to let Jesus turn the old order of things upside-down, as the resurrection makes possible a blessed new "abnormal"?  What if we are being pulled into an ongoing metamorphosis for all creation, in which God is bringing us more and more fully to life out of all the places we have settled for death as "normal"?  What if, every time we let Christ's love change our hardened hearts, every time we dare to ask, "How can we help the folks who weren't doing so great in the old version of normal?", and every time we let God widen our vision, we saw that as good news?

Then maybe, we could be a little more thoughtful about how much of the old "normal" we want to rush back to... and how much of the old world God has it in mind to turn upside-down in Christ?  It turns out, we Christians have a long legacy of troublemaking and disturbing the peace with the news of resurrection.  Maybe today's a day to live up to that legacy.

Lord Jesus, turn us upside down, and keep us forever creatively maladjusted to everything that resists your reign of justice and mercy.

Go Team Jesus--May 18, 2020

Go Team Jesus--May 18, 2020

"John said to Jesus, 'Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.' But Jesus said, 'Do not stop him; for now one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us. For truly I tell you, whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward'." [Mark 9:38-40]

Here's a question I have to keep asking myself--like on a daily basis, to be perfectly honest with you: am I in the business of self-advancement and brand-promotion, or am I a part of the bigger work of bringing life... everywhere?

Some days, all I have to do is think the words of that question and it brings me up short, truthfully.  I realize how easily I forget, not only that Jesus' mission is bigger than just me, but that it includes people I don't like, too.  Even more humbling (and sometimes hard for me to deal with) is that Jesus actually includes those people I don't like, or whom I don't agree with on a bunch of things, or whom I really really want be allowed to hate--and he includes them in doing his work.  

I think that's especially hard for me, that idea that Jesus is willing to work through people I don't think are acceptable.  Maybe I can picture Jesus helping those people I don't think of as "part of my group," as if they are charity cases and Jesus heals them out of pity... but when he chooses to include those "others" as part of the team?  As healers along with him?  As helpers?  As workers in the Kingdom?  That doesn't sit well with me--how can Jesus be OK with them?  How can he elevate them to--<gasp> the level of actually doing God's work, if they are... you know, wrong about things?  (Notice how I have not-so-subtly decided that where I don't like people or disagree with them, that I am the one who is right, and they are the ones who have to change, rather than even considering that I might be wrong... or that we could each have part of the truth. Hmmmm….)

Part of what's so difficult for me some days is to see that Jesus just isn't flustered about some of the things I think he should be hot and bothered over.  I want to assume that Jesus doesn't like the same people I don't like... that Jesus holds the exact same views I already hold... and that Jesus will only ever really use people whose cultural, political, and religious preferences align exactly with mine.  You know... the "right" ones.  And maybe, if Jesus were simply running a business with franchises all around the world, he would insist on uniformity and consistency.  After all, you can expect everybody at McDonald's to all offer the same basic menu and wear the same basic uniform.  But--and this is the thing--Jesus isn't running a business, and he isn't interested in promoting a brand.  Not his own brand, or mine.  Jesus is about God's vast, inclusive, relentless mission of bringing the world to life.  In whatever ways we are less than fully alive, Jesus is committed to the work of resurrecting the dead places in us. And to hear Jesus tell it, that means he is willing to work with, and through, people who don't belong all to the same "group."  Even if, on the surface, they look like they are working at cross purposes, they may still be, in the big picture, all part of God's universal project of bringing us to life.

This is hard for me sometimes.  I want there to be some kind of litmus test, some requirement of meeting with my approval.  I want people to have to get my stamp of endorsement before Jesus is allowed to use them.  And Jesus just stubbornly refuses to give over that control to me, just like he didn't let John his disciple have control over who was or was not allowed to heal people in Jesus' name.  Jesus isn't upset that some stranger has started doing good--bringing people to life and freeing people from the powers of evil--in his name.  John, of course, thinks he is being a good little disciple by trying to silence this other exorcist, but Jesus simply lets him be.  And, I have to be honest, that is a struggle for me.

It's a struggle sometimes in our theological traditions.  It's hard to have our theology all figured out, and then to cross paths with folks whose traditions and theologies are different--sometimes very different--and to allow the possibility that God not only loves, but is doing good work through, folks who believe differently about God than I do... and that God doesn't seem to be as hot and bothered about making them change what they think as I want God to be.  And at the same time, I don't want to give up on the reasons I believe what I believe.  But it seems at least part of the pride I have to swallow is seeing that Jesus is indeed using folks from all sorts of different denominations and traditions and sects for his good work of bringing people to life.  After all, Jesus seems to be interested in feeding people--not only feeding people in a Lutheran way, or Methodist way, or Pentecostal way, or Greek Orthodox way.  Jesus sees hungry people, and he feeds them.  No Catechism prerequisite.

It's a struggle, too, with the political and cultural fault lines between us, too.  Sometimes that's a really, really hard thing.  It's hard sometimes to see folks all wholeheartedly saying they want to follow Jesus, that they will listen to the way and teachings of Jesus, and that they will strive, as we say in our liturgy, to work for peace and justice in all the world... and to find that we may come to diametrically opposed conclusions about what that should look like, who should do it, and what that means for our common life.  It's hard to see where the disconnects happen, that we find ourselves living in a time where some are deeply convinced the more they read the Scriptures and follow Jesus that their faith leads them to vote Democratic every time, and there are folks who are sure as anything that Jesus is a card-carrying Republican.  And it's difficult sometimes to consider that, while there are some things we don't agree about in policy and party, God reserves the right to work through all of us for the divine mission of bringing all creation more fully to life.  Surely, there are times when God has to work in spite of my political or cultural commitments, and there are times God has to overcome yours, too.  And much like with our theological differences, I need to be able to own my beliefs and know why I hold them... while at the same time swallowing my pride enough to consider that other people might have a point... or that God regularly chooses to do good through people who voted differently than I did in the last election... and who will vote differently from me in the next one.  (Part of my hope, too, is that when we get to glory, there will be a lot of God clearing our eyes and each of us no longer being afraid to see the places where our thinking, our politics, our theology, and our mindsets were all way off base, and where it will turn out we were close to being in the right ballpark.)

And in the era of social media, it is really really easy to get swept up in saying (in all capitals) that the folks I don't agree with must be downright evil.  It's difficult, it's humbling, and it's even painful, to consider that someone who has a different set of policy commitments from me is also trying their very best from their vantage point to do good.  We may have very, very different pictures of what "the common good" looks like, and at those points, we need to have some honest conversation.  But conversation itself assumes that we can put ourselves at the same table and grant the benefit of the doubt that the other person is trying to do something good in the world, and that God could well be using this person in the big picture mission of bringing us all more fully to life.  We may not leave the table agreeing (let's not be naïve here), but we can probably find that the people we are in the most heated disagreements are also trying very hard to do good in the world.

So what does that mean for how I face this day?  I want to suggest a couple of things.  First off, none of this means we should give up the things we believe at our core--not in our theology, not in our politics, not in our philosophy or culture or musical tastes or favorite movies (although if you pick something other than The Princess Bride, we need to have another talk).  But rather, we each need to do some honest thinking and re-examining of the why to what we believe, think, and teach.  Why do I think the way I do? Where do my commitments come from?  And for me at least, as a follower of Jesus, how do I honestly see the connecting points from what I understand about Jesus to how I think, and act, and see the world, and vote, and make purchases, and everything else?  My hunch is that a lot of us live our lives without really having those conversations with ourselves, much less anybody else, because it is so much easier simply to assume that what I have always thought is what Jesus thinks, and not to scratch any deeper than that.  But it seems like it would be wise for me to take the risk of that kind of self-inventory--and where I find myself running into inconsistencies in myself, then it's worth asking what needs to change in me.

Second, I think this is going to mean we do a lot more extending of grace to others that we really don't want to extend grace to.  This is hard--let's not pretend it isn't.  It's going to mean looking for ways to practice empathy: that is, when I cross paths with someone whose mindset is really different from mine, I can't let myself off the hook to ask, "How does this person see the world, and why might it be that they have the commitments they do?"  I don't have give up my beliefs or convictions to practice empathy--I just have to have enough emotional imagination to put myself in someone else's shoes, and enough moral courage not to be threatened by the idea that someone else thinks differently.  Our older brother in the faith Martin Luther taught that part of keeping the commandment against false witness means trying to find the best possible light in which to see the actions and choices of other people around us, even when it is hard.  And I think there's wisdom in that.

Third, let me suggest we not assume the worst in those we disagree with, unless we have firm, verifiable facts or logic to support that.  In particular, I mean for us to practice what a professor of mine at seminary use to say: "Never attribute to malevolence what could be attributed to stupidity."  In other words, most of the time, the people who do things we don't like are not TRYING to be rotten, wicked, and evil--they are trying to do good things, but either the way they are trying to get them done, or their assumptions about what "good" means are different from ours.  That doesn't make our disagreements go away, but it does change their nature.  Most of the time (note, I say most, not all), the people you cross paths with who think differently from you are not intending to be evil or wicked or rotten. When I make the effort to at least look for what might be leading someone to think as they do--or better yet, when I dare to have the conversation with them, rather than putting words in their mouths--I find it is a lot hard to just make sweeping statements about how evil or crooked they must be.

Now you'll notice that all of this so far suggests I should be having a lot more conversations with people I don't agree with or don't like, and a lot less time spent in echo-chambers that will only reinforce what I already think or put the worst possible spin on those outside my little cliques.  And, just to be clear, things like social media are not great for opening me up to honest conversations, because their whole business model and product are built on algorithms that feed me more things that are like what I already have shown that I agree with.  That means in this day and age it is more important than ever to have check points with people, sources, and thinking that stretches me beyond what I am used to, so that I don't end up assuming everyone who thinks differently from me is the devil.

All of this is hard work, I know.  And I say all of this to myself before anybody else--because this is hard stuff for me on a daily basis.  And most days, at some point, I blow it, and I find myself terribly disappointed, both in other people and in myself.  This stuff ain't easy.  But it seems to me that if we confess Jesus as Lord, we are bound to actually listen to the things he says and does, and in this case, that means allowing the possibility that people who don't fit in "my group" are still a part of Jesus' group... and that people I don't like or agree with can still be a part of God's vast and inclusive work of bringing the world more fully to life out of death.

So let me ask all of us to a great long-term project of holding one another accountable.  Let me ask you to hold my feet to the fire where you see me refusing to give the benefit of the doubt to others, and let me ask you to do that kind of honest self-reflection yourself.  We will still find there are plenty of folks to disagree with in life.  But I suspect we will disagree differently... with less vitriol and bitterness and with more patience and empathy.  And I suspect, too, we will all find ourselves a little more humbled and graced to see just how big a roster Team Jesus has.

Go team Jesus.

Lord Jesus, help us out when we think we know better than you.  Help us to sort through what we believe and think and do in the world, and help us to give grace to others, too.

The Public Defender--May 15, 2020

The Public Defender--May 15, 2020

"Who will bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us." [Romans 8:33-34]

I grew up watching cop-themed tv shows and legal thrillers, and I have seen more than my share of episodes of Law and Order over the years in the era of hearing arresting officers recite the Miranda rights to the suspects in handcuffs.  You can probably repeat them, too; in all the TV shows, they start with: "You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Are you saying it with me?  Now we get to the best part: "You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

I know there are a lot of problems with the way our criminal justice system actually works in lived out situations.  And I know that often there are questions about how experienced or passionate a court-appointed public defender will be, compared to some high-priced lawyer from a big-name firm.  But I just have to admit, there is something really beautiful to me about the idea of a system where we make sure people can have someone intercede for them, even if they can't pay for it.  There is something genuinely noble, something compassionate and good and decent, to the notion that everybody should be able to have an advocate, and that being empty-handed should not disqualify you from the help of good counsel.  Like I say, I know in our real legal system there are a million ways that can all go sideways. But in a time where there is so much I am cynical about, every so often it is refreshing to be reminded of glimmers of virtue and decency like the idea of having a public defender.  (Please, let me have a moment to bask in the light of idealism for just a bit before disillusioning me.)

I think what strikes me especially about the idea of having a public defender is how much the New Testament uses that imagery for Christ, as well as for the Spirit.  There is a recurring thread in the New Testament that describes Jesus himself as our advocate, and also put the Spirit in similar terms.  And as the New Testament writers describe it, it is clear that we don't get access to Jesus because we have the resources to pay some heavenly retainer to keep him as our lawyer.  Jesus is the public defender of God--the One that no less than God has given to be our advocate.  The Spirit takes the role of our Counselor, too, and with that same notion that their presence is pro bono--a free gift.

I need that image, because it reminds me, too, that I may not be the expert at this being-human thing that I think I am.  Paul notes here that we have Jesus who "intercedes for us," and elsewhere he say that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us when we do not know what to pray, with divine and holy sighs too deep for words.  What humbles me in that thought is the realization that maybe I don't really know what I actually need, or what is best for myself.  So God steps in and even provides an advocate--no, two!--who are no less than two members of the Holy Trinity!  God the Son and God the Spirit are at my side, asking on my behalf to God the Father for what things I need--especially the things I don't know that I need, or cannot yet bring myself to ask for.

It sounds very much like that moment in a legal thriller when the defendant wants to represent himself in court, and everybody else around him tells him that's a stupid thing to do.  You know the old one-liner: "The man who chooses to represent himself in court has a fool for a client."  And, to be honest, that is me.  Left to my own devices, I am short-sighted, self-centered, often cranky, usually pretty chicken-hearted, and rarely know what I actually need.  I have a wish-list a mile long, and there are a lot of persuasive voices around me all telling me what I "should" want in order to be happy in life.  And pretty much all of that is hogwash.  If it were up to me making requests of the divine, there would be a lot of foolish prayers lobbed up at heaven, and a lot of them would not be very good for me, for those I love, or for the world around me.  What I need--but rarely can bring myself to admit--is someone to intercede for me, because I honestly don't know what I'm doing in this life.

That's it.  I don't think we need some heavenly attorney for God's sake--it's not that God won't listen to me or can't abide to look at me unless I've got a fancy highfalutin lawyer at my side.  It's that if I am left to my own devices, I don't really know what I need, and all I bring to the table is my empty hands.  So God provides a public defender, because on my own I'm a fool... and often my own worst enemy.  Good thing God has a soft spot for fools and enemies.  And so there is Jesus, willing to step into the role of my advocate to intercede for me.

This is one of the overlooked blessings of the resurrection.  To say that Jesus is alive and risen from the dead is not merely a claim that there is an afterlife.  It is to say that the risen Jesus is, even now, still spending his life and his energy for us--he has chosen to fill his hours with interceding on our behalf, we who get so lost we couldn't find our way out of a paper bag.  Part of why the resurrection is such a source of hope for us is that it means we aren't just left with the teachings of Jesus and a post-it note on the cover that says, "Good luck following this now!"  We have Jesus himself, who intercedes, who cries out, who asks for good things on our behalf, because honestly, a lot of the time even with the best intentions we are seeking after stupid, wrong-headed, or downright bad things.  

It matters that Christians are not just people who study and argue over the recorded sayings of a dead rabbi, but people who dare to believe that this Jesus is alive and has not given up on us or left us to our own devices.  It matters that we are not just handed a Bible and told to figure out the answers to our questions ourselves.  It matters that even when I am seeking and striving after something totally wrong for me or for others, that God is not obligated, like a genie, to give me something that is not good.  And it matters that even when I let my wants become self-centered, short-sighted, or unneighborly, my public defender Jesus reserves the right to tell the court, "Don't listen to him, your honor.  Here's what Steve really needs..."

And when he does that, he's right.  Sure as heaven, I need an advocate who can intercede for me and who knows my true needs better than I do.  And sure as heaven, I need one provided for me, because my empty hands can't do it on my own.

Today, you and I are given just that in the risen Jesus.  Now, step out into the day with courage--you are not alone.

Lord Jesus, be at our side today.  Where we let our wish-lists become selfishly skewed and narrow, speak on our behalf and intercede with what we truly need--all of us.

Mostly Dead and All Dead--May 14, 2020

Mostly Dead and All Dead—May 14, 2020

“You were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient.” (Ephesians 2:1-2)
Dead is a strong word.

It is, like a handful of other words in this life—words like promise, never, always, hopeless, or love—not to be misused, spoken lightly, or ignored. Do not use the word "dead" unless you mean, all the way, completely, no fakin’, no mistakin’, dead.

“Sick,” you can throw around willy-nilly—it will work for a case of the sniffles or terminal cancer. “Weak,” you can apply to a wide variety of people or things. Even “sinking” and “fading” and “drowning” leave a little ambiguity—the swimmer might just get a second wind and pull himself to shore or grab hold of the life-preserver floating beside him.

But dead allows no such wiggle room. In the words of The Princess Bride’s Miracle Max, “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead.” Dead means the door is closed, no foot in the way. Dead means the deceased cannot do anything anymore for him or herself—not watering the petunias, not folding the laundry, not breathing on your own, and not even reaching for a rope that’s thrown to you.

Now, this might seem to be belaboring a point, but I want us to be clear about the way that Ephesians describes our condition before God got a hold of us. Paul doesn’t say that we were sick in our sins, but could conceivably get better on our own with enough bed-rest and spiritual orange-juice. Paul doesn’t say we were merely weak and just needed some spiritual muscle-building in order to become strong enough to pull ourselves up to God like a chin-up bar. Paul doesn’t say we were just stuck in the road and needing a kick-start. And you know what—Paul doesn’t even say that we are like a drowning man in the water who reaches out to grab a life-preserver to be rescued.

Paul says we were dead.

In other words, on our own, we couldn’t grab the life-preserver. On our own, we couldn’t accept the offer of a free gift of help. On our own, we couldn’t reach out and ask Jesus for help. Dead people can’t ask or accept or reach.

This is an uncomfortable truth for us, because we don’t like hearing the idea that we didn’t have something to do with our salvation. We like to think that we had to bring something to the table to make it happen. We tell ourselves (and often, religious people tell others, thinking this is the “good news”) that you have to do something to kick-start God’s involvement in our lives—e.g., we pray the right prayer first, we invite Jesus into our hearts first, we clean our lives up first, or we achieve a certain level of moral behavior first. And so we imagine that in the story of salvation, we are swimmers sinking in the sea, who at least were smart enough to shout for help to Jesus at the wheel of his rescue ship and grab a hold of the life-preserver he throws us. We would like to think that God awards us this thing called salvation on the basis of our having done, or at least decided, something for our part that leads God to save us.

But that’s not what dead people do. Dead people can’t grab a life-preserver. They can’t even ask for it.

Paul pushes the point this far, insisting that we are not merely sick in sin or drowning in sin, but that we were dead in our sins. And Paul does that to make it clear just how amazing grace really is. We didn’t do a thing to get this gift called salvation. We certainly didn’t swim to shore ourselves, and we didn’t even get a hold of a life-preserver. We were dead in the water, and God scooped us up and resuscitated us. God didn’t wait around for us to get it figured out first. God didn’t wait for us to be able to diagram it or explain it. God didn’t wait for us to ask for the help first, either. God did for us the only thing God can do with a dead person—God raised us.

It is scary to hear all of this, because it reminds us that we are not in control of this thing called grace. We can’t command it. We can’t limit it. We can’t say it has expired. We can’t set up fake hurdles for other people to jump first in order to be eligible for it. And we can’t imagine that we have earned it by our own good deeds, pious devotion, winning smiles, or charming personalities. To hear today’s verses from Ephesians rightly means that we come face to face with the fact that we bring nothing to the table that we could use to earn or buy or win God’s saving, but only our deadness.

Robert Farrar Capon puts it this way, with his usual provocative clarity: “Jesus came to raise the dead. Not to reform the reformable, not to improve the improvable... As long as you're struggling like the Pharisee to be alive in your own eyes -- and to the precise degree that your struggles are for what is holy, just and good -- you will resent the apparent indifference to your pains that God shows in making the effortlessness of death the touchstone of your justification. Only when you're finally able, with the publican, to admit that you're dead will you be able to stop balking at grace.”

So, if somebody religious ever asks you, the way certain religious somebodies do, “If you were to die tonight and to stand before the judgment seat of God, and he asked you, ‘Why should I let you into my heaven?’, what would you say?” the answer cannot be, “Because I grabbed the life-preserver God threw me after I asked.” And it cannot be, “Because I was bright enough to invite Jesus into my heart,” either.

Paul says we were dead. And as the saying goes, dead men tell no tales… because dead men don’t do anything. All they can do is be raised. All Lazarus can do is receive resurrection. All you and I bring to the table with God is our spiritual deadness. And what God brings to the table—despite our love for control and the illusion of earning—what God brings to the table for each of us, is everything.

Salvation, it turns out, is less like being sick but smart enough to accept the offer of medicine, and more like being dead and yet hearing Jesus call your name into the darkness of the grave to bring you to life: "Child, arise."

Let that sink in today, and see if you don’t break into praise and thanks.

Lord God, raise up what is dead in us, and enable us to let go of control so that we can recognize you have saved us without our earning it.

Fight-Pickin', Rug-Pullin' Jesus--May 13, 2020

Fight-Pickin', Rug-Pullin' Jesus--May 13, 2020

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

There are times when Jesus both yanks the rug out from under me to knock me to the floor... and makes me fall in love with him all over again at the same time.  This is one of them.

Let me tell you about it.

Maybe I should start with getting knocked to the floor.  This is one of those times when Jesus is absolutely ruthless against the hypocrisy of religious people, especially people who seem willing to write off the sick woman because it gets in the way of their scheduled program for the day.  It's tempting for me to say to myself, "Yeah, you tell 'em, Jesus!" as though I'm not constantly falling into the same hellish trap of ignoring people, or pretending they don't matter, in order to keep on going with the oh-so-important business of the day.  There are lots of times I have my own personal list of "stuff I want to get done," and someone else appears on the radar, needing me to set aside my plans and productivity for something, and I have to keep learning to get over my sense of self-importance and self-centeredness.  I have to keep learning, as Jesus shows here, that people are always more important than "getting back on schedule," or me checking everything off the to-do list in the order I want them checked off.  Jesus' attention to this woman shames me in all the times I don't want to see someone else God has sent across my path, because I know that seeing them will mean stopping my busy-ness for their sake.  And I have to admit, that makes me squirm here.

I have to admit, too, that I can't look for loopholes or ways out of this story, because Jesus pushes the confrontation to happen.  He could have just as easily have told the woman, "Hey, let's not make a big deal about this, but if you come back tomorrow, or meet me outside the synagogue when nobody is looking, I'll heal you without provoking a confrontation with the Respectable Religious people." Or for that matter, Jesus could have healed her without making a scene--he could have silently winked or wiggled his nose and made the woman well without saying a word, and nobody would have known it was him.  No one would have needed to make a fuss then, and the Respectable Religious people wouldn't have had their precious schedule delayed or derailed.

But he doesn't. Jesus, who clearly has the power to heal people without touching them, without saying anything, and even without being in the same place as the person needing healing, deliberately picks this fight with the Respectable Religious people.  Jesus' choice of action is purposely designed to send the message, "If your practice of religion is an obstacle to the health and healing of another person, you are doing it wrong."  Jesus knows his action will be offensive to the Respectable Religious people, and he does it anyway--this is his way of making it clear that God is always in the business of giving life, even if that means that other business has to be put on the back-burner. When our to-do lists, our sense of accomplishment, or our religiosity come into conflict with preserving and restoring the lives of others, none other than God is going to derail our plans and put them on hold.  Jesus knows he is making enemies with his actions--but he is willing to do so, because he is clear that his mission, his reason for being, is and always has been to bring people more fully to life.  Jesus is willing to do that for the sake of the woman who has been crippled for eighteen years, even when it means yanking the rug of my smug self-importance out from under my feet and knocking me to the floor.  He knows that he can help me up again if I'm down on the ground--but he can't do anything for me as long as I am unwilling to see that the needs of this woman are not forgettable or ignorable.

And maybe that is the paradox of this whole story, because it is that very thing that makes me love Jesus all the more.  I need a savior who is willing to yank the rug out from under me when I need it.  I need a rabbi who will not pull punches.  I need to know that God sees the people I have been ignoring because it is inconvenient to have to think of their needs before my own, or to see that they are at least as important as I am in God's reign.  

And yet, beautifully, gracefully, Jesus doesn't throw this woman under the bus.  He doesn't let her become the villain, or the scapegoat, or the "problem," even when the Respectable Religious people looking to get on with their agendas give him an out to do just that.  The Religious Leaders see the healing happen, and they start attacking the woman, and they stir up the crowd against her.  "If you want to get healed, come on another day!" they shout, as if this woman had asked for this to happen--as if she had intended to cause this disruption to "the plan" for the day's business.  The religious leaders want to make her into the problem, the scapegoat, the wrongdoer... except they aren't even courageous enough to address their complaint to her.  They stir up the crowd and put a target sight on her back, as if to make her the object of their anger at having the plan for the day interrupted.  This is the same cowardly attitude we find still today all over civil society when folks refuse to have an honest face-to-face conversation, but instead just go ranting on social media against the easy scapegoats because folks need to vent frustration rather than actually acknowledge that life is complicated and messy.  So there's nothing new under the sun...

But what makes me love Jesus--and respect and admire him, as well as want to follow and serve him all the more--is this: Jesus won't accept that "out."  Jesus doesn't let the Respectable Religious folks make the woman who was crippled into "the problem," and he doesn't let them get away with insisting that their need to practice their religion gets to be more important that preserving life.  So Jesus does something wonderful--he picks another fight, and he makes himself the target of the Respectable Religious people.  Like a Mama killdeer squawking to draw a predator away from the vulnerable eggs in the nest and onto itself, Jesus inserts himself into the conversation.  When the religious folk start backhandedly criticizing the crippled woman, as though she had sought out this healing on the sabbath day, Jesus jumps in and breaks open the whole notion of what sabbath is about.  And instead of treating it as a ritual that must be performed in order to satisfy some imagined needs on God's part, Jesus reminds everybody that sabbath was always about bringing life--life that comes from rest, to be sure, but sometimes just plain life.  So if "the way we've always done our religious thing" comes into conflict with "bringing and preserving life," guess what--Jesus is going to insist on life.  Always, always, always.  And if we start fussing that "it's our right to practice our religion as we see fit, regardless of what it means for anybody else," Jesus interrupts us once again, probably yanking the rug of self-righteousness out from under us as he does it, and says, "That's not what genuine religion is about--the real and living God has always been more invested in the work of saving and restoring life than in getting the rituals right."

It is that courageous love of Jesus that gets me every time.  He is willing to make himself the target, to draw the fire of the angry powerful people away from the vulnerable folks like this woman, and to turn it toward himself, because he can take it.  And that, honestly, it just makes me love Jesus all the more, and to want to be a part of whatever it is he is up to in the world.  Because honestly, that's the whole Christian faith in a nutshell--Jesus says to the powers of death and the grave, "I'm over here--come and get me!" in order to turn their attention from targeting us, and he takes their attacks and hostility like a mother killdeer, offering herself as the target to preserve her young.  And because I can see that deep love from Jesus for me, I can also bear to let Jesus knock me to the floor by yanking the carpet out from my feet when I need it, because I know it means he is protecting someone else who is vulnerable.  

In the end, it's scenes like this one that remind me the only God worth serving is the One who speaks to the bullies and says, "How about you take your fight to me, instead of this vulnerable person over here?"  And the only Savior worth giving our lives to is the One who won't let us erase the sick or the hurting because it is inconvenient to think of their needs.  I can only love a God now who calls me out on my narcissistic self-importance when I think my to-do list, and my list of stuff I want to get accomplished, is all that matters.  Any other god who will never get between me and my "rights" when the needs of the neighbor are at stake are just dead idols.

Loving Jesus, it turns out, it complicated--he reserves the right to call us out when we need it, and to let us get knocked off of our high horses when we need that, too.  But that is the sign he is the real deal, because it means he is fiercely seeking the good of someone else whom he loves, too.

Today, let us pause and consider the ways we may be tempted to ignore or erase people and their needs because it might not suit our agenda for the day.  And in the midst of that, let us allow ourselves to fall in love with Jesus, all over again, because of his courage way of drawing the fire of religious bullies onto himself in order to protect those who are most vulnerable.

That's why I love Jesus.  That's what he does.

Lord Jesus, let us allow you today to rearrange our hearts, our agendas, and our priorities in light of the needs of those we have forgotten are in the room.... even if it means getting knocked off our self-important high horses today.