Not My Enemies

I know I have observed before that while political disagreements among Christians are not new, they seem to me to have become considerably deeper and more acrimonious in the last decade or so, especially in the last four years.

In my Psalm prayers this morning, Psalm 55:12-14 seemed to me to be words that people on both sides of these political divides might claim for themselves. They do express both the incredulity and distress that I feel reflecting on the widely divergent paths taken by so many with whom I have been close and whose lives have shaped and informed my journey.

It is not enemies who taunt me— I could bear that; it is not adversaries who deal insolently with me— I could hide from them. But it is you, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend, with whom I kept pleasant company; we walked in the house of God with the throng.

I must confess my prayer this morning was more about expressing my grief to God than about “solving this problem.” I know better to ask God to change others’ minds to match me or to ask God to suspend my convictions or to obscure the obvious reality. My prayer was more relinquishing my angst about this to God, trusting that God can handle the struggle I cannot handle. I found considerable comfort in verse 22 (which is echoed in 1 Peter 5:7). “Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you.” In context the Psalmist (attr. David) feels abandoned by his friends and companions but recognized that God would not abandon him. So in my prayer this morning, I affirmed to God that I was confident God would not abandon the community of faith, nor me personally, in this time of trial (even as I pray we would be delivered from it – Matthew 6:13 NRSV).

http://nstolpepilgrim.blogspot.com/2018/07/under-siege-unity-of-spirit-in-bond-of.html

"All love comes from you." "To you all love returns."

Today I started my centering prayer in the most usual way with the Jesus Prayer. "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God" on the inhale and "have mercy on me a sinner." on the exhale. Before long it had evolved into this from a funeral liturgy confession prayer. "All of life comes from you." on the inhale and "To you all life returns." on the exhale. As I went along it transformed into "All love comes from you." on the inhale and "To you all love returns." on the exhale. As my breathing came into focus, it became "life" in and out, and then "love" in and out. Just before the bell called me back, my breathing slipped toward wordlessness.

leanness of soul

Psalm 106 is all very sobering when we recognize ourselves in these portraits of the ancient Hebrews and acknowledge that both we and our ancestors (religious, national, ethnic) have sinned. Verse 15 gives me particular pause. God "gave them what they asked, but send a wasting disease (leanness into their soul KJV) among them." I feel a deep angst that all of the energy and "prayer" being poured into establishing and defending a privileged, protected status for Christians (especially the "evangelical" voting block) is a sign of the wasting disease of leanness of soul.

Further Reflection on this Time of Trial

For Christians of good faith and good will to have different political opinions is not unusual or wrong. Vilifying political opponents is nothing new but probably not a healthy way to work together for the common good. However, I sense a much deeper divide in the US church across a wide theological spectrum in response to the current administration and to some lesser degree to the previous administration. Much of this division focuses around the respective Presidents: Trump now and more so, and Obama to some extent still.  Absolutist moral judgements are dividing  those who claim to follow Jesus into warring camps that increasingly exclude the possibility of accepting the other side as legitimate Christian kin, maybe not even as Christians.

Much of that division is between Christians who see Donald Trump as morally deficient if not bankrupt and Christians who see Donald Trump as the champion of their religious rights and even as God’s appointed champion. 

Romans 13:1 is often cited in this conflict by those who vigorously support President Trump. “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God.” Interpreting this in its original context requires recognizing that at the time Paul wrote it Nero was the Roman Emperor who eventually executed both Paul and Peter.  Interpreting this in the history since it was written must somehow relate it to the likes of Hitler and Stalin. To interpret it consistently in our own time, it must also be applied to all US Presidents up to and including Obama. I don’t intend to render this passage meaningless, but to recognize that it goes far deeper than an endorsement of a particular office holder whom we support at the moment.

My concern is not so much with President Trump or the US political landscape per se as with the schism that is widening in the US Church and sapping not only energy but public credibility to call for following Jesus. I know that many in evangelical circles have supported Trump on the basis of pro-life and traditional sexual mores and see him as defending their religious rights to live and conduct business on their religious convictions. I understand very well that for some the support of Donald Trump was largely about rejecting Hillary Clinton (and Bill) who are far from those principles, and in a different way rejecting Obama.

I want to be as clear as possible that my reservations about Donald Trump say nothing at all about my opinions of the Clintons or even Obama (or any other politician of either party). Nevertheless, I would like to think that had Donald Trump been running in a different time against a different opponent, he would have been roundly rejected by the evangelical community as well as the broader spectrum of the US Church. Having his business reputation built on the gambling and some salacious aspects of entertainment industries would have been instant rejection, not to mention less visible business practices. Not that long ago divorce, even without remarriage, was instant disqualification for leadership. For someone to be divorced and remarried three times to gain evangelical support would have been unthinkable. While I certainly don’t know what is in Donald Trump’s heart, and am more than content to leave that in God’s hands, I am uncomfortable with his seeming to be an unrepentant serial adulterer with a long established reputation as a sexual predator. I readily acknowledge he is not alone in this among US politicians and even US Presidents. Though I grew up and was educated in solidly evangelical context and still consider myself to be evangelical in the sense of the good news of Jesus (though not as a political block to be manipulated), I do not expect those in public office to be my brand of Christian or even to embrace any sort of Christian faith. But I do expect integrity, authenticity, humility, and competence – regardless of whether I agree with their specific political ideas or positions. I have a hard time trusting someone who has not honored their marriage vows to honor their oath of office.

This brings me back to my deep concern and grief at the schism that is obviously widening rapidly in the US Church over how we who aspire to follow Jesus respond to Donald Trump. The reactions to the ongoing impeachment proceedings seem to be elevating the volume as well as the viciousness of the invectives hurled across this chasm. I am not now speaking about the merits of the charges or the process. I lack the knowledge and expertise to render an opinion. Nor am I thinking of the 2020 election that is rapidly approaching. Regardless of what comes of either of those things for Donald Trump (I personally doubt he will be convicted, but anticipate he will be re-elected). I believe the wound is much deeper than Donald Trump, but he has become the recognized wedge between Christians. Instead, as I have written earlier, I am deeply troubled that the responses to Donald Trump have seriously damaged “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (Ephesians 4:3) http://nstolpepilgrim.blogspot.com/2018/07/under-siege-unity-of-spirit-in-bond-of.html

I have observed before that I am increasingly recognizing the parallels between what the Church in Germany faced in the Nazi years with the schism between The Confessing Church and the German Christians. I keep finding myself drawn deeper and deeper into The Theological Declaration of Barman. I do want to be careful about drawing unwarranted similarities between Trump et al and the Nazis, but I do believe we who aspire to follow Jesus will do well to pay attention to what The Confessing Church faced in their time of trial. I found some encouragement in the refrain from my prayer Psalm 37 today “do not fret because of the wicked … be still before the Lord. …do not fret – it leads only to evil.” But even as I write this some hours later, I find that relinquishing my fretting about the spiritual health of the Church in my time and place to be extraordinarily challenging. I am especially uneasy about if and how to respond to current events and attitudes while my primary focus is and must rightly be on caring for my wife on her Alzheimer’s journey and her 92 year old father.

Fruitful in Old Age

My prayer for today from Psalm 92:12-15 is that I may continue to be fruitful in these years of my "old age" (which at 73 I believe I am entitled to claim, though I am not so sure about claiming to be one of the righteous).

The righteous flourish like the palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the house of the Lord; they flourish in the courts of our God. In old age they still produce fruit; they are always green and full of sap, showing that the Lord is upright; he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.

Maybe my grandchildren would say I am "full of sap."

Prayer in Preparation for Christ the King Sunday

Next Sunday (November 24, 2019) is Christ the King Sunday for those following the liturgical calendar. It is something of a seam in the rhythm of the year – culminating one year’s passage and engendering the longings of Advent. The reading from the Hebrew Scriptures this year is Jeremiah 23:1-6. I am just starting to soak in this passage, but verse 6 struck a chord in my heart. I know this came as a word of encouragement in the context of Judah’s distress in Exile. I know that the righteous branch of David carries Messianic significance. Either way, this does not refer specifically to any transitory political or government leader of the US or any other country. Nevertheless, speaking for myself as one who aspires to follow Jesus, I feel a deep longing in my soul to be led by those who deal wisely and execute justice and righteousness. And when I got to oratio in my lectio divina this morning, my prayer became an enormous lament for how far away my own country is from wisdom, justice, and righteousness.  Please don’t diminish that to any of the current lightening rod political issues of the moment, nor dismiss it by relegating it to what is impossible until Jesus returns. Juxtaposed with the Gospel for Christ the King Sunday in Luke 23:33-43 that connects Jesus’ crucifixion with his identity as “King of the Jews,” (certainly posted on his cross as Roman mockery not just of Jesus but the Jewish people), I expect my lament to grow increasingly profound as the week progresses. By the time Advent comes, I expect I will already be crying “Come, O Come, Emmanuel!”

Majestic Ride for Truth and Right

Psalm 45 celebrates the marriage of an archetypical ancient Hebrew king. The imagery goes well beyond David or Solomon. It is addressed in the second person (you) to the king, and the language interweaves the king and God seamlessly. Seen through New Testament eyes, it takes on Messianic significance, and may be construed as pointing to the ecstatic love between Christ and the Church as the bride at the Wedding Supper of the Lamb.

Now, I am not interested in sorting out all of the possibilities and pitfalls of interpreting this Psalm, but as I let it prompt my prayers this morning against the backdrop of the current proceedings in Washington, a couple of lines caught my attention. First, verse 7 asserts that this king’s “royal scepter is a scepter of equity” in the hand of one who “loves righteousness and hates wickedness.” I am certainly do not expect, nor do I think it would be healthy, that people in the US government be my brand (or any) of Christian. But as I prayed this morning, this line prompted me to pray that people in positions of public leadership would have integrity, authenticity, transparency as they advocate for all people (especially the weak, poor, struggling, and marginalized) to receive justice, peace, prosperity, and compassion. Regardless of political philosophy, I also pray for those who serve in government (elected, appointed, or hired staff) to be competent. As I discussed this with God this morning, I found my prayer becoming a lament.

With the daily details emerging from the proceedings in Washington, I was originally drawn to verse 4. “In your majesty ride on victoriously for the cause of truth and to defend the right.” I do not believe this Psalm celebrates anything and everything done by anyone in a position similar to an ancient Hebrew king. Rather, clear promotion and protection of truth and right are what can legitimately be celebrated. So this morning I told God (I know that sounds presumptuous) that regardless of political posturing, I want to see truth and right emerge from the current proceedings in Washington.

Still praying my lament, I moved on to Psalm 75 and was jolted by verses 7-8. I conclude by letting them stand on their own. “It is God who executes judgment, putting down one and lifting up another. For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed; he will pour a draught from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs.”

To God All of Them are Alive

As I have begun my lectio divina on Jesus’ answer to the Sadducees about the resurrection in Luke 20:27-39, I have noticed contrasts with the versions in Matthew 22:23-33 and Mark 12:18-27 that have prompted my contemplation of the deep mystery of God’s self-revelation and the hope of resurrection. Other things in Haggai 2:1-9 and 2 Thessalonians 2:1-12 are also stirring in my soul. This looks to be a week of rich, if unsettling, pondering.

Luke recorded only Jesus’ answer to the Sadducees and omitted his rebuke. Matthew wrote, “You are wrong, because you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God.” (v. 29) Mark recorded it this way, “Is not this the reason you are wrong, that you know neither the scriptures nor the power of God? … You are quite wrong.” (vv. 24,27) Matthew framed it as a statement; Mark as a question; and Luke omitted it. I am not interested in attempting to harmonize an apparent discrepancy nor reconstruct Jesus’ actual words (not English; they were almost certainly spoken in Aramaic and translated into Greek by Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Rather, I am searching my own soul for how well I know the scriptures and power of God. I am not talking about knowing the content of scripture and its proper interpretation (such as the Spanish word saber) but of intimate knowledge (such as the use of “know” to mean sexual intercourse in the Hebrew Scriptures or the Spanish word conocer).

After reflecting on this, I came to my prayer from the New Testament Epistles for today in Ephesians 1:15-23 with its prayer to know the immeasurable greatness of God’s power put to work by raising Christ from the dead. (vv. 19-20). My prayer took the form of opening up to God my growing relinquishment of specific literalistic images of the widely varied metaphors in scripture for the resurrection on the last day and what to expect in the transition from this life to the next.

That brought me back to Luke’s unique rendition of Jesus’ conclusion of his answer to the Sadducees. Matthew (v. 32) and Mark (v. 27) use the familiar, God “is not God of the dead, but of the living.” But Luke’s version (v. 38) prompted me to reflect even more deeply on what it may mean for those who have gone before us, as we will all go, to be alive to God. “Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.” This took me to the line from the funeral liturgy prayer of confession. “We forget that all life comes from you and that to you all life returns.” Does this imply something outside of the familiar boundaries of time, not just an endless extension of time? Does this imply our/my existence is intrinsic to God's being in much more than a perfunctory "of course?” Oh the limitations of human language!

I have long been and continue to be one who affirms “the resurrection to eternal life” rather than the pagan, dualistic denial of the goodness of God’s material creation implied in “the immortality of the soul.” We are not bodies who have souls, nor are we souls who are trapped in bodies. The hope of the resurrection affirms our human wholeness (body and soul if you will, though that language betrays dualism more akin to Greek philosophy than biblical witness).

With the highly individualistic culture in the West, perhaps most virulent in the US, we crave individual, personal awareness in the life to come. Though they are few, some such as Jesus’ answer here that cites Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, suggest our personal identity persists and we are not simply absorbed into the cosmos. (The conjuring of Samuel in 1 Samuel 28:12-20 and the story of Lazarus in Luke 16:22-31 would seem to hint at this.) Yet the images of the last day are not individually welcoming embraces from Jesus, as popular as current art and song imagine, but as vast multitudes gathered for the marriage supper of the Lamb from every tribe and tongue and nation in communal praise. I am not expecting this week’s lectio divina to sort out into some definitive resolution of the literal expectation for the resurrection on the last day. More and more I am convinced pursuing that leads us astray from a proper perspective on the resurrection. Rather I am hoping my meditations will enrich probing the profundity of this mystery. I confess some discomfort and perplexity. At the same time, I am praying to know the immeasurable greatness of God’s power put to work by raising Christ from the dead.

Another interesting contrast in the three versions of Jesus' answer to the Sadducees about the resurrection is the reaction to Jesus. Matthew 22:33 reports that the crowds were astounded. Luke 20:39-40 reports that some of the scribes said that Jesus had "spoken well". I expect those were those who disagreed with the Sadducees about the resurrection already, but then Luke added that "they no longer dared to ask him another question." So Matthew reported the crowd; Luke reported the scribes; and Mark reported no reaction.

Unseemly Gloating

Understanding and praying the imprecatory (cursing) Psalms is a continuously challenging conundrum. With so many of them, rarely a day goes by that I am not confronted by discerning what I need to engage or release (5, 6, 11, 12, 35, 37, 40, 52, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 69, 79, 83, 94, 109, 137, 139, 143). They are rarely used in worship or devotional literature. The unsuspecting reader who is accustomed to the pretty Psalms (or pretty excerpts) and sets about to read them all in search of more such inspiration may be dismayed to find the two-thirds of the Psalms (yes 100 out of 150) are complaints and laments. Unprepared readers may cringe at the vivid curses of the imprecatory Psalms and skip over them. Some scholarly commentators even suggest they are inappropriate for Christians. However, taking cues from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eugene Peterson, and Walter Brueggemann, I have found they help me be honest with God about my most uncomfortable reactions to what strike me as unconscionable attitudes, language, and behavior. Having honestly acknowledged my own emotions and attitudes to God, even if my sense of propriety compel me to keep them internal and not speak or act them out, I am then free to relinquish this to God to deal with me and my heart and the people with whom I am troubled. I find some of this same dynamic when I am reminded that Jesus explicitly directed me, as his disciple, to love my enemies (Matthew 5:43-48; Luke 6:27-35, affirmed by Paul in Romans 12:17-21). My tendency is to tell myself that I have no enemies. Then I ponder who might consider me to be their enemy based on my theological or political perspectives. Then I have to recognize that my reactions to any number of people in public life who I don’t know but whose attitudes, language, and behavior I consider unconscionable betray that I am treating them as enemies in my heart.

All of this brings me to Psalm 58:10 which jumped out at me in my Psalm prayers this morning in light of yesterday’s news of the “elimination” of ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.

The righteous will rejoice when they see vengeance done; they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked.

Does this give permission, maybe even encouragement, for gloating over the elimination of someone who has caused so much suffering and grief as Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi certainly has? His death will be a further setback for ISIS that has been in retreat, but ISIS will not be eliminated, and a new leader will emerge. Bathing feet in blood is gruesome but maybe no more so than collecting exploded body parts of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, his wife, and their children. Some sense of relief is probably appropriate, but who dares to claim to be righteous enough for rejoicing? Does the Psalm have an ironic tone to prompt this sort of ambiguous pondering? Does it truly celebrate vengeance? Or is it a moral mirror that compels us to recognize our own unseemly gloating?

Addendum: Reflecting on this today has reminded me of a related observation I have made since the “war on terrorism” was declared in 2001. Now 18 years later, even what “war on terrorism” means and what it seeks to accomplish remains elusive. It seems to me that terrorism is a method used my many causes for many centuries. It is a tool of both a white supremacist mass shooter and an Islamist suicide bomber. It also seems to me that by attempting to attack the method we are missing the underlying forces that drive terrorism of all sorts. My personal sense is that we will not effectively adddress terrorism, regardless of the cause that deploys it, until we understand why what seems reprehensible to us seems reasonable to those whom we neither know nor comprehend. Labeling someone who uses terrorism as evil or mentally ill may assure us that “we are not like them,” but it is tacit acceptance that nothing can be done to limit terrorism.I am not at all suggesting any approval of any of the causes that give rise to terrorism. Only that as long as we address only the method, we do not deal with what drives people to adopt it.

Not Just Our Storm

When we lived in Dallas we shopped at ate at some of the businesses and restaurants at the intersection of Royal and Preston where this picture was taken.

Last Sunday’s storm in Dallas, Texas has been on my mind this week. After all, we lived there for 17 years and have a son who still lives there, and those tornados passed just a few blocks from our former home. Also this week my lectio divina that started with the lectionary reading from the Hebrew Scriptures in Joel 2:23-32 prompted me to read Joel’s entire prophecy. The imagery of mingled disaster and hope resonated with the images of Texas destruction in on the news and gratitude for no fatalities and only a few minor injuries.

As the weather service released its analysis, they identified 9 maybe 10 tornados that left a trail of destruction for many miles. As I have reflected on Joel and world news this week, the storm in Dallas seems an apt metaphor for the storm brewing in our world. Regardless of your opinion about the politics surrounding President Trump, including but not limited to the impeachment investigation, this is but one of many tornados of chaos in our world right now. Canada's Justin Trudeau rejected a coalition in favor of a minority government. Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu failed to form a governing coalition, the first such failure in Israeli history, so Benny Gantz is tasked with the perhaps impossible task of forming coalition government. Brexit has Great Britain and Prime Minister Boris Johnson floundering and immobile. Russia, Turkey, and Syria (with US complicity) have upended the balances of power in the Middle East and positioned the Kurds for genocide. China seems baffled by how to manage the popular, democratic uprising in Hong Kong. Chile has plunged into violent political unrest. I know more whirlwinds are swirling out there. For us in the US to think of the storm around President Trump as the only or most important tornado would be a most malignant form of “American exceptionalism.”

I suppose wanting to identify a single, simple solution – or at least explanation – of these storms is natural. However, the mingling of images of disaster and hope in Joel rightly points to a much more nuanced and complex perspective. Yes, God is present and active through both disaster and hope, but not that God will magically make it alright for us. Nor do I believe that shreds of the apocalyptic literature of the Bible can or should be picked apart and reassembled to invent a kind of Ouija so Christians can forecast events, prompting a perverse cheering the evils of disaster as a way of accelerating the arrival of hope.

Jesus taught his followers to pray for God’s Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. (Matthew 6:10) He also said that the Kingdom of God is among you. (Luke 17:21) Now I know examining what Jesus said about the Kingdom of God has prompted all kinds of theological dancing around a variety of understandings. I don’t think it is just my Anabaptist proclivities that call me to prayerfully and courageously explore how to live in the already of the Kingdom of God, fully aware that its fullness has not yet arrived (and relinquishing personal imagining of how I want it to arrive). When Jesus spoke of “the signs of the times” (Matthew 16:1-4; 24; Luke 17:20-37) he seemed to be describing what to expect as we live this already when the not yet is distant and may seem impossible.

I am also aware of the limitations of human language that cloud the expression “Kingdom of God” with hierarchal and sexist implications. I do typically use “Reign of God,” but for my present reflections “Kingdom of God” seems to me to work a little better. In any case, I don’t want the fussing about language in our time to deter us from struggling with how to live by faith as Jesus’ followers in the storms of our time.

 So I come back to the metaphor of Sunday’s storm in Dallas alongside the mix of disaster and hope in Joel (and elsewhere in biblical eschatology). I am cautioned against a narrow, provincial outlook that sees the storms in terms of me and my community. I am cautioned against dismissing the storms that seem far from me as isolated and disconnected from me and my community. I am cautioned against invoking any one, simplistic political or religious viewpoint as either explaining or disarming the storms. I am cautioned against giving up on living the already of  the Kingdom of God by postponing it to a remote not yet.

Self-humbling in Order to be Exalted is an Oxymoron

This line at the end of the lectionary Gospel for next Sunday (October 27, 2019) has arrested my attention in my lectio divina this week. I have wrestled with how easy I find thinking of my intended humility in terms of spiritual superiority. “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” -Luke 18:14

Yet, we live in a time in which hubris, pride, ego, and self-elevation are praised and promoted. I find these words from Thomas Merton to be a helpful antidote to my seeking to recognize the presence and activity of Christ in the very ordinary routines of my present life of caring for my wife, Candy, on her Alzheimer’s journey and her 92 year old, weakening father (who moved from Minnesota to a mile and a half from us just so we could care for him on this last leg of his life journey).

“It is supreme humility to see that ordinary life, embraced with perfect faith, can be more saintly and more supernatural than a spectacular ascetical career. Such humility dares to be ordinary, and that is something beyond the reach of spiritual pride. Pride always longs to be unusual. Humility not so. Humility finds all its peace in hope, knowing that Christ must come again to elevate and transfigure ordinary things and fill them with His glory.”
-Thomas Merton 1915-1968
No Man Is An Island

Suzanne Guthrie’s meditations for this week in Edge of Enclosure revolve around the ancient practice of the Jesus Prayer. I have used the Jesus Prayer (regularly but not exclusively) for well over 25 years, and her description of merging it with breathing matches my own experience. “Breathe in the words Lord Jesus Christ, son of God. And breathe out have mercy on me, a sinner.  … Breathe in the divine and breathe out that which is not yet divine.” I encourage reflective reading of her entire meditation on this passage at http://www.edgeofenclosure.org/proper25c.html

I do not want to turn this into a political diatribe, but I must confess I have been struggling with balancing my ordinary life caring for Candy and her Dad with responding to what seems to me to be a storm brewing not just for the US and the world but in what I see as a “time of trial” for the Church from which Jesus taught us to pray to be delivered. (Matthew  6:13 “Do not bring us to the time of trial.” NRSV). I am recognizing that some of my urge to speak out and even become active in responding to this storm may well be an inclination to exalt myself, and refraining not just from speaking and acting but from anxiety about this storm may be my path of humiliation.

I still believe that if Richard Nixon had come forward with a humble acknowledgement of a grave mistake in the Watergate affair he could have finished his presidency and been remembered as the one brought the Vietnam War to a conclusion, instead of being remembered by having “…gate” attached to a multitude of political scandals for the past 45 years. In that same vein, imagine the difference for public and political responses if instead of blaming the media and democrats for changing the venue for the G-7 from the Trump National Doral Golf Club (especially now that it has been reported that the change may have come in response to a call from republicans, including identified conservatives) Donald Trump had said, “I made a mistake with that selection. I should not be receiving benefit from something so important nationally and globally.” While I know that making these observations will inevitably be interpreted as political, I want to see them as connecting the impact of meditating on Jesus’ parable with the real events with which we live, as well as with my personal pursuit of pure humility. I long for the spiritual power of legitimate exaltation that rises from authentic humility.

Muzzle My Mouth

For at least a year I have struggled with my urge to comment on distressing events, knowing that my voice adds little and changes no one, and I need inner calm to care for my wife and her dad. Thus my personal prayer this morning comes from Psalm 39:1-3,9; 69:6.

I said, “I will guard my ways that I may not sin with my tongue; I will keep a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence.” I was silent and still; I held my peace to no avail; my distress grew worse, my heart became hot within me. While I mused, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue: ... I am silent; I do not open my mouth, for it is you who have done it.

…

Do not let those who hope in you be put to shame because of me, O Lord God of hosts; do not let those who seek you be dishonored because of me, O God of Israel.

Seeking Welfare in Exile

Jeremiah 29:7 Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.

Peaceable Kingdom - Edward Hicks (1780-1849)

This line from the lectionary reading for next Sunday (October 13, 2019) from the Hebrew Scripture is eloquently instructive as I aspire to faithfully follow Jesus when so much around me is going the opposite direction. For my adult life I have recognized that my citizenship in the country where I happen to reside is at most secondary to my total, unreserved allegiance to the Reign of God. Hebrews 11:9-10 has been my guiding metaphor for over half a century. “By faith [Abraham] stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” I have lived in tents, recognizing that I am a sojourner and stranger in a foreign land. That has enabled me to be portable, moving from California to Minnesota, to Illinois, to New Jersey (with a stop in Ontario), to Wisconsin, to Texas (with a stop in Oklahoma), and now back to Wisconsin for what I expect will be our last encampment until departing for the city with foundations.

Through those years that has enabled me to explore the creative tension between withdrawing from this foreign land, knowing it is not my home, and the pressures to pledge my allegiance to the country in which I reside. I have been reminded again by Jeremiah 29:7 that on my sojourn here I am to seek the welfare of the city/country of my exile. For me that means advocating , supporting, and participating in peace and justice, righteousness and compassionate mercy as signs of the Reign of God. They may be hidden, fleeting, and incomplete, but wherever the light of the Reign of God shines (or even glows dimly) contributes to the welfare of the city/country of my exile.

As I have begun my lectio divina for this week on the lectionary passages to be read on Sunday, my eye dropped down the page from the assigned reading about Jesus cleansing the ten lepers to Luke 17:20-21 which I think also speak to my reflections on seeking the welfare of the city/country of my exile where Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.” I know that in the following paragraph, Jesus spoke about what to, nor not to, watch for in the unfolding of the climax of human history. I believe that Jesus emphasized the unexpected as a cautionary tale about not trying to plot out how certain signs of a schedule may or may not be in current events. To the consternation of my dispensationalist friends, I also suspect that with the comparison to Noah, the “one will be taken, the other left,” is not a reference to an anticipated “rapture” of the redeemed but to the judgment of those who went through life without observing the kingdom of God among them.

I only slightly apologize for this discursive wandering from my main point. Recognizing the kingdom of God that is among us is essential to seeking the welfare of the city/country of my exile. I am not looking for the Reign of God in any temporal human institution: not this country, not “Christendom,” not even the Church. (Though I do believe the Church has a responsibility and opportunity to be a sort of frontier outpost of the Reign of God inviting people into a community of those who seek to live as its citizens even as they are exiles wherever they reside.) So part of the marvelous mystery of the kingdom of God among us is that wherever its priorities of peace and justice, righteousness and compassionate mercy are present, the Reign of God is alive and at work, even if brought about by those who do not acknowledge Christ or even God.

When I pray, as Jesus taught, “your kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven,” I am seeking the welfare of the city/country were I reside, even as I acknowledge I am a stranger and sojourner here.

                                                                                                                 

Walking in Integrity

 

My morning meditations today (August 26, 2019) have prompted me to consider, yearn for and renew my embrace of the simplicity of a fully integrated life and to appreciate how my aspiration to keep focused on Jesus has restored my equilibrium through many wobbles for many years. These reflections took me back to two books that were formative for me as a young adult seeking to walk with Jesus. Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Christ the Center (written in German in 1933 published in English in 1966) and Mark Link’s He Is the Still Point of the Turning World (1971). I am also reminded of Jesus’ words to Martha in Luke 10:41-42 “You are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing.”

 

Yes, in my career starting in Christian education and concluding as a pastor, many things competed to worry and distract me from Jesus. These days as my priority is caring for my wife of 50 years, Candy,  on her Alzheimer's journey and supporting her 92 year old father who recently moved from Minnesota to Wisconsin, focusing of Jesus is essential to handling those things with joy. I make no claim of spiritual prowess, only gratitude for the powerful gravity of love that has kept drawing me back to Jesus at the center of everything else.

 

So here are the lines from my meditation and prayer today.

 

Psalm 26:1,11

I have walked in my integrity.

I walk in my integrity.

 

Psalm 56:13

That I may walk before God in the light of life.

 

Psalm 86:11

Teach me your way, O Lord, that I may walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart to revere your name.

 

Psalm 116:7

Return, O my soul, to your rest, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.

 

Psalm 146:2

I will sing praises to my God all my life long.

 

Luke 14:11

All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

Reading the Apocrypha

Yesterday, August 21, 2019, I finished my front to back read through of the Apocrypha. That affirmed my summary from having previously read scattered pieces. These writing encourage faithful living in times of pressure and persecution of the community of faith. They are examples of singing the Lord’s song in a foreign land (Psalm 137:4). For the most part they were written by and for a Jewish audience in a time of being pressured by pagan overlords to abandon not only their faith but their culture and conform to that of their oppressors, often Greek. Certainly not in some literalistic sense, but used appropriately, they could encourage the followers of Jesus to be faithful in hostile or compromising settings.

I found some of the material to be boring and confusing. I made no effort to keep track of the assorted pagan villains or Jewish traitors and heroes. Nor did I try to identify correlations to general history. Some of the material is brutally and graphically violent and cruel (e.g. Judith, 4 Maccabees). Some of the stories are fascinating and entertaining, even humorous (e.g. Bel and the Dragon). Some speak to modern issues such as sexual harassment and discounting of women (e.g. Susanna). Some reflect the accepted thinking of the time that we would find objectionable today (e.g. The Wisdom of Solomon). As I read 2 Esdras I couldn’t avoid comparing it to Revelation and wonder if and how it might have influenced New Testament apocalyptic thinking. But behind all of these assorted themes, a deep piety and courage of faith shines through.

One recurrent theme is that the eating of pork or meat that had been offered to idols was the test that was frequently presented to oppressed Jews. Based on Acts 10 and 1 Corinthians 8, this might seem to Christians to have been trivial, but it was the sign of switching loyalty to the new culture and empire as well as new religion, forsaking the God of Israel. Perhaps somewhat akin to the early Christians being forced to burn incense to the Roman Emperor. It was a pledge of allegiance to not just a hostile government but to false gods. Where opposition to Christianity is overt and official, the symbols of allegiance may be obvious (e.g. totalitarian regimes of both left and right, some Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist contexts). However where generic Judeo-Christian civil religion masquerades as legitimate faith the symbols of allegiance may be more subtle and perhaps more dangerous.

I read the Apocrypha for my ongoing education, and I am glad I did. I will not get involved in the debates about canonicity or historicity of any of this material. Nor will I sort out theological discussions about questionable doctrines drawn from selected passages. I am neither recommending nor discouraging reading of the Apocrypha by Christians of any stripe. Some things will make you shake your head, and others encourage your discipleship. If you read it, you will become a better informed person and gain some appreciation of the world into which Jesus came and the New Testament was written.

prayer against the Church’s divisions

In my lectio divina this week on the Gospel for Sunday from Luke 12:49-56, I continue to ponder how to interpret the present time in light of Jesus’ strong language about bringing division. I know the Church has known many times of serious division, but we seem to be in a time when virulent division in the society is infecting and fragmenting the Church. Can this be the kind of division Jesus spoke about? Jesus seemed to suggest we should know how to interpret the present time. Yet, I have not discerned any clarity. Then, in my prayers this morning, which I start with an Epistle prayer before moving to the Psalms, I was jolted by this line from the prayer in Romans 15:5. “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus.” Can I consider that praying such a prayer against the Church’s divisions expresses interpreting the present time?

Love Song?

The apparent hymn of judgment in Isaiah 5 when justice becomes bloodshed and righteousness a cry (v. 7), is introduced as a love song (v. 1) apparently sung by God for the beloved community. Several times Scripture affirms that God chastises in love. Good human parents also seek to discipline their children in love rather than anger. Nevertheless, casting the hymn of the vineyard (also see Psalm 80) as a love song feels incongruous. On my own contemplative journey I have had a sample of intimacy with God as the ultimate lover. So this week I am exploring how God's loving discipline continues to shape me. I am realizing more and more that my prayers are not so much my love song to God as listening for God's love song to me and all who are walking with Jesus.

Weaned Child in God's Lap

For many years I have associated this drawing of Sein with a Child on her Lap by van Gogh (ca. 1882-3) with Psalm 131:2. "I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother." For me, the troubled lives of van Gogh and Sein make this all the more poignant.

Psalm 131 concluded my Psalm prayers for today, and I felt prompted to use that line from verse 2 as the anchor for my centering prayer this morning.

I also felt prompted to print out the drawing and use it as an icon (window) through which I could look at God and God's relationship with me.

In my centering prayer I typically interlace my fingers as Sein is doing and rest my hands in my lap, but in the last couple of weeks I have been aware of tension in my fingers when I do that, so have slipped my hands apart and just rested one on the other in my lap. Looking through Sein's fingers, I sensed that God is the one holding onto me. The child is not hanging onto Sein, but has arms wrapped comfortably around her waist. As I looked through the child's arms, I envisioned myself snuggling close to God, confident in God's grasp on me, enabling me to relax and release tension.

As I looked through the child's eyes, I focused my attention on the spiritual reality of God's face, both intense and comfortable. As I looked through Sein's gaze at the child, I received the gentle, loving gaze of God on me. No expectation except to be present to each other.

At Lauds this morning I sang "How Firm a Foundation" and these lines reverberated in my centering prayer. "You who for refuge to Jesus have fled" and "The soul that on Jesus still leans for repose." For those of you who have heard me sing, please don't laugh. I sing a hymn aloud first thing every morning, trusting that God takes joy in the praise and is able to translate the tune into something beautiful.

My Psalm prayers this morning started with Psalm 11, which concludes in verse 7 "The upright shall behold his face." I make no claim of being upright enough to deserve to behold God's face, except by the grace of Christ. However, I do believe I had a glimpse of it in the way my centering prayer, prayer Psalms, and Lauds hymn converged this morning.

Isaiah’s Cry for Justice to Replace Religiosity

Though often attributed to The Talmud, here is the correct citation. Shapiro, Wisdom of the Sages, 41. Paraphrase of Rabbi Rami Shapiro’s interpretive translation of Rabbi Tarfon’s work on the Pirle Avpot 2:30. The text is commentary of Micah 6:8.

The lectionary lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures for Sunday, August 11, 2019, is Isaiah 1:1,10-20. That Isaiah’s pivotal prophecy that came in a time of prosperity and religious fervor opens with such harsh criticism seems tellingly significant to me. As though a crowning insult, verse 10 identifies Judah with Sodom and Gomorrah. Through both Old and New Testaments, Sodom represents the nadir of sin, which continues to be used today to condemn sin in our time and our country.

Reflecting on this passage this week in the wake of recent mass shootings and the contentious political climate has given me pause. In verse 17 Isaiah pleads with Judah to “Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” This seems completely consistent with how Ezekiel 16:49 described the sin of Sodom. “This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.”

Isaiah does not set this call for justice against a failure of personal morality or deficient theology but against full-blown community worship and piety. Presented as the word of the Lord, Isaiah railed against multitudes of sacrifices and offerings, called convocations, solemn assemblies, and appointed festivals. “Even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood.” (v. 15)

For some time I have been concerned that the divisiveness and hostility in our country’s social and political climate is infecting the Church. I have suggested that unity of the spirit in the bond of peace (Ephesians 4:30) is under siege. http://nstolpepilgrim.blogspot.com/2018/07/under-siege-unity-of-spirit-in-bond-of.html Reflecting on this opening to Isaiah’s prophecy has brought to mind the kinds of things I am aware of being addressed and debated in US church circles today. While there are exceptions to be sure, my impression is that a lot more time and energy are going into things other than justice for the weak. I have difficulty not grouping issues such as debating worship and music styles with the things Isaiah said wearied God.

Please understand, I do believe that theology, worship, and personal morality (including sexuality) matter. But as I consider this from Isaiah, I can’t help but wonder if those are not convenient ways of avoiding the discomfort of addressing the difficult challenges of justice. One of those challenges is that it would put Christians and their congregations at odds with popular opinion and the dominant power brokers and trend setters in our society. Hence my concern that we learn from what the Confessing Church faced in Germany in the 1930s. Yes, they were courageous but not always clear in either perception or response. We may not always be clear either, but I think Isaiah’s call for justice speaks powerfully and pointedly to our own time.

This introduction to the pinnacle of Hebrew prophecy is not some sort of cherry picked exception. It is rooted in the Mosaic Law and is at the core of the entire corpus of the Hebrew prophets, on which Jesus built his teaching and ministry. This is perhaps best summarized by Micah 6:8. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

Verse 18 has gnawed at my meditations this week. I learned it as a Sunday school memory verse from the King James Version. “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” The application was generally aimed at personal morality: not lying, not stealing, not having sex outside of marriage, but I have no recollection of it being applied to the issues of justice for the weak and poor, which is the context in Isaiah. I will allow that my youthful memory is faulty and I just missed hearing that.

I am also struck that the NRSV translates the first phrase as “Come now, let us argue it out.” This seems a lot stronger to me than “reason together,” though in 1611 it may have had that force. Nevertheless, the image of God arguing with us about the call to justice for the weak and poor is pointedly relevant to our time. Do we not evade God’s call to justice with our churchy arguments about worship, theology, and even personal morality?

I don’t want to get too far afield with this, but based directly on the biblical texts, using Sodom as an argument in the current debates about sexuality, especially homosexuality, misses the point. The sexual part of the Sodom story in Genesis 19 is about violent gang rape to humiliate outsiders. There is plenty of other biblical material to process in the realm of sexual love and righteousness that deserves careful attention from those who advocate any particular position on homosexuality and more. I’m not going to explore that here, but suggest that by using the Sodom story in those debates we are avoiding the emphasis on justice that is clear in Scripture.

Eternal Life for the Good Samaritan?

Good Samaritan by Vincent van Gogh

Pondering Jesus’ Parable of the Good Samaritan this week (the lectionary Gospel for next Sunday, July 14: Luke 10:25-37), I have found focusing on the context is as radical and essential as the story itself. My reflections here are not intended as a Bible study or basis for a sermon but to stimulate my own deeper probing of this very familiar story and to invite any who are interested to soak in it long enough to probe comfortable presuppositions.

The lawyer who asked Jesus how to inherit eternal life was not a sincere seeker but looked to test Jesus and trap him into invalidating his teaching and ministry. Jesus immediately turned the test back on the lawyer. “What do you read in the Law?” When the lawyer answered, “Love God and love your neighbor.” Jesus not only confirmed his answer but switched roles from the one being tested to the one proctoring the test of the lawyer’s qualifications for eternal life. This seems to have made the lawyer immensely uncomfortable, so seeking to justify himself and pass Jesus’ test, asked, “Who is my neighbor?”

This prompted Jesus to tell what we know as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. At its conclusion Jesus asked the lawyer, “Which one was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer apparently couldn’t bring himself to say “the Samaritan,” so he answered Jesus, “the one who showed him mercy.”

Then Jesus spoke this profoundly radical directive, “Go and do likewise,” clearly implying that was the answer to the lawyer’s original question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Like most (but perhaps not all) of Jesus’ parables, the Good Samaritan is probably a fiction story Jesus told to make an important point. Yet, it begs the question, would such a real life Samaritan inherit eternal life by showing mercy to someone who was suffering and a victim of violence, even though his theology and worship were faulty at best?

Springing from deep roots in ancient Israel, for two millennia the Church has debated how to define the boundaries of who is in and who is out, in other words who do we think will inherit eternal life. I won’t rehearse to affirm or condemn that history, only observe that the process is with us today. I hear and read plenty of versions of “You can’t be a real Christian unless you believe … (fill in the blank with your favorite shibboleth, litmus test, or creedal affirmation).”

In my circles, the frequent boogieman is “works righteousness” as a rejection of what gets labeled as the “social gospel,” Please understand that I know that we do not “earn our way to heaven” by doing good works. But I am also increasingly convinced that we do not gain entrance into heaven by having all of our theology in correct order or answering correctly how it is that believing that Jesus’ death and resurrection is the entrance exam. Not only in this parable but throughout his teaching, Jesus never seems to give the sort of doctrinal exams that we (not just in our time) seem to be so prone to. To me, this parable does not seem to suggest that the Good Samaritan earned his way into eternal life by caring for the wounded traveler. Rather, the Good Samaritan was living a life of mercy, which then became his natural response when he encountered someone in need.

Jesus’ consistent call was, “follow me.” More and more I am recognizing that as accompanying Jesus on a journey characterized by love and mercy, peace and justice. I am not anxious about whether I am doing that well enough to qualify for eternal life, but confident that by staying close to Jesus, he has already welcomed me in which I anticipate will continue in some mysterious and wonderful way when I come to the conclusion of this life and on the last day.

Thanks to Jesus’ story, “Samaritan” has taken on positive, affirmative connotations. May ministries and programs of compassion incorporate it into their name and mission: hospitals, homeless shelters, hospices, addiction rehabilitation, refugee settlement. In Bible study and sermon we acknowledge that Jesus chose to make a Samaritan the protagonist of his story because of the offensive shock value it would have on his hearers. The Roman occupiers were written off as hopelessly pagan, godless oppressors, but the Samaritans practiced a perverted version of theology and worship with the same roots as the Jews, thus were a much greater threat to religious purity than the Romans. The Samaritans were also rejected as having contaminated to racial and ethnic purity of the descendants of Abraham. We know this but when we think about the Good Samaritan, we have warm, affirmative emotions, not at all like the bristly offense that Jesus’ story certainly evoked from his original audience.

Over the years preachers and commentators have endeavored to capture that sense of outrage in contemporary context. In his “Cotton Patch” series of the late 1960s, Clarence Jordan was retelling Jesus’ stories for white, Southern, church people. He chose to cast Jews as “white folk” and Samaritans as “Negros,” and Jordan took a lot of criticism for that.

Again, not to postulate a teaching but to ponder how might Jesus have cast the Samaritan if he were telling to story to church going, morally upstanding, theologically sound people in the US today. What character would evoke from us the same outrage today, to us, that making a Samaritan the guide to the path of eternal life did in Jesus’ day? Two ideas have circulated in my thoughts about this passage this week.

First, undocumented immigrants. They are a flash point of great contention in our society right now. Though possibly not all that educated or sophisticated in their faith, many if not most coming from Latin America would identify themselves as Christians, usually with Roman Catholic roots. How would you respond if the role of the Samaritan was an undocumented Honduran who practiced mercy, knowing that he/she had received desperately needed mercy to escape violence back home?

Second, Muslim neighbors. They too, are the object of plenty of derision and fear and controversy. Though they share roots in the call of Abraham, their faith is much farther from Christian theology than even the difference between Latin American Catholics and Evangelical Protestants. Can you imagine Jesus casting a Muslim who practiced mercy in the role of the Samaritan? I expect that by even asking the question I will provoke some hostility and anger. I have been considering if such a reaction reflects the responses Jesus may have gotten from his audience.

Again, not proposing an answer but searching my own heart in relationship to Jesus, I ask what is necessary to inherit eternal life. Even with faulty theology and worship, does Jesus affirm inheriting eternal life by showing mercy to someone who is suffering?