PONDERING THE PASSION

Within a little more than a week it will be Holy Week and on Palm Sunday we will be invited to “enter with joy upon the contemplation of those mighty acts, whereby” God has “given us life and immortality….” Those mighty acts are, of course, the death and resurrection of Jesus. Not just one or the other, but both of them together.

At the core of the Gospel is the proclamation of a crucified and risen Savior, Jesus, who was most certainly dead but is now alive forevermore. But as we ponder the passion, as we think about what it means for us to have faith in, to put our trust in, and to follow our Lord and Savior, we need to take care that we do not forget what kind of person was crucified on Good Friday.

The Gospel according to Matthew, the one from which most of our Gospel readings are taken this year, provides us with some significant reminders of what kind of person Jesus is and why he got on the wrong side of the civil and religious authorities. Matthew tells us that immediately after entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, Jesus “drove out all those who were selling and buying in the temple and…overturned the tables of the moneychangers and the seats of those who sold doves” (21:12), an action which may be seen as a dramatic retelling of a statement that Jesus had made earlier, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” (9:13) A few chapters later, Matthew gives us one of the most challenging teachings of Jesus. In the Parable of the Last Judgment, we are challenged with Jesus’ statement that what we have failed to do for the least of his brothers and sisters we have failed to do for him. (25:31-46)

Jesus challenged – and challenges – religious and social complacency, the very idea that we are doing just fine. Our own worship can just easily fall into empty formalism as did the worship of the temple. And the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters are still hungry and naked and homeless, not only in what we call the Third World, but also here in our own country. Jesus constantly challenges us to move beyond words to action, to translate our faith into service of others. Jesus does not – and for this I am very thankful – expect us to serve all of the least of his sisters and brothers, but he does call us to serve those we can, to give ourselves in service of others, just as he did.

Between Two Trees

We have taken a break at our Sunday morning adult class and are watching four videos that we will be using to introduce the Episcopal Church to visitors. The first video, "Trees," uses an intriguing metaphor for the Christian life - we live between two trees, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in Genesis 2 and 3 and the tree of life in Revelation 22.

The first chapters of Genesis tell the story of humankind's rivalry with God and with one another. Adam and Eve want something that God has and eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil to wrest that knowledge from God. That rivalry becomes fratricidal in the next generation as Cain wants what Abel has - God's favor - and murders his brother to wrest from him God's favor. Human history at its worst is the playing out of this fratricidal rivalry. We desire what others have and, far more often than we would want to admit, we allow those desires to rule us. Some of us manage to get that which we desire, and not always without violence. Others simply allow the desire to become an obsession. In the Fourth Gospel, we are given a picture of Jesus who is no one's rival.

In John 5:19, Jesus describes his relationship with the Father in terms in which there is no hint of rivalry: "Very truly, I tell you, the Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise." Jesus invites us to enjoy the same kind of relationship with him and with the Father. In John 5:20, Jesus says, "The Father loves the Son and shows him all that he himself is doing; and he will show him greater works than these, so that you will be astonished." These words are echoed in John 14:12: "Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father."

In Christ we are freed to live without rivalry, with God or with anyone else, freed to love as Jesus lived, doing what we see the Father and Jesus doing. In Christ we are freed to lay down our lives for one another in unconditional love.

Old Dogs - New Tricks

Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you." (Genesis 12:1)

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night... (John 3:1-2)

In both of these two readings for the Second Sunday in Lent, we find old dogs beingn invited to learn new tricks. Abram, whose body Paul later called "as good as dead" (Romans 4:19), packs up and heads out for an unknown land, trusting the One who called him. Nicodemus, who must have been old enough to be a leader in the Jewish community, is invited to consider the possibility of being born anew, born from above, born of the Spirit.

I am reminded of two stories, one factual, but both true.

Some years ago a Baptist minister found himself dreading clergy gatherings. He would go to a meeting and hear the succcess stories of colleagues and return home depressed. One day a minor revelation came to him and he began to see clergy meetings through what I would call an Abraham lens - if God was working miracles in that man's church, God could certainly work miracles in mine!

An older parishioner once told his priest that his life's work was finished. The priest replied, "If you're still alive, God still has work for you to do."

It is never too late for us to respond to God's call to go to an unknown country, to move out of our comfort zones and to experience a new birth.

Crisis in San Joaquin

A friend sent me a link to a blog by someone in the Diocese of San Joaquin (http://sanjoaquin.wordpress.com/). It outlines, from the bloger's perspective, the controversy about the status of members of the San Joaquin Standing Committee. The members in question had all, as far as I know, voted to remove the Diocese of San Joaquin from the Episcopal Church and to affiliate it with the Anglican Church of the Southern Cone. There were also reports that these members were organizing themselves as the Standing Committee of this new Southern Cone diocese. The blogger criticizes the Presiding Bishop for writing to the members to inform them "that I do not recognize you as the Standing Committee of the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin."

I find the controversy perplexing, to say the least, and would only fault Bishop Katharine for not being absolutely certain about the members' intentions before writing to them. As far as I can tell, she based her letter on what appeared to be accurate information about the votes of the members on taking the diocese out of the Episcopal Church and reports that they had constituted themselves as the Standing Committee of the new Southern Cone diocese. I think that what was/is needed is clarity about the intentions of the members of the Standing Committee. If it is certain that they intend to stay within the Episcopal Church and be part of the Diocese of San Joaquin, I think Bishop Katharine should recognize their authority. If, however, they cannot give assurances that they want to remain in the Episcopal Church, one might reasonably conclude that they are trying to have it both ways, i.e., to exercise authority as the Ecclesiastical Authority after Bishop Schofield is deposed, as seems inevitable, while exercising similar authority in a diocese of the Southern Cone. I don't believe that having it both ways is an honest option. Having read their response, what I found most offensive was, not their protestation of innocence, but their listing of counter-charges against Bishop Katharine. In my experience that tactic is usually used by one who is guilty as charged.

One of my prayers this Lent is that all of us in the Episcopal Church will seek wisdom in living through these diffucult times, and that we will, unless it would violate our own convictions, do nothing that would lead to further division.

Remember That You Are Dust

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

I have, probably since I first went to Ash Wednesday worship as teen-ager, been uncomfortable with these words from the Liturgy for Ash Wednesday. I don’t like to be reminded of my mortality or my insignificance. And yet, as we have begun our Lenten journey, it is precisely that reminder that we need.

We are mortal. Time for us is not infinite, it is not, no matter what Mick Jagger may say, going to be on our side forever. There is an urgency about Lent – we need to get on with it and not assume that we will have plenty of time to deal with ourselves tomorrow or the next day or the next. Now, as Paul reminds us in his letter, “now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!” We are called to begin now, to begin the work of setting our lives in order, the work of repentance, the work of reconciliation.

But this reminder is not only about our mortality, about the inevitability of our death. It is also about our insignificance, our weakness, our inability, on our own, to do anything about setting our lives in order. The task is too big and we are but dust. But there is one who can set our lives in order. There is one who waits eagerly to do just that. It is the God whom we see in Jesus the Christ who can order our chaotic lives, and all that God asks of us is that we offer those lives at the foot of the Cross.

“Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.” All that is within me. Hold nothing back. Let God have it all. Our angers. Our frustrations. Our prejudices. Our pettiness. Our sins. As well as our joys. Our satisfactions. Our accomplishments. Let God have it all.

Far too often we make the mistake of leaving all the nastier parts, the more shameful parts at the door when we come to worship. But if we can’t bring those to God in our worship, where can we bring them?

I love to pray the psalms, not only for the beauty of the language, but also because in the psalms everything is brought to God. Everything is proper conversation with God. Nothing is held back. Not the psalmist’s rage or vindictiveness. Not the psalmist’s despair or sorrow. And certainly not the psalmist’s joy. All of it comes into the holy space of conversation with the God of Israel. And there, in that holy space, all of it is redeemed.

Lent is a holy space where we can bring everything to God, laying it at the foot of the cross. Hold nothing back. Let God have it all. And let God redeem it there at the cross, redeem it and so order our lives that we might, by God’s grace and mercy, receive that perfect gift, the Easter gift of resurrection life.