"But the Lord Helped Me"

Palm Sunday, the Sixth Sunday in Lent, is a cry for help.

In churches around the world, the words of Psalm 118 will be heard in worship services this week. One word in particular will predominate - "Hosanna." It comes from Psalm 118:25, a word that comes to the English language through a few other languages from its likely place of origin, two Hebrew words that in combination comprise a powerful request of the Lord: "Please, save us now!"

For expediency's sake, many worship services will abbreviate the Psalm, including exclusively the verses prescribed in the lectionary, verses 1-2 and 19-29. When we do so, we skip over some very important ideas, verses that actually inform the subsequent cry for salvation, verses like 10-14:

All nations surrounded me;

    in the name of the Lord I cut them off!

They surrounded me, surrounded me on every side;

    in the name of the Lord I cut them off!

They surrounded me like bees;

    they blazed like a fire of thorns;

    in the name of the Lord I cut them off!

I was pushed hard, so that I was falling,

    but the Lord helped me.

The Lord is my strength and my might;

    he has become my salvation.

Listen to the pain the poem describes. The Psalmist has felt such intense, relentless trauma, like bees buzzing in an angry swarm. They describe their experience not just as trying to walk through a patch of thorn bushes, but a patch of thorn bushes that are also on fire! They have been pushed hard, pushed to the point of falling. 

And at the same time, listen to the strength, the resolve, the power of the poem here. "I cut them off! ... I cut them off! ... I cut them off!" A repeated refrain, a statement that celebrates an act of overcoming, made with a slashing gesture through clenched teeth.

And notice, it is not the Psalmist whose power was at work here. No, it was the Lord's. God is the one doing the saving, then, now, and always. The adversity was cut off "in the name of the Lord." The Psalmist does not celebrate their own strength, but rather that "the Lord is my strength." 

I am not strong, says the poet, but God is. And God's strength is sufficient to get through what needs getting through. Even if it is a forest full of burning thorn bushes. 

And of course eventually, Psalm 118 gets us to the "Hosanna" and the "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord" and the "Bind the festal procession with branches" stuff. And it is so good to celebrate this sacred day - the ushers handing out leaves purchased from a worship supply store, you self-consciously waving the leaves above your head during the opening song while the kids self-consciously parade around the room, then not quite knowing what to do with it for the rest of the service, (or if you are a kid smacking your sibling with it when your grown-up isn't looking), picking it up again for the closing hymn and waving it again but a bit less energetically, taking it home with you and putting it on the kitchen counter until it gets dry and brittle and then throwing it away. You know, the Palm Sunday liturgy. It's all good.

But maybe this year, when you receive that store-bought palm, maybe you can recall a time when life felt like being surrounded by a swarm of angry, buzzing bees. Maybe the slender points of the leaflets will call to mind a season when your life required you to walk through a burning hedge of thorn bushes. Maybe for you this year that "Hosanna" can mean something deep, something you feel at the very core of your being. 

Maybe this year Palm Sunday will remind you that when you need help (and yes you do need help - all of us do), God will help you. 

I am not strong, but God is. "With the Lord on my side I do not fear. What can mortals do to me?" (v. 6) And so now I give thanks, for the Lord is good. God's steadfast love endures forever.

"They Shall All Know Me"

"You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist." - Indira Gandhi

The fifth Sunday in Lent invites us to open up to what God has to give us, if we will allow ourselves to do so. 

...this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.  No longer shall they teach one another or say to each other, “Know the Lord,” for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord, for I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more. (Jeremiah 31:33-34)

 I love the symbol of the raised, clenched fist. It is a symbol of protest, of resistance. A raised fist says, "I shall not be moved." There are times to raise our fists in the face of evil, injustice, and oppression, in whatever forms they present themselves.

But there are other times we clench fists. We do so to fight, to punish, to protect ourselves from our enemies and close ourselves off. We clench fists and flex to warn, to show that we intend to do harm. Fists clenched in anger and animosity are very different from fists raised in resistance.

It is difficult to receive an offered gift with clenched fists. Impossible to shake hands. Clumsy to caress a cheek. Bizarre to blow a kiss. 

The prophet Jeremiah wants us to know that God has something to give us, a new covenant, an unmediated connection, a true relationship. And apparently, God intends to just write it on our hearts, so that there will truly be no "haves" and "have-nots" in God's family. Every single one of us is getting this gift, given freely and directly from God.

Are we ready to receive it? Are we open to it? Are our hands, hearts, minds, voices ... are we uncovered and emptied out, laid bare and vulnerable enough to actually receive what God is offering us?

At our best, the church is a community in which it is safe to unclench our fists, to receive one another, to embrace our siblings without fear of judgment or betrayal. We don't always attain that way of being, of course. But we're working on it. Some would even call it "Reign of God" work, which is (as followers of Jesus know) already among us.

God has something to give us. All of us. ALL of us. (Did I say "all" of us?") Grace isn't something that God gave you and now it is up to you to give it to everyone else. "They shall all know me!" God has given everyone this amazing gift, and all you have to do is realize that, recognize it, and celebrate it. 

My prayer for you on this Fifth Sunday in Lent is that you would open yourself up to God, and allow yourself to receive the life-changing gift God is giving you. And then, to understand the implications of this profound truth - God is doing the very same thing for each and every person you encounter.

"Look at the serpent of bronze and live"

 The fourth Sunday in Lent is a reminder that God is with us.

 The people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.” (Numbers 21:5)

The complaint came to Moses as the people were making their way through the wilderness, having been liberated from slavery in Egypt but having not yet arrived in the Promised Land. There were some mixed feelings among the people, naturally. I'm sure there was a lot of joy for being free, and at the same time a lot of anxiety and fear; they knew neither where they were going, how long the journey would take, nor what to expect when they got there.

And so, they complain. Naturally.

Many have noted the contradiction: the people complain both that there is no food and that the food tastes terrible. This, of course, is more than just a fun detail of the story. The contradiction means that the complaint wasn't really about food. Theirs was a fear they could not articulate, for it was too big, too complicated, too difficult to name. And so, they complained about the food.

What happened next is so strange, it is almost comical. The Bible says that the Lord sent poisonous snakes that bit the people, killing many of them. And though there is nothing in the text that explicitly indicates a causal connection, we cannot help but read the killer snakes as a consequence of the people's complaining.

In response to the snake predicament, God has Moses make a snake out of bronze and attach it to a pole. The idea is that people look at the snake on the pole and they won't die from the snake bite. "Moses made a serpent of bronze and put it upon a pole, and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live." 

If we are being honest, this is completely hilarious and bizarre to think about. It offends our 21st century scientifically informed perspectives. Which is, of course, precisely the point. It is a mistake to try to resolve that offense, to ease that tension. There is something to learn there; it is the space into which the Holy Spirit speaks.

That snake-on-a-pole makes another appearance in the Hebrew Bible, when King Hezekiah was cleaning up the temple:

He removed the high places, broke down the pillars, and cut down the sacred pole. He broke in pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made, for until those days the people of Israel had made offerings to it; it was called Nehushtan.(2 Kings 18:4)

It seems that the bronze snake had become more than a reminder of God's presence. It had itself become the object of worship. The people had forgotten the iconic, sacramental identity of the bronze snake. They had forgotten what the bronze snake pointed to. "Nehushtan" just means "a thing made out of brass." 

Rev. Dr. Katie Nix says that "the sin of this story is the belief that the people knew what they needed better than God did." It is always helpful to remember that God is God, and that we are not. And this is especially true during wilderness times.

In times of high anxiety and fear, when the future is uncertain, we rely on tangible reminders of God's presence. We lean into means of grace - prayer, worship, an image to look at or an object to hold, those kinds of things - as a palpable touchpoint that functions sacramentally, reminding us of God's active presence within, among, and around us.

And these objects or actions are so very helpful, but they are just reminders. The reality to which they point is much, much bigger. It is easy to slip into thinking that God isn't present when things are unfamiliar. When we are worshiping in a different sanctuary, or when we are grieving the loss of one dear to us, or when the very pattern of human interaction seems so completely different than it was a decade ago. 

It is in times like those that we cling to the bronze snake up on the pole and forget why Moses made it in the first place. So remember, this Lent, that God is with you always, everywhere, at all times. We may be afraid, anxious, uncertain, and yet the things around us are but nehushtan, and that God is present with us no matter where we are, no matter when it is, and no matter what. 

"I Am the Lord Your God"

The third Sunday in Lent invites us to remember the story.

Exodus 20 is one of the two places in the Bible where we read what are commonly known as "The Ten Commandments," and it is the appointed lectionary text for this week.

In the past I have been asked if I support the posting of "The Ten Commandments" in public places. My answer has always been the same. Unequivocally no. But maybe not for the reason you think.

To be sure, posting "The Ten Commandments" in public places is problematic because the "public" who occupy those places do not all ascribe to the Judeo-Christian tradition, and that should be reason enough. But for me there is another compelling reason to avoid the practice.

Posting "The Ten Commandments" in public places separates them from the story. It relegates them to a mere list of things not to do, rather than a chapter in the story of God's love for God's people in the world.

Writing on Exodus 20, Terrence Fretheim points out that "This covenant is a specific covenant within the already existing covenant with Abraham." The story had already begun, and was entering a new chapter. The beginning of Exodus 20, before the "commandments" themselves, is as important as the rest, and maybe more so:

"Then God spoke all these words, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery..."

The people are already "God's people" by the time they get to Mount Sinai. The story has already begun. God has already been at work to save the people, to redeem them from slavery in Egypt. In that sense, these "commandments" are not given as a way to earn God's favor. It isn't: "Do these things and God will love you." Rather it is: "God loves you so much and in response you should do these things."

Too often, we approach the commandments of God as if they are video game maneuvers. If we jump up on these platforms in this particular sequence and collect up these specific coins, we will be rewarded by advancement to the next level. But the love of God doesn't work like that. 

We are already in relationship with God. God created us. God has chosen us. God has set us free. And God is here, in our midst. 

That is our story, the story of our relationship with the Lord. But not only ours. It had already begun by the time we show up. And the story will continue long after we are gone. May we remember the story, and live in gratitude for our small part of it.

"Sarah Shall Be Her Name"

"...Sarah shall be her name. I will bless her and also give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.” (Genesis 17:15b-16)

The second Sunday in Lent is an opportunity for transformation. It is an opportunity to rise, a new creation, a phoenix from the ashes.  "Sarah shall be her name." It is a renaming, a simple change to a single word, yet that word is so intimately connected to our identity, to our very being. When someone calls your name, they are calling you. 

And for Sarai, it came after nine decades of life. Life with her husband couldn't have been particularly easy. She had to move from her home and wander around for much of her life. The Bible says she was beautiful. In Egypt, her husband asked her to pretend to be his sister in order to save his own life and Pharaoh took her as his own wife. (This story is not included in Vacation Bible School curricula for some reason.)

And we know that she was unable to have children. One time she devised a plan to ensure that her husband would have descendants; she had him marry Hagar, an enslaved Egyptian woman. It was a whole thing. Suffice it to say it did not end well.

Is it any wonder that after ninety years of such a life, the opportunity for transformation would elicit a chuckle?

And yet, there it is. It is literally never too late. The grace of God is always, always, always at work. Maybe you feel a sense that you are settled, established, maybe you feel like your life is a familiar routine that really isn't all that great but it's what you know so you're stuck with it. Maybe you know someone who feels this way. (Tip: You probably do.)

Maybe you've even come to a point in life where you're not sure who you are any more. You used to know, but little by little you have faded into someone else. It didn't happen all at once but these days when you look at yourself in the mirror there's someone new looking back at you. Someone you barely recognize. Or, maybe you know someone who feels this way. (Tip: You probably do.)

Maya Angelou said, “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. That in fact it may be necessary to encounter defeat, so we can know who the hell we are. What can we overcome? What makes us stumble and fall, and somehow miraculously rise and go on?”

"It may be necessary to encounter defeat, so we can know who the hell we are."

Scripture says that "if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation: everything old has passed away; look, new things have come into being!" The Holy Spirit renews and restores so completely that the process is described as a second birth. And the possibility of being born again is an ever-present gift, there for us, waiting our response.

This Second Sunday in Lent is an opportunity for transformation. The grace of God is an opportunity to hear your name called, as if for the very first time. The grace of God is always working, always calling, always moving. This day is chance to know who you are, to miraculously rise and go on.

"I Have Set My Bow in the Clouds"

 In order to see the rainbow you have to be facing the storm.

8 Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, 9 “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you 10 and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. 11 I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” 12 God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: 13 I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. 14 When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, 15 I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh, and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. 16 When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.” 17 God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.”

(Genesis 9:1-17)

The First Sunday of Lent this year comes with a splash of color. “I have set my bow in the clouds.” It is the rainbow, that miracle of physics that happens when light is scattered by water droplets, diversifying according to wavelength, literally bouncing the white light off of the back of each little droplet and sending it back our direction transformed.

For Noah, it is offered as a sign of divine regret. God seems to lament the destruction wrought, and promises it will never happen again. The bow in the clouds is there to remind God (who needs reminding, apparently) of the sacred covenant between all living things and their Creator. 

It’s fitting that, in order to see a rainbow, you have to be facing the storm. Technically speaking, the light source has to be behind you, and the water droplets in front of you. Light shines into the rain, and the rain receives it. Then, thousands … millions of individual droplets take that light and change it, reflect it, and offer it back to us.

As we stand, facing the storm ahead, we know that there is light behind us because we can see that bow in the clouds. The hope, the promise, the assurance of the Spirit - it all comes when we face the storm. 

You may be facing a storm right now. If so, face it! And look for the rainbow. 

You may know someone who is facing a storm right now. If so, shine your light into their storm with words of encouragement and gestures of love and support. Create a rainbow for them.

It is an apt metaphor, because at one time or another each and every one of us has experienced a storm of one kind or another. Charles Tindley’s well known him, “Stand By Me,” names it so powerfully.

When the storms of life are raging, stand by me.

When the world is tossing me like a ship upon the sea,

Thou who rulest wind and water, stand by me.

This year Lent begins with a splash of color, God’s promise in the midst of the storm. A promise that God is there with and for us, cares for us, and will be with us through it all. 

In order to see the rainbow you have to be facing the storm.

Yet Even Now - Ash Wednesday 2024

“Yet even now, says the Lord,

return to me with all your heart,

with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;

     rend your hearts and not your clothing.

Return to the Lord your God,

    for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love,

    and relenting from punishment.”

                        (Joel 2:12-13)

Those three words, “Yet even now…”

Joel has just spent eleven verses describing in poetic elegance the “darkness and gloom” of God’s arrival. The day of the Lord is akin to the invasion of a “great and powerful army” whose destructive power is experienced like a wildfire that utterly devastates everything in its path. The passage ends with a haunting question: “Truly the day of the Lord is great, terrible indeed - who can endure it?”

And then … “Yet even now…”

As bad as it gets, God is still there, calling, soothing, comforting. There is a theological puzzle here, though. The same God whose day is “terrible indeed” is here offering grace and mercy. How is this not a divine description of the cycle of abuse?

It is really important to remember that the Bible is inspired by God, not dictated by God. God inspired Joel’s prophecy, and Joel wrote it from his own unique perspective, framed in his own particular view of the world. Joel’s words reflect his experience of and relationship with God.

You and I read a passage like this knowing some things about God. That God is good, and loving, and just. That God offers grace in abundance and life everlasting. When confronted with seemingly contradictory images of God’s identity, what are we to do? Maybe throw one of them out, based on our own comfort level? Maybe leap to the conclusion that the whole thing is fraudulent and throw it all away?

Or maybe hold them in tension, wrestling with the feeling of dissonance that the prophet so deftly illuminates. For me, this is the best approach. And it all hangs on those three remarkable words: “Yet even now.”

This Season of Lent begins in a broken and hurting world. War ravages innocent people with relentless brutality. Political figures demean and insult their opponents. Violence seems to be the rule rather than the exception. The climate continues its inexorable slide toward disaster. And on and on. No wonder so many people are anxious, angry, and flat-out exhausted.

In the midst of all that, the prophet offers this hopeful word. “Yet even now, return to God. Yet even now, center on the divine within, among, and around us. Yet even now, even when anxiety cripples you and anger rages red and exhaustion drains every bit of energy from your body … yet even now, God is there. Gracious. Merciful. Slow to anger. And abounding in steadfast love.

Yet even now.

St. Patrick's Priority One

Other than wearing the color green on March 17, having a parade, and eating corned beef and cabbage, what does “St. Patrick’s Day” mean to you?  How much do you actually know about Patrick himself?

Well, much of his life and ministry is legendary at this point. He served in the 5th century, so a lot of what he actually did has been either forgotten or embellished over time.

He was likely born in Scotland, and captured by an Irish raiding party as a teenager. He apparently spent several years as a slave in Ireland before escaping and returning to his native land. However, it seems God called him to return to the land in which he had been a slave, for the purpose of spreading the gospel of Christ there. And so he became a priest, and eventually a bishop, at which time he was sent across the Irish Sea once more.

March 17th, the date we celebrate as St. Patrick’s Day, is the date that it is believe he died, sometime around the year 460.

This Sunday at Campbell UMC, we’ll consider a prayer that is traditionally attributed to St. Patrick. It is known as “St. Patrick’s Breastplate” or “St. Patrick’s Lorica.” There are several translations, as a quick internet search will show you, and the variations arise from the passage of time. Here's an excerpt from one version:

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,

The strong Name of the Trinity;

By invocation of the same.

The Three in One, and One in Three,

Of Whom all nature hath creation,

Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:

Praise to the Lord of my salvation,

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

The theme of the prayer is constant across the variants: the priority of Christ. Over and above all else, this prayer is a commitment to keep Christ at the very center of one’s life. Life will throw challenges at us, constantly. And yet Christ is the point of salvation, the source of hope, and the promise of life.

So as I’m enjoying my “Shamrock Shake” this year, listening to the Chieftans, and kissing everyone who’s Irish, I’ll also be asking myself if Christ is the priority of my life. Have I allowed Christ to be the very center of all that I am? Is God my “Priority One?”

A Bewildering Dinner - Maundy Thursday - John 13

It must have been quite a bewildering dinner. It started with him taking a basin of water and a towel, taking off his robe, and kneeling in front of each of them to wash their feet.

Their Rabbi! On his knees to serve his own students! And then, he followed that with an instruction to follow his example.

As if that wasn’t bewildering enough, the very next thing he said was that one of them would betray him. They were stunned!

But instead of wondering how he knew, they wondered to whom he was referring. Apparently they trusted him enough such that they were sure what he was saying was true, but were not confident enough to refrain from harboring selfish thoughts.

Thankfully, he meant Judas. That must have been such a relief! And now Judas was gone, so they could relax again. Maybe even with a snide chuckle and under the breath, “I never really liked Judas, you know.”

But he wasn’t done. Next he told them that he was leaving and that after he went away they must love one another the same way he loved so that people would see that they were his students. And it was Peter who asked the question that was begging to be asked.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?” An honest question, simply gave voice to what the others were thinking.

And then he landed another blow. “You can’t come, Peter. Maybe later, but not now.”

All eyes turned to Peter, who was suddenly very aware of himself.

With a bewildered laugh, Peter asked, “What? What do you mean? I’d lay down my life for you.”

I – would – lay – down – my – life.

“Would you, Peter? Would you?” And he didn’t even really need to go on from there, but he did. “Before morning, you will have pretended not to know me … three different times.”

(And you have the audacity to claim you would lay down YOUR life?)

By this point they must have been utterly numb. The pendulum swings of emotion in these last ten minutes! Jesus Christ!

And so, the very next thing he said was a word of comfort. “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” He saw their bewilderment, he heard their concern, he sensed their worry. And he responded with love.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” he said. He knew they wouldn’t lay down their lives for him, but that did not prevent him from laying down his for them.

Which is exactly what he did. It must have been a bewildering dinner.

Listen to Your Church

In the church, there is a place for noisy.

Scripture tells us over and over again to shout, to sing, to make a joyful noise to the Lord. Bells and lyres and harps and flutes and drums and shofars are among the several instruments mentioned in the Bible, often used in the context of praising God in a worship setting. Singing is mentioned in many different places throughout scripture, including when Jesus and his disciples sang together during their last Passover meal (See Mark 14:26 or Matthew 26:30).

Are we happy together? During Lent, we are considering the idea of “happiness,” in a series of services called “So Happy Together” here at Campbell UMC. There are times when happiness is just too much to contain, and it emerges in joyful expressions of noise - laughing, cheering, singing, shouting, and any of a myriad of sounds.

Are we happy together? On an upcoming Sunday morning, stop and listen to Fellowship Hall in between services. I’ll tell you what, it is buzzing with noise! People who are happy together tend to be a pretty noisy bunch, and that means Campbell tends to be a pretty noisy place on Sunday! There’s laughter and conversation and even singing here and there; it is a holy noisiness that surely delights the ears of the Lord.

Are we happy together? When you get to stand in the front of the sanctuary like I do, you hear the full sound of a congregation singing praise to God. I’ve said it a number of times, “You all sing like Methodists!” It is a joy to hear Campbell UMC gathered for worship, singing praise with reckless abandon, lifting voices young and old, making a truly joyful noise in worship of almighty God.

There is a place for noisy in the church, and it comes from being truly happy in God.

Wherever you worship, take a listen to your congregation this Sunday. What do you hear? Is there a buzz? Is there a joyful noise? Are you happy together?

Of course there is a place for stillness, too. There is a quietness that also comes from deep and abiding joy in God. That will be next week’s topic. For now -

Let’s sing it, shout it, walk it, talk it! There’s a higher power!

Lay down your soul ‘cause Jesus bought it! There’s a higher power!

Ashy Motivations

It has always been curious to me that Ash Wednesday traditionally includes a scripture (Matthew 6) that tells us to do all this stuff in secret, giving money, praying, fasting, and then we put a big black mark on our foreheads so show we belong to Jesus, a very non-secret thing to do, it seems.

It even says that we are supposed to wash our face so no one will know we’re fasting, then we actually make our face dirty, which seems to me to be pretty much the opposite.

Which is it? Are we supposed to be some kind of “secret Christians,” or are we supposed to wear it on our sleeve, or rather, on our face?

I think the answer lies in the text itself. It is the “so that” part of Jesus’ words that we need to pay attention to. It’s about our motivation for doing what we do. If we are doing good stuff so that others will notice it and think we’re so cool, then that’s not okay.

Jesus is saying, Giving money to those in need so that someone will see it and say, “Oh isn’t she so generous!” isn’t a good reason to give. Praying out in public so that others will notice and think, “Oh isn’t he so pious!” is not a good reason to pray. Looking hungry while fasting so that someone will say, “Wow, look how hungry he is, he must really love God!” is not a good reason to fast.

So maybe we can expand that to ashes on the forehead in order to say, wearing ash on your forehead so that others will see it and be impressed by your piety is not a good reason to wear ash on your forehead.

When it comes to motivation, only the individual knows. You can say that you are motivated by any number of things, but when it really comes down to it, only you know what motivates you.

So really the only thing I can do is tell you why I wear ash on my forehead on Ash Wednesday. I do it because I need a tangible reminder of how fragile life is. And though I cannot see the mark, I am aware that it is there. It means that I am dust, I am comprised of the earth, my life withers and fades, and the best that I can do is to live this short, insignificant, fleeting life in a way that is pleasing to God, in a way that spreads love, offers grace, and works for justice. The best I can do is to live in such a way that things are better off than they were when I arrived on the scene.

That’s just me. Maybe you have a different reason. That’s cool. Or maybe it’s just not something you need to do at all. That’s also cool. Ashy foreheads are certainly not a prerequisite for heaven.

Next Wednesday evening Melissa will put some ash on my head and tell me that I am dust. I’ll do the same for her. Then together we’ll invite anyone who wants to come forward so that we can put some ash on their heads, too.

And we won’t ask a single one why they’re doing it.

The Jesus Interruption - Day 29

Turmoil.

That’s what was happening in the whole city of Jerusalem when Jesus entered on the first Palm Sunday. Other translations say “stirred” or “stirred up” or “moved” or “in an uproar” or even “trembling with excitement.” (This is what happens when a Greek word is hard to translate; it takes a lot of English words to convey the fullness of its meaning.)

Or we could just use our word of the season - INTERRUPTION! Jesus broke in between the life of the city, causing a disturbance that percolated up from his disciples until it every single soul in the city could feel it.

What would it take to interrupt the entire population of the city of Jerusalem? It was a big city, vibrant and cosmopolitan, a center of trade, culture, and religion. There may have been as many as 80,000 people living there at the time.

This Sunday is Palm Sunday, the beginning of the holiest week of the year for followers of Jesus. We gather to worship this week, already knowing the story that unfolds, but ready to experience it once more.

Sunday, a parade of palms in the morning and walking the way of the cross in the afternoon. Monday, evening vespers. Thursday, remembering the last supper Jesus ate with his disciples. Friday, reliving the story of Jesus’s passion and death. Saturday, waiting in the darkness of the tomb through the night in an Easter vigil. Sunday, celebrating the sunrise and the resurrection of the Lord.

May we all experience the holiness of this week as a powerful interruption, capable of creating citywide turmoil, in the very center of our souls.

The Jesus Interruption - Day 26

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - Lazarus, Martha, and Mary (John 11)

It stinks when you open up a tomb in which a dead body has been sealed for four days. Not meaning it “stinks” as in it isn’t the greatest situation, but that it really smells bad.

I love it that Martha pointed this out to Jesus, don’t you? As far as I can tell, Martha is in the Bible only twice, once in Luke 10 and once here, in John 11 and 12. And she is pragmatic to the core both times we encounter her.

Pragmatic, down to earth, no nonsense - Martha. In Luke, she is so occupied with doing stuff that she forgets to sit down and listen to Jesus. In John, she tactfully, and quite pragmatically, reminds Jesus that tombs tend to stink after a few days.

It reminds me of the woman at the well, who suggested Jesus would be unable to draw his water without a bucket. It reminds me of Nicodemus at night, who pragmatically suggested that it was going to be impossible to re-enter the womb of one’s mother.

Could it be that being practical, down to earth, no nonsense somehow misses the point? In all of these stories, the ones who took a stab at practicality had to be nudged a bit by Jesus in order to get to where he wanted them to be. Is being a Christian impractical?

No, that doesn’t seem right to me. I believe that my faith has many direct, practical implications on my life in many and various ways.

So maybe it’s more about getting stuck. Stuckness prevents you from moving. You get stuck in moments and are unable to progress. Nicodemus got stuck on “born again;” the woman got stuck on the bucket.

Martha got stuck thinking about stinky tombs and almost missed what Jesus had to say.

You get stuck in a tomb …

One way to say it might be that Jesus is in the business of getting people unstuck from wherever they find themselves and moving them to a better place.

Lazarus, come forth!

The Jesus Interruption - Day 25

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - Lazarus, Martha, and Mary (John 11)

Why does Jesus cry?

When he heard of Lazarus's illness, he delayed two days before leaving where he was. He intends for this delay to reveal God's glory in a way that, apparently, would not be possible if he had left immediately. This is to be a divine sign of power through which witnesses will experience God's presence in a way they never have before.

And this makes Jesus sad?

He knows that Lazarus will rise, doesn't he? Why the groaning? Why the distress?

Some will say that it reveals his humanity. That it shows his raising Lazarus was an act of human compassion. After all, there were more folks than just Lazarus who had died that day, and he didn't raise them. The thinking is that it was his special relationship with Martha, Mary, and their brother Lazarus that compelled Jesus to raise him, pressed his compassion button.

And yet that interpretation puts this story at odds with some others that John tells. I believe John is trying to reveal something about Jesus's divinity, not his humanity. He is trying to get people to belive that Jesus is "the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing, you may have life in his name" (20:31).

Could it be that John was trying to reveal something about Jesus's divine character rather than his humanness? Could it be that John was allowing us to see the Son of God cry so that we would know that God has compassion for the human situation? Could it be that John is addressing our theodicy question in this tale of death, grief, and then rebirth?

Could it be an encouraging thought to know that even God cries sometimes?

The Jesus Interruption - Day 24

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - Lazarus, Martha, and Mary (John 11)

Just how significant do we allow Jesus to be? How deeply do we believe he is capable of going into our lives? Exactly how powerfully do we anticipate he will interrupt us in order to bring about the transformation that is possible in our new life in him?

Surely we underestimate, however we imagine it. I mean, whatever we think Jesus is capable of doing, it seems to me that we ought to magnify it a million times and then we would only be glimpsing a very tiny fraction of the potential.

In John 11, Jesus interrupts death itself!

Lazarus, in the tomb four days already, cold, wrapped in cloth, tomb sealed with a boulder - Jesus proclaims, “Lazarus, come forth!” - and he does.

There is no hardness that Jesus cannot soften, the rigor of death or the rigidity of the mind. There is no coldness that he cannot warm, the coldness of the tomb or the insidiousness of hatred. There is no seal that he cannot break, be it over a tomb or over your heart.

He will call out, “Come forth!” and you will. Wherever you are, Jesus will find a way to interrupt you, so that you can live a new life.

Lent gives us the time and space to listen for him, deep in our own tombs of grief, pain, brokenness. He is calling us even now. On Sunday we who hear him calling will gather to worship, emerging from where we are into where he wants us to be. Lazarus, come forth!

The Jesus Interruption - Day 18

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - The Samaritan Woman at the Well (John 4)

This is the 18th day of Lent, not counting Sundays, which we don't, and the last time I sat down to write about The Jesus Interruption it was the 14th day of Lent. I had hoped to write a little bit every day, except Sundays, which I wouldn't, but so much for that. My interruption, it seems, got interrupted by ... stuff.

Kind of reminds me of that Samaritan woman in John 4. She interrupted the middle of her day to go and get water at the local well. It seems from the story that she may have made a habit of it, choosing noon as her water fetching time in order to avoid the rush in the morning. It may even be that she wanted to avoid being seen or having to converse with any of the others there at the time. We speculate that she may have her reasons for wanting to avoid other people.

And, lo and behold, her daily interruption gets interrupted! Not only is someone else at the well, this someone actually dares to speak to her! There is nothing much more frustrating than when you don't want to be spoken to, and someone speaks to you, is there?

"Look, all I want to do is just get my water and go home! I'm not really in the mood for a conversation right now."

But no, he greets her, asks for some water, utters some truly strange statements about water that may or may not be sentient, speaks aloud the woman's secrets as if they were common knowledge, and then proceeds into a theological conversation about the way their respective communities worship God.

And here's the thing: she goes with it! She not only allows this conversation, this interruption in her interruption, but she is moved by it. She is changed.

Funny how sometimes Jesus interrupts our perfectly reasonable interruptions in order to teach us something transfomational, isn't it?

The Jesus Interruption - Day 14

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - The Blind Man (John 9)

For your information, last night at Bible study, we decided that the blind man's name is Ray. So be it.

Notice how Ray moves through this story:
He is not seeking Jesus. > He is healed by Jesus. > To his neighbors' questions, he refers to Jesus as "the man called Jesus." > To the Pharisees' challenges, he calls Jesus "a prophet." > When he meets Jesus, seeing him for the first time, he calls him "Lord" and worships him.

For Ray to get from "not seeking" to "worshiping," he travelled a long and winding road; it did not happen in a single big moment. And that long winding road was comprised of some pretty challenging conversations, first with his neighbors and then with his spiritual leaders. And when it came down to it, Ray's experience with Jesus provided him all he needed.

"I don't know any of the answers to your questions," he said, "But I know one thing: I was blind, and now I can see."

His transformation is big. He was an object for discussion, and became the primary subject of the story. He was a beggar, and is no longer. He had never been able to see, and now he sees clearly.

He had no idea who Jesus was, and became his disciple.

I wonder ...

... how many times have I dismissed somebody else's experience and stuck to my understanding instead?

... how often does "The Church" function as the Pharisees in this story, insisting on a codified interpretation of God and minimizing any experience that may be contrary?

... how many radical transformations have happened somewhere other than in "The Church" because the church's tendency is to challenge the Rays of the world instead of welcome them?

... but then again, isn't that challenge just exactly what Ray needed in order to be transformed? It seems as though the challenge of his neighbors and the Pharisees helped him in his process of conversion. Does resistance always have to accompany growth?

... or maybe ... even deeper ... does placing "The Church" in the position of "The Pharisees" in this story give "us" too much credit? I mean, the church is really a whole bunch of Rays getting together to try to see clearly, aren't we? Is doing so the same as equating John's phrase "the Jews" with every Jewish person, when he really meant the Temple leadership?

Jesus says, "We must work the works of the one who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world."

(Warning: Upcoming metaphor overload...)

So, can we be Rays of Light? Can we rethink church as radiators of Christ? We are not the light; we give testimony to the light. But even more, we are called to reflect the light ourselves, to illuminate darkness with Christ's light, to become transparent so that God's light shines through us.

But that process starts with confessing our blindness, and allowing Jesus to touch us, awakening our spiritual senses so that we can continue the long and winding journey of salvation.

The Jesus Interruption - Day 12

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - The Blind Man (John 9)

It feels like a random encounter at first. The disciples just happen to be walking along and sort of come upon this blind man. Seeing him prompts a theological discussion, of which he is the object.

I wonder if he said, "Um, hello? I am blind, but I am not deaf! I can hear you, you know. I'm standing right here and you're talking about me as if I am a case study for your spiritual growth. I am not a curriculum illustration!"

In this whole story of blindness and sight, John works at multiple levels to reveal where blindness is. And it seems to me that one of those levels is with the disciples themselves, treating this man as if he is no more than an object for discussion.

And notice how quickly John move the man from being the object of conversation to the subject of the story. Even Jesus himself, after healing the man's sight, fades away. The man becomes the primary actor, even standing toe to toe with the Pharisees.

And what is his declaration? "I don't know some things, but one thing I am sure of - I was blind, but now I see."

How many times to we regard others as objects, rather than beloved individuals of sacred worth? When we pre-judge another person, lumping them into a category before truly knowing them as a unique self, we take away their inherent dignity and value. And we have a bunch of categories to choose from, don't we? Old, young, liberal, conservative, evangelical, activist, gay, straight, poor, rich, middle-class, immigrant, white, black, hispanic, asian - and the list goes on and on.

We like these categories because they allow us to order our world in a preconceived notion of "should" that makes us feel secure. But when we do, we are treating people as if they are objects, and that is wrong. Instead, Jesus reaches into the life of the individual person and heals what needs to be healed so that they can live a new life.

May we interrupt our prejudices in order to see people as Jesus sees them - beloved children of sacred worth.

The Jesus Interruption - Day 11

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - The Blind Man (John 9)

“Let there be light.”

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

“One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

Scripture often uses the metaphor of light and darkness (or sight and blindness) to teach us something about our relationship with God. The storyteller John shares a powerful story of blindness and sight in chapter nine of his gospel.

Here we are introduced to a man who was born blind. The Jesus Interruption that this man experiences restores his physical sight, but it doesn’t take long to realize that there is more going on here than just a physical healing.

This week in worship, we will explore the story of this unnamed man. His encounter with Jesus obviously unsettled his life in a remarkable way. He was able to see the world in a brand new way, experiencing his surroundings in a way that he had only been able to dream about. It was bright, unfamiliar, and perhaps frightening.

And under the surface, he wrestles with an explanation. How did this happen? he asks himself. He is grilled by his neighbors. The Pharisees interrogate him, as well as his parents. He is banned from his synagogue by the closed-minded leaders. Ultimately he confesses his belief in Christ. “Lord, I believe!”

What are your spiritual “blind spots”? How might your eyes be opened by an encounter with Jesus this season? How might a Jesus Interruption illuminate the darkness in your life?

The Jesus Interruption - Day 10

Lent 2011 - The Jesus Interruption
Each week of this season, we will be entering into the experience of an individual whose life was interrupted by an encounter with Jesus. This week - Nicodemus (John 2:23-3:17)

It is the tenth day of the season of Lent. It is also March 19, which usually means a windy Spring day. And today is no exception.

Wesley and I flew kites today, and it was great! Strong, steady wind kept our kites flying high above our heads for almost an hour. All was well, until ...

A gust pushed my kite over the string of Wesley's kite, another swirl looped my kite sharply downward, and when the strings crossed, my kite's string cut right through Wesley's.

Untethered, Wesley's kite immediately made a beeline for the highway, rapidly losing altitude as it fluttered away. It cleared the fence, and came to a halt on the ground in between the fence and the shoulder. Wesley was a bit worried, thinking it might fly into a car and cause a real ruckus. Fortunately, it did not, so I handed Wes the handle of my kite and started off after his.

I hopped the fence and retrieved it, then hopped back over. I retied the ends of the string together, and soon Wesley's kite was up and flying beautifully again.

Spiritual growth is a process of becoming untethered from what we know, experiencing the chaos of new understanding, then synthesizing it all into a new knowledge. Not just head knowledge, of course - I'm referring to a relationship with God.

Like a kite untethered, this growth can make us worried, nervous, even scared. Any change usually does that. And if it goes on forever, it can cause a real ruckus. But it is necessary for growth, and growth is necessary for discipleship.

Nicodemus was untethered by his encounter with Jesus, and he went to him by night to try to reconnect himself. But we leave the story not knowing how or even if Nick ever got tied back in. He just kinds of fades away. Later appearances in the Gospel of John reveal spiritual growth, but John never tells us explicitly that Nicodemus has become a believer. We are left to wonder.

Growth is change, and change always seems to freak people out. So instead of growing, we tend toward unthreatening, non-scary, comfortable stagnation. But it seems to me that, if you compare a person who is always seeking answers to life's new questions to a person who is satisfied with the answers they already know, the person who is always seeking is actually the one who is more spiritually mature.

May we never fall into the trap of thinking that there's nothing else to learn, no deeper to grow in our relationship with God, no new step to take along the spiritual journey that is Christian discipleship. Let our prayer be for God to untether us from our preconceived notions so that we can continue to mature into the people that God desires us to become.