Freaky Friday

Last night was "Freaky Friday" on one of the TV channels. I watched with amusement and some fascination the "accounts" of hauntings, possessions and other supernatural phenomenon. One of the stories was about a family that discovered that the house they had just rented had once been a mortuary. The embalming room and walk-in freezer in the basement had been left virtually untouched despite the recent renovations and updates done to the rest of the house. Upon discovery, the parents were highly distressed and wondered how they could possibly raise their children in a home that had such a history. As you have already deduced the house was indeed haunted. But haunted not by a simple lost soul somehow stuck between this world and the next, as it seems happens quite a lot according to pop lore, but by a fully-personified demon. Naturally the Catholic Church officials were called in and after quite a bit of testing and collecting of evidence an exorcism was authorized and performed and the house and family freed of their possessor. I do not tell this story to pass judgment about the presence of evil and its many manifestations but rather to illustrate our feelings and assumptions about the creepiness of death and how quick we are to associate it with the profundity of evil spirits. In short, death spooks us.

This being the season of Lent, and the issue of death, or at least one particular death, is increasingly haunting the collective Christian conscious. This Sunday marks the third of the four Sundays in Lent. The dark days of Holy Week will be quick to follow: Passion Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday. But even now, we assure ourselves that death is not the end; all be will be well because this hard and sorry story has a joyful ending. We know how this story ends. The eyes of our heart avert the sight of death by starring ahead to Easter morn. Spare us, o spare us, O Lord, from Freaky Friday.

This year I am recommending the Psalms as a Lenten resource. As one prays the psalter day in and day out, the heart's eye scans the full range of human experience and emotion: praise and awe of God, joy of living, confrontation of evil, protection from enemies, reverence for creation and all that is in it, violent anger, and fear of death. Among many others, Martin Luther (1528) referred to the psalter as "the little bible," and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, entitled one of his books, "Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible." Despite its long and valued history, the Psalters under-appreciation currently in the Christian church is staggering. Of course the psalms are hard to read; so much unpleasantness, so much talk of fear and anger, dying and death. This is the language of lament and yes, its a little freaky. One distressed by the psalms might wonder: Can't we just read the New Testament, Jesus and all, and forget about all this doom and gloom? Followed by: I want to read something that makes me feel good about life, not depressed. I dare say many Christians make a habit of skipping to the good parts; pancakes on Shrove Tuesday straight to Easter morning church. But in truth the function of faith is not to make one feel good. One might say, that the function of faith is to not to make us feel anything, but rather to assure us that no matter what we feel, God will walk with us through it; even how we feel about death and dying and those who have died and those we still mourn all these years later, and the certainty that one day we too will die.

Thomas Mann, wrote in The Magic Mountain, A Novel, "The only healthy and noble and indeed . . . the only religious way in which to regard death is to perceive and feel it as a constituent part of life, as life's holy prerequisite, and not to separate it intellectually, to set it up in opposition to life, or worse, to play it off against life in some disgusting fashion - for that is indeed the antithesis of a healthy, noble, reasonable, and religious view . . . Death is to be honored as the cradle of life, the womb of renewal. Once separated from life, it becomes grotesque, a wraith - or even worse." (New York: Knopt, 1995, p. 197)

The psalms breech the divide we force between life and death. They place God rightfully as mediator between the two. Only an intentional, consistent reading of the psalms will reveal this, of course. Steadily favoring one at the expense of the others or leaving off offending verses is to avert the eyes of one's heart from that which God does not avoid. In the words of the psalms that pain and haunt us because they so surely reflect the life we know, therein God finds us trembling and troubled in the face of Freaky Friday. Found and saved from fear and death.

A Calll for Christian Credibility

As the world has been watching the events unfold in Japan, the emerging story about the possible meltdowns of nuclear reactors is competing heavily with the loss of life and property due to the tsunami; not least of all the conflicting reports coming from Japanese officials. Reporters and pundits have rightly cited this as an issue of credibility. It has been pointed out the whole world is watching Japan right now and that they were creating a model that will either demonstrate how well a crisis could be handled or how much worse a disaster got because of a lack of credibility.

Credibility is always important but when the stakes are high, it becomes the most valuable asset because its what people rely on. Credibility in a non-negotiable virtue in trusting relationships. A credible witness, informant or model allows us to assess our own situations by being able to accurately gage what's going on around us or within a situation that has the potential for affecting our lives. As for nuclear reactor meltdowns, the way in which truth is conveyed is an important as the truth. This is a theological reality as well.

We might not as first think of the story of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness as a model of credibility, but that is precisely how it functions in Matthew's Gospel. It is the final event in a chain of events that build up credibility for Jesus' identity as the Christ: the detailed genealogy establishing Davidic lineage, the virgin birth, the foiling of Herod's plans to kill the divine child, the correlation between the infant Jesus and the infant Moses, the reference to God's saving action in Exodus through Herod's mass killing of the infant boys, John's prophetic announcement, God's affirmation voiced at Jesus' baptism - all followed by the events in the wilderness. The wilderness, itself, is also reminiscent of the Israelites struggle toward the promised land and God's guiding hand throughout. Much could be made of each of these events, but taken collectively, they provide an unshakable foundation of the credibility of God's merciful intervention in the world.

This lesson from Matthew's Gospel begins our Lenten journey. A time when we could easily focus on our own temptations; our individual journey toward the grace of Easter. But Matthew's set up to this point doesn't make this entirely plausible. Matthew is building a case for credibility for the whole Christian community. This is especially true when we consider that the pronoun, "you" in much of the New Testament should often be read as "ya'll." You is meant in the plural. But we are so individualistically-centered we tend toward reading "you" as "me." But Matthew likely intended it to be read in the collective, with communal implications. This being the case, it changes things for how Christian communities deal with the issue of temptation, moving from the 'I' model to a more communal accountability before God. Lenten reflections must then include, at least in part, a communal self-examination; spiritual renewal for the whole body the hoped-for endpoint. As the faith community assesses its spiritual life through prayer, fasting, study, sacrifice and worship, we begin to form questions about our (pl.) credibility; the integrity of our witness to the wider community.

Through this practice we don't just dare to wonder, but are challenged to directly question the Christianity we practice. As an example: A temptation for Christians is to seek a credible examples of Godly action in the world. In cases such as the current crisis in Japan, we focus our energy of praying for God's saving work dispensed through miracles and grace. It's not that this is an inappropriate thing to pray for but its not what Christians are primarily called to do. We are a people of action - we are the healing hands of Christ. We are called to come to the aid of our neighbors who are suffering, even to the point of personal sacrifice for the greater good.

No model for this is more clear then that of the Japanese people's response to the overwhelming crisis they now face so boldly demonstrated by the lack of looting, violence or displays of angry unrest as they wait for supplies to reach them. This is surprising when we look at the incidents of looting and violent outbursts in other places under similar (or even lesser) stresses. One news reporter spoke to this saying that the Japanese people are taught from a very young age that it is more helpful to assist one another then to commit acts that would do far more damage then good for anyone - emphasis on the communal good vs. the individual good. When I think of Christianized nations, I must say, Japan does not jump to the fore. And yet these are people who resist the temptation to act out in desperation in order to do the most good for the most people. They are building on a platform of credibility that is long-established in their culture. And it is an excellent foil against which the Christian community can honestly examine itself.

The Christian church has done a really good job at personal accountability. But if we look at Matthew's model of communal credibility - then we must acknowledge we've hardly begin.

A broken and contrite heart

A colleague posted on Facebook the following:"Lenten levity from the Shrove Tuesday program at St. Philip's":

An Irishman moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers. The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone. An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more. This happens yet again.

The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. "I don't mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers?" 'Tis odd, isn't it?" the man replies, "You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond."

The bartender and the whole town were pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening - he orders only two beers. The word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, "Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know-the two beers and all..." The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, "You'll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well... It's just that I, myself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent."

In many ways I think this gets to the heart of many Lenten devotional practices; they are often misunderstood and misconstrued by those who observe but do not themselves part-take of this practice. And they inherently mean little to nothing to anyone else. I had a friend who used to give up peanut butter every year. He claimed a deep and abiding love for the stuff and to be without it for 40 long days was a true act of sacrifice to his mind. But, I wonder, does God care if we give up such things, chocolate, sweets, meat, peanut butter or even beer? I am not so sure God cares about such things, unless such acts of piety truly do what that for which they were intended, that is, to reconnect us to God. In Psalm 51, recited each year in the Ash Wednesday service, we recite: "Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice; but you take no delight in burnt-offerings. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." And then we give up... some little thing that is not even as much trouble as rustling up a burnt-offering - which is, by the way, not the equivalent of burning incense. A burnt offering means going out to the pasture and capturing our most prized goat or sheep, following the prescribed way of sacrificing it, burning its flesh and sharing the cooked meat with those present (being sure to save some for the priests, whose piety it was to depend on the generosity of others in order to eat). If going to that much trouble and enduring a substantial loss of our own food supply isn't preferred by God, then I'm thinking doing without chocolate for four weeks doesn't even show up on the radar. Just sayin' .....

I saw the movie, Pieces of April, earlier this week. (Highly recommendable, by the way.) April is a young women in her early 20's, estranged from her family, and just beginning to find herself. Her family is coming to her NY apt. for Thanksgiving. All is going well until her oven breaks. She goes door to door in her building searching for anyone who will help her with very little sympathy from her neighbors. At one door a middle-aged black women yells inside to her husband, "That little white girl from 2A is telling me she's got a problem. I can't wait to hear this. What kind of problem could your white, affluent self possibly have? This otta be good." And that's the problem with giving up some trivial thing like cake and candy, we mean well but in the scheme of things its like telling a beaten and tortured Libyan we're giving up our right to vote for Lent.

The purpose of Lent is not to throw stones of privilege and affluence into the face of God whose heart is burdened with the blood and tears of those who work for justice, weep for the dead and fear for their lives. Lent is a God-given time-out for acknowledging in some concrete way the One to whom we belong and to make some authentic effort toward repairing the very broken relationship between us and God. The forty days of Lent isn't intended to be a time made up of pious prayers and kind acts geared toward attaining salvation, rather it is a precious time to be spent living into the salvation already given. The dynamic abundance of divine love cannot be withheld; when fully known it tends to spill out with abandon onto every person we encounter. It takes on a life of its own, radiating from our being lighting a path for those whose way is darkness.

When dispensing the ashes to someone privately early this day the recipient said to me, "I love Easter. I know we hear every Sunday that God loves us, but Easter is the big 'I Love You.'" That being the case, then Lent is that time when we have an opportunity to say through acts of contrition, kindness, and self-sacrifice for the benefit of all who are our neighbor, I love you, O Lord, as you have loved me.

Teen Time

Our parish hall is currently the home of a small collection box for donations of children's clothing for a community service project of a local Girl Scout troop. With a sixteen year old daughter and a twelve year old son, it occurred to me today that I am nearing the end of the time of having on hand lots of kids clothing to pass along. Even without my contribution the box was nearly full the first Sunday it was there because there are lots of families at St. James for whom outgrown clothing is still a constant byproduct.

To not have piles of outgrown children's clothing seems an unexpected and strange milestone. I have had 16 years of always having items to pass on and suddenly my source is drying up. Yesterday I found a few Valentine cards on the kitchen table that fell out of my son's book bag. Until I saw them it had not occurred to me that this was the first year in a very long time that I didn't need to buy packages of Valentine cards for his classmates. Of course, the cards I found were from female classmates . . . some opportunities simply can't be passed up. Last fall there were no Halloween costumes to make or buy, no walking the cold, dark streets in late fall to trick or treat. And Santa's load was considerably lighter as well. Its part of the realization of a passing part of one's life for which a variety of mixed feelings seep through the mundaneness of things taken for granted. In two years I'll be sending my firstborn off to college. Next year the youngest begins high school.

I'm not altogether saddened by the passing of these things since I really love the current ages of my children. Quite honestly, I'm a better parent of teenagers. Outgrown friendships replace outgrown clothing. A broken heart replaces a broken toy. A lost friendship replaces a misplaced stuffy. The moaning of boredom replaces the whining of hungry and tired. My kids are discovering what it means to be rejected, betrayed, used, disliked - even hated, ignored and emotionally injured far sooner than I'd ever have imagined. There is no comparison of their youth with mine.

Some years ago a mother of teens that I respected very much told me: "You think your children need you when they're small, and they do. They depend on you for their every need. But when they really need you is when they're older." This woman felt so committed to this belief she quit her job to be home more often with her two teens (were it possible for all of us to be able to do this...). She stressed the best opportunities to connect with teens: the moment they walk in the door from school - while they're eating you out of house and home - as you're just sitting around gently inquiring and listening to what happened in their day. She said she was always amazed at what they'll tell you if you during this brief open window in teen time. Car rides were another favorite open opportunity for rich conversation. I've also added bedtime chats to that list. The hardest part is figuring out how to respond to the information I am given. Let's just say that these are not conversations I would have had with my mother, not even now. Like I said, comparisons to my teen years cannot be made, 'cause there are none.

So while I vaguely miss having hand-me-downs and filling out dozens of ittsy-bittsy Valentine's cards with various and odd spellings of the names of classmates, I mourn the day that my kids no longer come home from school and fill my life with opportunities to lovingly guide them into adulthood.

Homeletic Summary: Blessing as affirmation and promise

The weekly Gospel readings this February are from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" (which is not really a sermon at all but a rather lengthy rabbinic teaching typical of Jesus' time and place). This set of teachings, which begins with the well-known Beatitudes, come very early in Jesus' ministry against the backdrop of the beautiful, lush, Galilean countryside, and serves as the outline for the rest of the Matthew's Gospel.

To get the most out of this teaching, we must first put on our Jewish glasses in order to discern that which a 2000 year- removed, thoroughly Christianized reading simply will not yield. We must situate ourselves within the historical context of Matthew's world. We must first acknowledge that this is a Jewish text written by a very devout Jew, believed by many scholars to be a Pharisee himself, perhaps even a zealot, like Paul. This being the case we can then understand Matthew's opinions of "the Jews", as a self-criticism of the religious community which he himself is a part; not anti-semitism.

Additionally, if you are not doing the independent bible study which is currently looking at the book of Acts, then I recommend it as it greatly informs a reading of Matthew. (See St. James Facebook page, Discussions) For instance, the lesson on Acts, chapter 15 in which the Christ-followers have gathered in order to discern what it means to be a Gentile follower of the Messiah in a dominate Jewish context. Will the gentiles need to be circumcised? Do they need to follow the laws regarding food and the commandments? There is debate among scholars as to where Matthew falls in this debate - does he expect full or a comprised inclusion into this new Jewish sect which would come later to be known as Christianity. Either way, for Matthew, the followers of Christ, whether Jew or Gentile, are to live Torah - this is not debatable. And this was the conclusion reached by the Jerusalem leaders in Acts as well.

Jesus begins his teaching on the hillside to the crowds that have gathered with a series of blessing proclamations. For a visual on this just picture the faces of the people in Egypt's Liberation Square. These are people who have lived under oppression for decades and they are hoping and praying that God will send someone to them to set them free. The blessings of the Beatitudes are not to be confused with the sentiment: Don't Worry, Be Happy. Instead its an affirmation of the realities of the living conditions under Roman/Egyptian rule: poverty, persecution, lament, hopelessness. To speak of these things aloud is an act of liberation in itself. To speak, to tell the truth about the way things really are and to demand a better life is to seize freedom. This path to freedom is what they see in Jesus. They gather in large masses, ready and willing to stage a protest. They are simply waiting for a leader, a sign from God that the time had come.

But Jesus' message is not about marching into Jerusalem with sticks, spears and stones to take the city back. It is a message of patience and promise. The promise is situated in the pronouncement of blessing. To be blessed is to be given the sound assurance that God's reign will prevail. Jesus, as the agent of God, affirms their/our adversity and assures them/us that God is still working things out on their/our behalf but they/we must be patient and wait. To be blessed then is not simply about being in God's favor, it is much broader: it is the affirming reassurance of God's steadfast faithfulness to his people while they/we, wait in peaceful perseverance for God to act.

In this same way, at the end of Christian worship, when the priest or pastor gives God's blessing, it is not a noun, a thing, like a hymn, but a verb. Blessing indicates action, past, present and future all at the same time. Blessings are fluid, not statements of hope, but statements that capture God in action; a moving, living, involved and imaginative God - who both affirms the difficulty of human life while congruently assuring the coming of a different reality.

In Egypt the desire of the people is that their children will have a better life. They are aware that it will take years, perhaps decades for this to happen, but they see it as a viable possibility because there exists a foundational understanding of what it is to be blessed by God that transcends the religious boundaries of what divides Christians from Jews from Muslims. That is what the people, the Jews and the Gentiles, who came to hear Jesus wanted as well, a life of freedom and possibilities for their children. They came to hear him talk of the new reign of God in great numbers. They stayed with him for days, not even leaving to return to their jobs or to eat. Many in the crowd brought baskets of food and they shared it with their neighbors. When Jesus moved they moved. Though some miles from Jerusalem, such gatherings would have been noticed by the empire. Should there have been signs that the crowds were preparing to stage an uprising the Roman army would have put it down very quickly, as the historical records demonstrates clearly. But Jesus' message reaffirms Torah as the standard for living. The metaphors of salt and light have to do with being faithful to Torah; not the hypocritical life of Pharisees who espoused this life to the letter, but were not true to the spirit of it. Jesus' makes clear that not a single iota, the smallest character of the Hebrew alphabet, would fade away before the Law (Torah) was fulfilled. In other words, God's reign will come and it can stand against any threat; God was, is and will for ever be in charge.

Because this remains true,we can receive the full blessing of God and face anything that comes our way. Not because we are stronger, or better, or smarter, or even more willful, but because we are blessed; our hardships affirmed while being assured that the lives of our children and their children will be better than our own. And sometimes, on rare occasions, we are given a glimpse of what God's reign, the fulfillment of blessing, Torah, might look like. Amid the peaceful, turned violent, protests in Egypt, a group of Christians joined hands to create a human barricade to protect a group of Muslins at prayer from pro-regime protesters in Liberation Square. Herein lies the essence of Jesus' blessings from that Galilean hillside so many centuries ago. Herein lies a foretaste of that promised heavenly banquet. Blessed be the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.

New Car Blessing and Curse

We recently bought a new car which concluded on a surprisingly humorous note. The setting for this final moment was set up from the beginning of the process as we got to know our Toyota salesman, Dan. Dan was very nice young man, just out of school - having only worked at the dealership for about six months. As my husband and I sat at his desk, cordially working out our 'deal' (haha), the chit-chat somehow came around to Dan's need for a new pair of glasses. Now Dan had a really good thing going, I assured him; those little, oval rimmed glasses and his short brown hair gave him the perfect Rabbi look; very trustworthy (from a pastor's point of view). From that point on, Matt and I called him Rabbi Dan.

Well, the sale went through and we set a date to pick up our new chocolate brown, loaded Rav 4, which we love shamelessly, in as much as one can love a car, which is, I confess, just short of idolatry. When we got there Dan met us to warn us that all was good, except for one thing. He apologized profusely and said he thought it must have been a joke - what are the chances of 'this' happening? He walked us around to the back of the car and showed us the license plate, which ended in 6666. He was truly horrified that of all the numerical possibilities, this plate would end up on a pastor's car. I laughed and told him that it was really fitting for me actually and that those numbers were code for: Hell on wheels, which describes me perfectly and that I took no offense. I'm not sure which was more unsettling to him, the plate or the explanation.

At any rate, the car is great and has provided a good number of laughs to those with a keen eye to find the irony of this situation. My 16 year old daughter is now driving and spends a fair number of hours behind the wheel. She now shares the legacy of a 6666 driver - I sit in the passenger seat chanting the psalms, "my mouth is as dry as pot shards," "save me O God, save me."

We recently learned that Rabbi Dan had left his position at the dealership. And we're sorry we never had the chance to tell him how much we enjoyed have such a nice sales-guy. So where ever you are Rabbi Dan - thanks so much for the laughs - we wish you the best.

The lessons of waiting

Yesterday, my daughter, who is sixteen, expressed her frustration that it seemed that she seemed to be waiting for everything. Waiting to get the braces off her teeth, waiting to get her license, waiting to get her grade in geometry up, waiting for a particular boy she knows to grow up (ie., man up). I can remember being that age and feeling like everything seemed to take forever. But I also remember that in the back of my mind I thought this waiting phase was only temporary, part of being a teen and not a full-fledged adult yet. But I was wrong about that, all of life is about waiting for something. I explained: You wait to get accepted into college, wait to finally get out of your parents house, wait to graduate, wait to get into grad school, wait to start, wait to graduate, wait to get a job interview, wait to get hired, wait to meet the "right" guy, wait to get engaged, wait to get married, wait to get pregnant, wait for the birth, . . . . and the waiting goes on and on. Of course these are just some of the major milestones, at least the ones that reflected my own life experience - hers could be very different, but she got the picture.

This is not the end of the story I pointed out. After a while you realize two things. First, that the waiting part can be part of the fun of life as well as an exercise in practicing patience. There is something exciting about waiting - if what you're waiting for is something you really want, like those milestones. The patience part become useful when you're waiting for something you don't want - like certain diagnosis, or in other matters for which waiting is a form of torture. Learning to wait well is part of a life lived well. The second thing is that sometimes, when what you've been waiting for finally comes to fruition, you wonder, "So this is it?" Getting what you want can, on occasion, fall into the category of, "Be careful what you pray for." Just enjoy all of your life, the waiting and the milestones, the big things and all the little ones; enjoy it all and appreciate the richness of it all, I told her.

But there is one kind of waiting, that I did not tell her about; the kind of waiting people sometimes do in their later years. The kind of waiting I have felt or heard from some very old or very sick people I've known. One man I recall from many years ago, would tell me that at age 92 he had outlived all three of his children (which no one should ever have to do), his body was shot, and he was simply tired of living. He couldn't understand why he kept waking up every morning when each night he prayed he wouldn't. He was waiting to die. One morning though he didn't wake up. And I'm sure that in the end, what he found waiting for him, was worth the wait.

In the congregation I serve there are many of us who have parents who are now in their latter years; some of whom are experiencing this sense of profound waiting. I think of my father, who is so much like the one I mentioned above. He too, having outlived one of his kids, and is now in hospice, waits for death. There's no way to downplay this in order to make it more palatable. This is not part of the fun of living; nor should it be sentimentalized in any form as such. There is a reason there are no Hallmark cards for such occasions. But it is a time in which how well we learned to be patient can influence not only how we perceive this time-standing-still, but how it is experienced by those waiting with us.

So my hope for my children as they are starting out on their long journeys of waiting and experiencing, is that they learn to wait gracefully; that is, that they find ways for wisdom and peace to replace impatience. There's always time to get there, sometimes more or less than we would want, but ultimately we choose how to spend it, suffer it, or savor it.