Return and Give Thanks

13 October 2013

Luke 17:11-19

Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner? (Luke17:18)

Today’s gospel story closes with praise for repentance—because, in a literary sense, repentance is returning. Repentance is turning around—to return is to repent. To return and give thanks is to repent of taking God’s gifts for granted.

“Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” I imagine Jesus saying this with a smile, because Jesus knew people. I think Jesus knew that the statistics on gratitude in this particular case study were pretty typical: “Study shows one in ten return to give thanks,” the first-century Huffington Post might have read. And, anyway, Jesus never asked for thanks. “The other nine, where are they?” One can presume they are off doing exactly what Jesus told them to do—go show yourselves to the priests. That would take some time. Enough time to go all the way into Jerusalem, to the temple. Enough time to wait in line to be seen. Enough time for a thorough examination. Enough time to acquire and prepare the appropriate sacrifice. The other nine would have to wait to be declared clean. (If you want to read more detail of what is required to be cleansed from leprosy, see Leviticus 14.)

But the one, the Samaritan, that one recognized that the source and power of cleansing came from God alone. He recognized that the one who made him clean was not in the temple in Jerusalem.  So he, or she, returned—turned around—to give thanks.

So often in the church we think of repentance as a prerequisite for salvation, but here is an example of repentance as a response to salvation…. First an encounter with Jesus, then a change of heart, then a change of direction. Grace first; then an offering of gratitude. Return and give thanks.

I don’t think Jesus attitude toward “the other nine” was scolding. I Jesus felt pity. I think Jesus felt the kind of sorrow that you feel for another when you see him or her so close to completion, then loss. There is a certain amount of our salvation that we work out for ourselves. The scriptures point the way. It is in the psalms of thanksgiving we hear the people of God retelling and reliving all God’s wondrous deeds… from generation to generation. In rehearsing the story of what God has done for us in the past we catch faith—a contagious faith! What we catch is the assurance that God will continue to bless us in the future as God has blessed us in the past. As in today’s psalm, 66, which we retold in the Call to Worship.  Repeating these psalms in exile gave the people the courage to invest in their new lives in Babylon, to seek the welfare of the city to which God sent them, to understand that their welfare was yoked to the welfare of their captors, which is also the spirit of the Old Testament lesson we read from the book of the prophet Jeremiah.

Sometimes the gospel is heard in strange places. The strangest, perhaps, being a short pop-psychology  website, “Soul Pancake,” which illustrates a recent study on the link between happiness and gratitude. Turns out, money can’t buy happiness; neither can it take happiness away; but what does contribute to our overall happiness is how much we express gratitude for what we have received. “Count your many blessings,” anyone? Old truth is confirmed in a new media.

I posted a link to this little video on  our weekly e-news. About 25 people actually clicked on the link, but for the sake of those who didn’t, or who don’t get the weekly e-news, I’ll sum it up for you. Psychologists have clinically proven that the greatest contributing factor to your happiness is how much gratitude you show. So to test out this theory, the guy in the lab coat first administers a baseline “happiness test.” Then the interview shifts gears. To the sound of meditative music, the test subjects are invited to think about the person in their lives who influenced them the most, and to spend a few minutes writing about that person. Then, the test subjects were encouraged to call the person who influenced them the most, and read the statement to that person. This is the really heartwarming part of the video so I hope you will take a moment to watch it next week. Anyway, after this conversation, the subjects are given another baseline happiness test. Those who were able to write something about someone, but for whatever reason weren’t able to speak to that person, they had a minimal increase in happiness. Those who were able to speak to the person to whom they were grateful, they had the next highest increase in happiness. But the greatest impact, the greatest upward shift in happiness level, was seen in those people who started out with the lowest scores. So, that means that if you are having a particularly blue period in your life, this little experiment may have the greatest effect on your happiness. What have you got to lose?

Some of you may have already done your homework. I suggested in the weekly news that you spend some time thinking about someone for whom you are grateful, and writing that person a thank you note. Then I invited you to bring that note to church to put in the plate as an offering of thanks. If you did that, good for you.

But if you didn’t do that, you still have a chance to participate in this test. There is a thank you note in your church bulletin today. Use it now. Think about the person who influenced you the most in life and write a thank you note to that person. God ahead, do it now, I’ll give you a few minutes.

If you have finished, put your offering of thanks in the offering plate today. If not, bring it to church next week, or mail it yourself. Let us know what kind of a response you get from this exercise. I can show you how to leave a comment on Facebook or the church Blog.

Now I’ll leave you with a thought that my psych professors instilled in me: Correlation is not necessarily causation. We don’t know which comes first, the gratitude or the happiness; or why this works. So now we have the freedom to surmise. I think once we begin to express our gratitude for what God has done for us through other people, then we free up something deep inside. We allow the conduits of grace to flow freely through us. God’s grace comes to us on its way to somebody else. Expressing our gratitude helps us to be mindful of the paths of mercy that flow into our own hearts and back out again.

Once we begin to express our gratitude we begin to think, “What can I do, to repay all that I have been given?” We repay our debt to the past by putting the future in debt to us (John Buchan, quote found in Edinburgh on the sidewalk of Writer’s Court). Thank God and sing praise, and go forth and give someone else a reason to be grateful to you. Amen.

Discerning the Body

6 October 2013

1 Cor 11:20-34; Mark 14:22-25

             The night that Jesus took the bread and blest it and broke it, and made it a remembrance of his life and ministry, that was to be his last night in Jerusalem. Jesus did not need a miraculous ability to see into the future in order to know what fate awaited him. It was the week that we have come to call Holy, the Last Week of Jesus’ life before death and resurrection. It began with the parade into Jerusalem, which we reenact every Palm Sunday when we wave palm branches and shout “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes!” The week continued with Jesus clearing the temple courtyard on a Monday morning, disrupting the holiday commerce as Pilgrims came from the known ends of the earth and points between, to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem.

            My house shall be a house of prayer for all people and you have made it a den of thieves, Jesus said. And “they” began to look for a way to kill him. “They” being “the religious authorities.” Though Jesus had many followers who lived in the margins of life-- tax collectors and sinners—among the powerful families of Jerusalem Jesus had few if any friends.

            So he knew what was coming. It was time for his mountaintop speech.

            He took bread, and after giving thanks, he broke it into pieces and gave it to them, saying, “Take; this is my body.” He lifted up the cup, and after giving thanks, gave it to them and they all drank of it, and he said, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”

            And then he went out to the Garden, to pray and meet his fate. That night he was betrayed, that night he was arrested, that night he suffered. The next day he was crucified.

            Jesus died, but the church was born. Holy Communion, the sharing of bread and wine in remembrance of Jesus, became and remains a primary identity-forming sacrament of the church. “A primary identity-forming sacrament” is a fancy way of saying that this simple meal reminds us who and whose we are. The other primary identity forming sacrament is Baptism.

            Baptism is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Once you are baptized you are baptized forever, you do not need to be baptized again, the church decided long ago. But Holy Communion is repeatable, and it was, until relatively recently-- the last 500 years or so—repeated daily. It is the common meal that sustained the shared ministries of the church, the common meal that fed all the people.

            When the church was newborn, when we were still a reform movement in Judaism, the first Christians would go to synagogue together to learn the scriptures and pray, and then they would gather in each other’s homes for the breaking of the bread. They shared all things in common, the book of acts tells us. No one claimed private ownership of anything but as many as had lands and properties they weren’t using sold them, and laid the proceeds at the disciple’s feet, and these were distributed to all as any had need.

            But, it could last, could it? Paul’s letter to the church in Corinth indicates that there was trouble, early on. In the case at hand, some people were arriving early for the meal and eating it all up. They were behaving badly, having their fill of bread and getting drunk on the wine, while others went hungry and thirsty. This is not the way to remember Jesus!

            From this incident in Corinth we get the idea of “discernment.” Hear this verse again: Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. (28-29)

            Sometimes this verse has been used to defend whatever the religious authorities of the day define as “orthodoxy,” a word which has the same root as your orthodontist. The Orthodontist wants to make your teeth straight, and uniform, and more like everyone else’s. That’s a good thing. Orthodoxy is about straightening out your thoughts and beliefs so they are more like everyone else’s. This is not so great. Because this leads to the suppression of great minds, which may appear unsettled to those who have ordinary but orthodox minds themselves.

            In the past, this little verse about “discernment” has been the crux of arguments between Roman Catholic Orthodoxy and Lutheran Orthodoxy and Reformed Orthodoxy, about whether or not any of us are properly discerning the body of Christ in the bread. But such an argument reveals an ignorance of the context of the scripture. The folks in Corinth did not fail to discern Jesus in the bread. They failed to discern the body of Christ in the church. Which would explain why Paul devoted the entire next chapter of the letter to the theme of the unity of the church as one body, the body of Christ.

            We properly discern the body of Christ when we recognize how much we depend on each other. We properly discern the body of Christ when we grieve the absence from the table of any of God’s children. We properly discern the body of Christ when we do whatever we can to make a place at this table for all of God’s children, young or old, rich or poor, male or female.

            We properly discern the body of Christ when we are more concerned for others than for ourselves, and we are ready to go hungry, if need be, so that others can eat.

            Then the miracle occurs, for the measure you give will be the measure you get, “[a] good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap.(Luke 6:38)” Then people will see the presence of the risen Christ in you. Thanks be to God! Amen.

(Dedicated to the confirmation class of 2015.)

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made.

Psalm 139

8 September 2013

            “I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

            The Sunday school children begin a unit on creation next week. They will learn about the creation story found in the first chapter of Genesis. We will also amend the curriculum with some other creation stories from other cultures, because one thing that seems universal about creation stories is the sense of awe and wonder that inspired them, and that the stories in turn inspire in those who hear them.

We don’t take the first account of creation as the literal be all and end all explanation of how the world began. If we did, we would run into trouble when the book of Genesis presents a completely different story in the second chapter. We know that the Bible is not a science textbook. It was never meant to be. The bible is a collection of stories, some very ancient. The Bible is a collection of faith conversations with generations of monotheists with whom we have claimed a kinship. It is a chronicle of how we have made sense of God, the universe, everything. Whenever we open the Bible we enter into a family reunion with our long-dead relatives, and we do what we do at family reunions: tell stories and vent disagreements.

How do you explain this to children? Well, young children rarely have a problem with biblical literalism. They live in the world of story. They can enjoy Maurice Sendak’s “Little Bear” series without challenging Sendak on the veracity of bears who talk and wear clothes. They see no problem in the space time contiuum of “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind or another… he sailed away through the night and almost over a year to where the wild things are.”  And when Max eventually returned from the land where the wild things are, his supper was waiting for him and it was still hot. If you haven’t read the book, I apologize. Get thee to a public library and check it out.

The truth is, even when we get a little too wild and mother sends us to bed without any supper, when we come to our senses and return from the land where the wild things are we will find that mother has provided us with all that we need. Because she loves us, wild or not.

In the same way, the creation stories are true. Each stage of creation light and darkness, day and night, sky and sea and land; birds and fish and animals and finally, the capstone of creation, people: we are created and blessed by our maker, and declared good. In fact, we are very good.

It doesn’t matter that it didn’t actually happen. It’s still true. So we teach the creation stories not to create little creationists who are ready to argue with their science teachers! No! We teach these stories so that the children can learn that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, created and blessed by a God who declared them good.

            This is important, because there is power in naming and blessing. We become who we are told we are. Anyone who has ever suffered abuse knows how poisonous curses are. There are grown people in the world today who are still trying to get over the names they were called by their parents, siblings or others who had power over them.

            A few years ago I met a man named Jerry, who was working with GLBT veterans at the VA hospital in St. Cloud, veterans who were struggling with PTSD and depression with the added challenge of being gay or lesbian in Central Minnesota. When Jerry asked the group what their experience of church was, stories poured out of their mouths, stories of moral injury. Their experiences of church were incredibly similar—they were stories of blessings revoked. No matter how faithful these veterans had been while “in the closet,” as soon as they “came out” they were shunned, cursed, rejected. Jerry asked them if they knew of any churches where they would be welcome. They did not. He told them about our church in Brainerd, an open and affirming church, and they were surprised, and a little disbelieving.

            You see, what I have learned over the years is that many GLBT folk have been so injured by churches and church folk, that they are not eager to give another church a chance to hurt them some more. It’s not enough to put up a sign that says “open and affirming.” That’s insider language, nobody outside of the UCC knows what that means. And showing up at Pridefest isn’t enough either, though it’s a move in the right direction. If you sat at the booth yesterday you might have noticed how many people passed cautiously, looking out the corner of their eye, making a wide circle. Once bitten by a rabid Christian, twice shy.

            It takes a good deal of patience and perseverance to heal the moral injury done by the cursing Christians. And it takes a lot of blessing to build up the trust required to bring someone into a church, where they can learn that they are loved and blessed by God, and by the beloved community of the church.

            It’s hard work, but it is precisely what we are called to do. To bless as we are blessed, to love as we are loved. To tell the story of original blessing, until we know it is true, and can tell it by heart.

            Praise God, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made. And God thinks you are fabulous.

Whose Party Is It, Anyway?

Luke 14:1, 7-14

September 1, 2013

            “When you are invited to a banquet… go and take the lowest place.”

            This might be the only bit of scripture almost everyone takes literally. Even we liberals. Obviously, this explains why in every church I have ever attended, the seats in the back fill up first. Only in church. If this were a Broadway show or a Springsteen concert (Taylor Swift concert for you youngsters), or even a school concert, it would fill from the front!

            Come on up higher!

No? OK, stay where you are. I know I’m no Taylor Swift.

            Mostly when we come to church, we are on our best behavior. Our best guest behavior anyway. You know that the roles of guest and host are very different. The host’s role is to make everyone feel at home, and the guest’s role is never to get caught acting as if you were at home. The host’s role is to offer food and drink, and the guest’s role is to accept what is offered. The host’s role is to initiate conversation; the guest’s role is to respond. The host makes introductions; the guest waits to be introduced to someone who is unfamiliar. Worship is God’s party, and when we arrive we all tend to act as if we are guests. Which is to be expected, but it needs to change.

            We have to remember this one thing about Jesus: he was always turning everything upside down. In the beginning of Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ mother Mary sang about lifting up the lowly and bringing down the mighty; filling the poor with good things and sending the rich away empty. And Jesus scandalized the religious know-it-alls by calling them blind guides and giving sight to those who were blind, even on the Sabbath, when no one was supposed to work, not even healers.

            By taking a simple meal of bread and wine, making it a sign of his presence, and giving it to the church, Jesus makes us co-hosts with him, and entrusts to us the duties of host. So whenever we come to church we need to remember that Jesus is busy elsewhere, but he has appointed us to be his body while he is away. That means it’s our job to make everyone else feel welcome, to introduce ourselves to anyone who is unfamiliar to us, and to make sure everyone has a place at the table. For this is the joyful feast of the people of God. This is a family meal of the simplest fare, and it is also a holy feast of the richest kind.

            This dinner party that is Holy Communion was a memorial meal even before Jesus showed up on the scene. It had long been a reminder of God’s saving power. It was the Passover meal which Jesus shared with his disciples. The feast of Passover commemorates God’s saving work. In the Passover meal we remember that we were once slaves in Egypt, where we were treated shamefully. We cried out to God in our distress and God delivered us from slavery with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and led us through the wilderness to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey. This Passover meal is to make us feel as if we personally had been delivered from slavery, and to remind us that our God is the God who rescues the poor and oppressed. It is a reminder to us to consider what side we are on—there’s a Labor Day plug for you (click on the song lyrics for a video clip of the song). “Which side are you on, boys, which side are you on?” God’s side, or the bosses’? God’s side, or the slavers’? God’s side, or the oppressors’? The meal has redemptive and transforming power, and practical, political implications.

            It was the unleavened bread, the bread of suffering that Jesus broke and called his body. It was the cup of Salvation, the promise of God’s return in the person of a Messiah, that Jesus called the new covenant in his blood. Whenever we eat this meal, we eat not only in the presence of Jesus, but also in the presence of Moses, and Miriam, and the Judges and the Prophets, and people of faith in ages past.

            When we celebrate communion we break bread with the unnamed disciples whom Jesus met on the road to Emmaus. We break bread with third-century Christians hiding in the catacombs under the streets of Rome. We break bread with saints and martyrs. We break bread with Bonheoffer and King and Biko imprisoned in Germany, Alabama and South Africa, and with all who have suffered for righteousness’ sake. We break bread with Christians living all around the world now, and we share a oneness with all of life.

We also share this feast with saints who haven’t even been born yet. This feast of paradise is eternal in both directions, past and future. When we share this bread and this cup, the walls come down and we become one great cloud of witnesses. This is a foretaste of what is to come, when all creation shares the feast of paradise in the presence of God and we all sing, Holy, holy, holy.

This is the party. This is the banquet where Christ is the host and we are all the guests. Not one of us has earned a place here, not by believing rightly or doing justly. This is what grace is all about—a place for everyone, an open table. All are welcome. Believe it or not.

This may disappoint you if you thought this meal was like dinner at the club. You might be tempted to refuse membership in a club that has no privileges. Like Groucho. “I refuse to be a member of any club that would have me as a member.”

This meal is definitely not dinner at the club. This meal is about dissolving boundaries, not establishing boundaries. No bouncers need apply.

Like any good dinner party, it’s not about the food, well, it’s not just about the food, it’s about the bonds that are formed around the table. It is about the shared experience of the meal. The touch a hand as you pass the plate is as important as the bread on the plate. The shared movement of raising our cups together is as important as the juice that fills each cup.

This is God’s dinner party. We are the guests and we are also the hosts, co-hosts with the risen Christ, for we are the body of Christ, the church. And Christ has commanded us this: My table must be filled. Go out to the highways and the hedges and compel them to come in. There are hungry people waiting for the bread that satisfies, and the wine that saves, and the love that lasts for eternal life. Remember this. Forget sitting in the back! Remember this: “My table must be filled.”

The Invitation

Hosea 11:1-11 and Luke 12:13-21

            The book of the prophet Hosea is an allegory. God’s relationship with Israel is represented by the prophet’s relationship with his unfaithful wife and, in the verses that we read today, by the parent-child relationship. Hosea introduces us to a God who yearns for us, who loves us madly and passionately, like a lover who is willing to forget all wrongs, like a mother who cannot forget or forsake her child, no matter what.

            Yes, God wants us to be just and kind and humble, but even when we aren’t, God still claims us, still calls us, still desires to know us.

            The parable of the “bigger barns” is a tragedy. It is tragic not because the main character dies at the end—every story ends in death, eventually. It is tragic because the man had not begun to live. He had abundant possessions, but nothing else. No family, no friends, no heir. He was a fool, not because he was a shrewd businessman, but because he had nothing else going for him.

            Jesus told the parable in response to a plea, “Teacher, bid my brother divide the inheritance with me.” Whoever asked the question had apparently heard enough about Jesus to know that he encouraged generosity, and proposed radical redistribution of wealth—the jubilee of debt forgiveness. Jesus, however, did not command the brother to share his wealth, instead he challenged the man who made the request. Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.

            We know this to be true: One’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions. But knowing it is true is easier than living as if it were true. How often have we caught ourselves thinking that if we just had a little bit more, we would be all right? We’re not greedy, we’re not asking for a lottery jackpot, just a little bit more to make it to the end of the month. Like that guy. You know the one. Lives across the street, on the other side of the fence, where the grass is always greener. Jones. Yeah, keeping up with Jones. If I could be like that, just to live one day in those shoes….

            The gospel of Luke especially is full of cautions about the lure of wealth and the bewitching power of possessions, because they are the things in our lives that are most likely to take the place of God. These are our idols: a bigger house, a better car, deeper pockets.

            Teacher, bid my brother divide the inheritance with me. The one who asks probably thinks that a share of the inheritance it all he needs. But it isn’t. It isn’t enough. It never is.

We are called to something better. Not to a relationship with possessions. These cannot love us back. Life does not consist in the abundance of possessions, life consists of love. Life is created by love, for love, sustained by love. We are called to relationship with God, who, as the prophet Hosea teaches us, is always calling, always pining for us.

Our relationship with God is embodied in our relationships with other people. In our relationships with our brothers and sisters, with God’s children, our relationship with God is enfleshed. It is this love that saves us, that rescues us from aimlessness and sin. It is this love that is life, real life worth living.

            Before he left them to go to his death, Jesus made the sharing of a meal a sign of his presence, a touchstone for his life and ministry. The meal calls us together, to be in relationship with each other. We cannot partake of this meal alone. We are dependent on each other to provide the bread and the cup, we rely on one another to come to the table. We form the fellowship of disciples, followers and lovers of Jesus, in order to remember and recreate the body of Chrsit.

            This table is for all who are loved by God. It is for saints and sinners, the lost and the found, the full and the hungry. This table is for all who need saving, who need redemption, who need love.

            Let all who are here, come. But before we celebrate this meal again, let us consider who is missing, and why. Where are the millennials, the youth? (There are a few representatives of the millennial generation here today—thank you for coming.) In her web-published essay, Rachel Held Evans explains “Why Millennials Are Leaving Church.” They are leaving their evangelical churches because they believe those churches are too political, too exclusive, unconcerned with social justice, and hostile to their Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (GLBT) friends. They also feel like they have to leave their brains at the door of churches that are anti-intellectual and anti-science.

            But the same generation, the same people have spiritual yearnings. They want a church where it is OK to ask questions. They want a church that emphasizes an allegiance to the Kingdom of God, rather than a single political party or nation. And they want a church where their GLBT friends are welcome.

            I believe this is that church. One of those churches, anyway. But we are perhaps the best kept secret in Mankato. We need to learn how to make our story heard. Because people’s lives depend on it. The good news of God’s love is life saving. Think about it: whose life would be saved by an invitation to this table? Who needs to know the presence of Christ in the breaking of the bread and in the love of this church community?

            Let us resolve to extend this invitation, to turn up the volume on the good news of God’s love. Life, real life, depends on it. Thanks be to God, whose love endures forever. Amen.

Jesus, Priceless Treasure

John 12:1-8

17 March 2013

             When I asked the younger youth of the church, Wednesday evening, what St. Patrick ’s Day was all about, I heard some predictable responses, and some surprising ones. The following is a representative compilation of the responses of 4^th through 6^th graders, not a direct quote from any particular respondent. Similarities to persons that you know are purely coincidental.

            St. Patrick, I learned, is a funny little man with a big bushy orange beard, who always wears green, really loves his pot of gold, and if you aren’t wearing green on St. Patrick ’s Day, he will come and pinch you.

            You know that’s wrong, right?

            St. Patrick is not a leprechaun.

            Now that we have established that, what do we know about the patron saint of Ireland? He was a real person, who lived 400 years after the birth of Christ, and who died on March 17, in the year 461, when he was in his 70s.

As a youth he lived in England on his family’s estate. He was a son of the Roman Empire, which had been officially Christian for six generations by then. But the Empire was beginning to fall.  Roman legions were being withdrawn from Britain, which was the far-flung edge of the Empire, and called to defend Rome from the Vandals. This left Roman settlements vulnerable to marauding tribes of Saxons, Picts, and Celts.

            One of these bands of marauders captured young Patrick and took him to Ireland as a slave, where he endured abuse, deprivation, hunger, and solitude. In his Confession Patrick wrote that before his capture, at age 15, he had not valued his Christian faith. But as a slave he prayed without ceasing, and felt Christ was his constant companion.

            He was in the wilderness, tending his master’s sheep, for six years. The one night while he was praying, he heard a voice announcing that he would return home, his ship was ready. Guided the vision he walked some 200 miles to the sea and found the ship which provided his escape from Ireland. Eventually, he was reunited with his family in England. And all’s well that ends well. It would be a Hollywood ending, except it didn’t end there.

            Sometime after this heartwarming reunion Patrick had another vision. He heard the voice of the Irish, calling him to return to the place where he had been enslaved. And so he set off on a course of study, and  eventually Patrick was ordained, elevated to the office of bishop, and commissioned to go to Ireland as the church’s first missionary.

            Most of what we know of Patrick in Ireland is the stuff of legend. Miraculous escapes from murderous Druids, driving the snakes from Ireland, re-framing the shamrock as a Christian symbol of the trinity. Whatever written records there might have been from that time have been lost. But what remains is one letter to a Roman commander Coroticus and his soldiers, condemning them for the murder of some Irish Christians and the capture of Irish women who were taken to Britain as slaves. Officially, Roman Christianity had not challenged the Empire’s military might or economic policy. Some might say that the Christian religion was co-opted by Rome in order to control it, because the Christian religion, with its rejection of violence, and its insistence on equality among believers, had been a threat to the Empire.

            In Ireland Patrick, isolated from the center of power, developed a new way of being the church, a way nearer to the pre-Roman church. Having suffered as a slave, he insisted that no Christian could keep a slave. Neither could a Christian justify violence against the innocent. During Europe’s Dark Ages the Irish church flourished, and founded monasteries and Christian communities in Scotland and northern England.

            The most amazing thing about St. Patrick is not the stuff of legend but the truth of his living sacrifice. Having escaped slavery, having been restored to a place of privilege and comfort, he chose to return to the people who had enslaved him, to free them from the sin of enslaving others. It amazes me what some people are able to do, what safety and comfort they are willing to sacrifice for the sake of others. What inspires such selflessness? For Patrick, and the apostle Paul, and Mary of Bethany, nothing compares to Jesus. The value of knowing Christ, of knowing God through Christ Jesus is greater than anything they could offer. So Mary sacrificed her treasured ointment, Paul gave his life, and Patrick risked his freedom for service to Christ.

            Who is Jesus, in these stories? Jesus is the priceless treasure, the one for which you would sell all you have to secure it. Except you don’t have to, because this priceless treasure is free, and it is already ours.

            Sometimes, it seems, we cannot even see this treasure for the clutter of our lives. As a child of privilege, Patrick thought little of God; when he was a slave Christ was his only companion. What is redemptive about suffering is that it sometimes strips away all the distractions, and reveals the genuine treasures of life: the love of God, and the love of friends.

            Who are we, because of this priceless treasure? What are we willing to give in response to this gift of knowing God through Jesus? What are we willing to sacrifice, to help others discover this treasure?

Jesus, the Life of the Party

10 March 2013

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

          This week in worship we hear the familiar story of the lost son, sometimes called the prodigal son. Prodigal doesn’t mean lost, it means wasteful, and it is a label Jesus never used. The judgment was made by biblical translators in the age of the Reformation. Yes, the son spent his entire inheritance living large for a short time, like some professional athletes featured in the ESPN documentary Broke. The son in the parable blew it.

            But the father was also prodigal—wasteful—you might say. First, he gave half his fortune away to a son who basically said, “Dad, you’re dead to me, so give me my inheritance and I’m out of here.” The father had no obligation to give that boy anything. In fact, according to the law, the father’s obligation was to discipline the son harshly (All who curse father or mother shall be put to death—Lev. 20:9). The father, you could say, wasted mercy, gave it away for nothing. In terms of what the law required, he blew it.

            The only one who wasn’t prodigal was the older son, the one who stayed at home and did what was required of him. He was the opposite of prodigal… he was stingy. He withheld his approval, his forgiveness, and his presence at the feast given in honor of his brother. He conserved his integrity and preserved his pride. He acted just as the law required.

            But man, he really blew it.

            I have been a keeper of cats for many years. A cat fancier, a cat companion. Opener of the cans. Scooper of the litter. Nobody really owns a cat and you have to have lived with cats, I think, to understand that. Cats might be the inspiration for the “Borrowers” of Mary Norton’s fiction. Human beans exist for borrowers, Arrietty explained to the boy. I believe that’s the way cats feel about us “round ears.” 

            Anyway, one day, one of these cats who lived with us had to go to the vet, and the other cat, when she realized that she was alone, except for the human, sniffed the spot where she had last seen her cat-sister and then let out a mournful yowl. She went about the house calling for her sister, and then curled up in the closet and went to sleep. It was pitiful. I felt bad for her, but and tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable.

            A few hours later when the “away” cat returned from the vet, I prepared myself for a heartwarming reunion. The cat who was left behind came running to the door the moment she heard the car in the drive. And when the cat carrier was opened, and her sister stepped out, they touched noses, and then…

Hst! She gave her a swat and ran away.

            I don’t think cats have much long term memory.

            It was as if a strange new cat came back from the vet, and not the companion for whom she had grieved.

            That image came to mind when I pondered the story of the two brothers in the parable.

            How long did it take for the older one to forget that the younger brother was his childhood playmate, and his own flesh and blood? Sibling rivalry is natural, but so is sibling affection. I can barely remember, but I can still remember, how much I missed my brother and sister when the summer was over and they went back to school for the whole long day. I remember waiting for them, at the top of the hill which they had to climb to get home from Grant School, and the great joy I felt as we walked the rest of the way home together, hand in hand.

            But, I also remember how, much later, I waited and waited for my sister go back to school, back to her dorm room at Illinois State University, so I could have my room to myself again!

            What happens to us as we grow up and grow old? We seem to move from some natural sense of attachment to people, to detachment. From barely sensing where one of us ends and the other begins, to delineating boundaries with masking tape on the bedroom floor. It’s not a fault or a flaw, it just is what it is—a natural observable human phenomenon, an adaptation that may even be necessary for the survival of the species. That’s just the way it is.

            Someone asked me this week what I thought of original sin. I don’t think about it much. I believe in original blessing. That’s where I put my trust. The first story of creation resounds with the refrain, “and it was good.” Behold it was very good! We were created and declared good, and so we are, when we are genuine.

            I love the way the story goes, the turn of phrase, when the younger son “came to himself.” He was out there, living la vida loca, and then, when he came to himself he decided to go home. When he came to himself he realized that it would be better to be a slave in his father’s house than to be estranged.

            I believe that is what theologians used to call original sin-- that estrangement, that malignant form of self-differentiation, that extreme detachment. And repentance would be coming to oneself, recovering that original state of relationship with God by being in good relationship with others.

            And that is what the older son, and the Pharisees and scribes for whom Jesus told the parable, missed out on. They thought that righteousness was about being good and following rules, but they forgot the reason behind the rules. God created the law, the book tells us, because more than anything God wants to be in relationship with us. To know as we are known, to love as we are loved by God. And the only way we can truly experience a relationship with God is through our relationship with others.

            It’s not about being good, it’s about being in relationship.

            The older son is good, but he is missing out on the party because of his own self-imposed estrangement.

            The parable ends with the father’s plea. Come in, join the party, rejoice with me.

            Well, will we go in? Will we enter into the experience of the realm of God, or will we remain outside, estranged, alone. That is the question we must ask ourselves every day. Will we choose relationship, or not? The door remains open. That is the good news. Thanks be to God.