Redemption – SSJE

Luke 18:9-14

Just over 1600 years ago, a young couple dreamed a dream:

“One night we went to sleep, greatly upset, and we saw ourselves, both of us, passing through a very narrow crack in a wall. We were gripped with panic by the cramped space, so that it seemed as if we were about to die.”

This young couple was Valerius Pinianus and his wife, Melania. They were two of the super-rich of the later Roman world. They were also Christians. And at this period in history these two things, wealth and Christian faith, were increasingly at odds with one another.

Pinianus and Melania, along with many of their contemporaries, were uncomfortable with their vast wealth. They grieved what their wealth afforded them. The open vistas of estates, the splendor and ostentation, the luxury of free time, had become for them a “narrow crack” and a “cramped space.” They grieved the weight of wealth on their souls. And this grief prompted them to make an unprecedented renunciation of their worldly wealth.[1]

Grief comes to each of us in a thousand shades and hues. We experience a vivid spectrum of grief. As loss—of loved ones in death, of relationships, of direction. As missed opportunities, roads not taken, paths unexplored. As things we may never be or do because of what we already are or have done. As limitations imposed on us, or by us.

For what do you grieve today? For what does your heart ache?

In Lent especially, we grieve our sins. We grieve how we have denied God’s goodness, how we have partaken of all that is not God, how we have treated others as if they were not fellow children of God. We grieve how we fail to see ourselves as God’s beloved children. We grieve what separates us from relationship with God and others.

The tax collector in our parable from Luke’s gospel grieves. Unlike the Pharisee, he knows he is a sinner. He grieves his sin. For me, the most important detail of this parable is that the tax collector stands “far off” and “would not even look up to heaven” (Lk 18:13).

How do you feel grief in your body? Whether it’s grief for sins, for losses, or for paths not taken, how familiar is the tax collector’s stance to you? How familiar is it to separate, to close in on yourself, to make yourself smaller? How familiar it is to contort yourself to the cramped space of your grief?

But if this parable is about grief, it is also about how God meets us in the midst of our grief: with mercy. It’s about how God’s mercy can open up the cramped, narrow spaces onto new, boundless vistas.

During my recent retreat, I spent a lot of time on rocks in front of the ocean. The blue-gray water stretched out as far as I could see, merging at the horizon with the blue-gray sky, a vast sameness. It brought back my favorite line from Shakespeare—“My bounty is as boundless as the sea”—and I felt in that boundless bounty what God’s infinite mercy means. At the same time, as the waves lapped up on the shore, or crashed on the rocks, I felt what it meant for that infinity, that vastness, to care particularly for me—to be merciful to me.

God’s mercy covers us, enfolds us, sustains us, and gives us strength to persevere. God’s mercy allows us to be in our grief, to bear the narrow and cramped space of our limited lives, to face our sins and failures squarely.

God’s mercy allows us to be in our grief because it assures us that we will pass through it, to pass through that grief to joy: “Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me,” the Psalmist cries, “You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy” (Ps 30:11, 12). “I will continue to rejoice,” Paul assures the church at Philippi, “for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision . . . what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance” (Phil 1:18-19).

“One night we went to sleep, greatly upset, and we saw ourselves, both of us, passing through a very narrow crack in a wall. We were gripped with panic by the cramped space, so that it seemed as if we were about to die. When we came through the pain of that place, we found huge relief and joy unspeakable.”

For what do you grieve today? Ask God for the mercy to come through it, and to bring you to the limitless horizons of joy unspeakable.

Amen.

[1] P. Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD (Princeton, 2012), 291-94 (quotation at 291).

Br. Curtis Almquist

The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Mark 1:4-11

Jesus and John have known one another since they were children. Today we remember their encounter at the Jordan River, both of them now about 30 years old. Their parents have talked to one another about their boys since before they were born. John is the miracle son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, who were old enough to be his great grandparents; and Jesus is the miracle son of Mary who “reportedly” conceived him through an angel, not with her husband, Joseph. John’s parents, Elizabeth and Zechariah, are Jesus’ aunt and uncle.

Jesus and John bear both the blessing and the burden of their destinies. Their lives were prophesied to be great: John was predicted to be the Messiah’s “advance man,” the Messiah’s “forerunner,” to set the stage. Jesus was predicted to be the Messiah. How can this be?[i]

The stories about angels and the miraculous conceptions of these two cousins are undoubtedly the makings for small town gossip and, I imagine, eye-rolling derisive humor, and people’s incredulity. If Jesus and John were supposed to be these bionic boys, why did they appear so normal and unspectacular, disappointing even? What would it have been like for these two cousins to grow up in each other’s shadows, most likely to live in close proximity, never finding their voices for almost 30 years, which is approaching old age in their own day?[ii] Their lives had been shrouded with such mystery, and speculation, and derision about their iden­tities and their destinies. Neither of them married. Neither of them was all-that-special, really, at least for men who were supposed to become so great. What did they know about each other? What did they think about each other? How did they talk to one another? We don’t know.

All we do know is that at some point John left home and headed into the wilderness. He begins living out his destiny in his own rather eccentric way. He preaches eloquently about repentance. Now he draws the crowds. He officiates in cleansing baptisms in the Jordan River for multitudes of people who come to confess their sins. John was living into his destiny, preparing the way for the Messiah. But the unimaginable happens. This one particular day Jesus appears on the riverbank, asking John to baptize him alongside all the other sinners. Jesus’ arrival did not figure into John’s choreography. I can imagine this was something of an identity crisis for John. Either Jesus, who is John’s cousin,was the Messiah, or Jesus was not the Messiah after all. In my mind’s eye I can see John lunging after Jesus, seizing Jesus by the arm and marching him out into the water, far enough so they could be alone, where John says to Jesus, almost in desperation, “This is for sinners! What in the world are you doing here!?”

John does baptize Jesus. Immediately thereafter there is the sight of a dove and the sound of a voice from the heavens saying, “This is my well-beloved son.” Jesus sees this and hears this. Do John and the others see and hear this? We cannot be sure; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John remember this differently.[iii] Our Gospel appointed for today (from Mark) does not say that John and the others experienced miraculous dove and sound of the voice from heaven, but only that Jesus saw and heard this. Jesus leaves the riverbank and journeys on his own out into the desert. John labors on, baptizing, and, I imagine, wondering what Jesus is up to.

The early reports in the Gospels tell of Jesus’ returning to Nazareth, his home town, to teach the people. They were astounded. They asked themselves, “Where did this man get this wisdom and these deeds of power?  Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? …Where then did this man get all this?” which is not entirely a compliment.[iv] They were not all taken in by Jesus. Quite to the contrary. The Gospel account says that many actually took offence at Jesus. He reacts saying, “Prophets are not without honor… except in their own country and in their own house.”[v] So it seems, many who were close to Jesus did dishonor him. And many who were distant to him, who knew Jesus was from Nazareth, derided him, saying “What good can come out of Nazareth?”[vi]

According to the Gospel accounts in Matthew and Luke, even at the end of John’s life (when he was imprisoned, facing execution), John might not have been altogether sure that Jesus actually was the Messiah. John summons two of his own disciples. (John still has his own disciples!) John then sends his disciples to Jesus, telling Jesus that John had sent them. They are to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answers them, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”[vii] People did take offense at Jesus, even though the miracles did happen. Both John and Jesus die in ignominy: John was imprisoned then beheaded, and Jesus had a crescendo of followers, ultimately was abandoned, then crucified.

This is not nice bedtime reading. Both John and Jesus pay the ultimate price for being true to life destinies. All of us would want to be spared their type of suffering, yet we may find enormous help and hope in their life stories, in how our own life story overlaps theirs.

For so many people, perhaps you, it is so very challenging to figure out what your life is to be about. For many people, this remains a lifelong question. You may not discover your life’s meaning until old age, when you have the perspective of hindsight. Or you may have an answer in your earlier life, what your life is to be about… but then life continues to happen, for better or for worse. For reasons perhaps beyond your control you have to revise your life purpose and your sense of destiny. Along the way you might stumble or get lost:

Jesus knew what it was to be lost. In his adulthood, when Jesus finds his voice he teaches in parables. One of the recurring themes in Jesus’ parables is about being lost. I think Jesus’ parables are autobiographical. Clearly, they connected with a lot of people; however the source of inspiration for Jesus’ parables, including Jesus’ “lost” parables, was Jesus’ own life. It took Jesus, and it took his cousin John, so many, many years to live into their destinies, when they knew what their life was to be about, and how. And I think they both had to keep revising their life script because life kept happening.

The earliest followers of Jesus were not called “Christians.” They were called “followers of the way.”[viii] Jesus even takes this name himself when he says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”  “I am the way.”[ix]  Where did this notion of the “the way” come from?  Jesus certainly would have heard this phrase in readings from the prophets. His cousin John uses this language in his own preaching. He proclaims, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” What is this way? The Greek word for “the way” literally means “a road, a journey, a path.” Jesus is “the way,” and it moves along.

Jesus’ being “the way” may give you enormous help and hope as you try to keep finding your own way in life. Life is not going to be what you thought. Your life script will keep changing. And you will probably go through seasons of life where you are overwhelmed and feel lost: having lost your bearings, lost your direction, lost your meaning, maybe lost your hope.

The good news is in Jesus’ real presence. Jesus is God Emmanuel, God with us. And his presence is real: not imaginary, not hypothetical, but real, really connected with what is means to be fully human, facing the ever-changing kinds of things we face in life. That you face in life. Really present and in a real way to you.

Pray your heart out. Wherever you are, however you are in life, Jesus quite understands. Jesus is with you all the way: his real presence really present. Really. Pour out your heart… and then keep your ears open for a revelation. We also have the witness, the presence, the companionship of his wild-haired cousin, John the baptizer, who ultimately lived and died a convinced man: yes, Jesus, his cousin, is the Messiah: John’s Messiah and ours.

[i] A riff on John 3:9.

[ii] Conjecture is that the average life span in first-century Palestine was about 35 years.

[iii] Jesus’ baptism is remembered by Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22; John 1:32-34.

[iv] Matthew 13:53-16:20.

[v] Matthew 13:54-57.

[vi] John 1:43-51.

[vii] Luke 7:18-23: “The disciples of John reported all these things to him. So John summoned two of his disciples and sent them to the Lord to ask, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ When the men had come to him, they said, ‘John the Baptist has sent us to you to ask, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ Jesus had just then cured many people of diseases, plagues, and evil spirits, and had given sight to many who were blind. And he answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’”

Matthew 11:2-6: “When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’  Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’”

See also Acts 19:1-7, 18-25.

[viii] See Acts 9:1-2; 19:9, 23; 22:4; 24:14, 22.

[ix] John 14:6.

Br. Luke Ditewig

Matthew 2:14-21

Fiber, beads, pigment, wax, wood, copper, historic rosters and photos, digital image and database software. We Brothers played with these and more for a week of creativity. Diverse mediums for diverse persons, each in the image of our Divine Maker.

Matthew opens his telling of the good news with a genealogy notably including four courageous women: Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba. Their stories and that of sinful husbands Judah and David are scandalous. All four are foreigners. Jesus’ bloodline is not only Jewish but also Canaanite, Moabite, and Hittite. Jesus came for the world from the world.[i]

Wise men from the East, magi, foreign astrologers come to worship Jesus by what they have learned by studying stars, not scripture. As gentiles and astrologers, like the four women, they were outsiders, and Matthew tells their story as part of Good News. There are different ideas about the magi. Here’s one that catches my imagination. As in Matthew’s genealogy, one can mark Israel’s history by the low point of exile in Babylon. King Nebuchadnezzar conquered Jerusalem, destroyed the temple, took most of the city captive and moved them 900 miles away. Daniel was in a small group of exiles who served in the palace. One idea is Daniel learned astrology from magi and left a record with them about how to interpret a particular star, for which centuries later magi travelled those 900 miles to worship Jesus.[ii]

Grace amid captivity. Creative seed-sowing for expansive mission to diverse peoples. Grace amid scandal and sin. As Ray Bakke wrote, God came through a mixed-race family with a foreign welcome party, God in flesh for all humanity.[iii]  Jesus came and is for all of us, in the diversity and messiness of our stories. No one is beyond reach of God’s saving power.

Pay attention for surprising grace in unlikely people and places. Give thanks for courageous grandmothers and visiting wizards. Our Divine Maker uses all mediums to reveal expansive love.

[i] Ray Bakke (1997) A Theology as Big as the City. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, p125.

[ii] Raymond Bakke (1999) A Biblical Word for an Urban World: Messages from the 1999 World Mission Conference. Valley Forge, PA: Board of International Ministries, American Baptist Churches in the USA, p55.

[iii] Ibid, p54.

Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26

We find ourselves this Advent in a world that seems to be breaking down. A litany could encompass all ills and lands and peoples, and still feel incomplete. We find ourselves, this Advent, hurting, injured, crying out. Crying out for hope. Crying out for hope in God’s promise of healing.

The season of Advent layers time: past and future, memory and expectation, already and not yet. And God’s promise of healing is present in both layers. Part of Jesus’s ministry, as we hear in our Gospel today, was in curing every disease and every sickness. In the next chapter he will answer the messengers from John the Baptist by pointing to his own healing: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, [and] the dead are raised” (Mt 11:5).

This healing is also in the future—at the end of things: the time of the harvest, in Jesus’s words. The prophet Isaiah reports God’s promise that, after the day of judgment, the people of Zion will weep no more, and that the Lord will bind up the injuries of God’s people, and will heal their wounds.

So as we remember the first coming of our Savior, and we await his second, we also call to mind the healing that has already been and will yet be accomplished.

But this isn’t all. Another reality of Advent is that Jesus is here, already present among us, now. Present in Word and Sacrament, and present in the hearts of his people. Jesus is present in you, and me.

And I think this is vital because this means that God’s promise of healing is also present now. The Lord, the psalmist writes, “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds” (Ps 147:3); heals, not will heal. Jesus sends out the Twelve to cure the sick. We as Christ’s people, after our encounter with Christ in the eucharist, are sent forth to bear Christ to the world. Equipped and set out to be agents of healing.

What in your life is calling out for healing? How are you bearing Christ’s healing presence to your family, your community, the world—and yourself? How are you being Christ’s healing presence?

Amen.