Rev. Teri Peterson
MSG
Redecorating
Genesis 9.8-17, Mark 1.9-15
18 February 2018, Lent 1B, my last day
Genesis 9.8-17 (NRSV)
Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, ‘As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’ God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.’ God said to Noah, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.’
Mark 1.9-15 (NRSV)
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptised by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’
And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over the last few weeks, I have had to make a lot of decisions about things like paint colours and curtain fabrics and flooring materials. The manse I am moving in to tomorrow has been redecorated in anticipation of my arrival—and good thing, because at least one room had a bright orange feature wall that was definitely not going to work for me. Instead, where there was a bright orange wall, now there is a deep red one. And another room as a deep purple wall....and another a sapphire blue...and at the very top of the house is a sage green room. I very nearly have a rainbow spread throughout the house!
The crate containing the things I shipped from Chicago was delivered a few days ago, and it was a delight to see things again after nine months—especially the artwork that will hang on the walls, or stand on the shelves. I love all the pieces I’ve collected over the years—paintings on papyrus, from the time I spent living in Egypt; photographs of my mother as a child; icons I’ve collected from around the world; a poster from the musical Wicked, signed by the entire Chicago cast; an olive wood carving of the woman at the well; a watercolour I bought from a street side painter in Belgium; a reclaimed wood art piece given to me for my ordination. Every one has memories and emotions attached. I see them and I’m reminded of places and people and experiences.
I think that’s a part of what happened in the story we heard from the book of Genesis. It’s almost as if God redecorated the creation—and what hangs on the walls is there as a reminder, not just because it looks nice but because it calls to mind memory, emotion, and commitment.
Things in God’s creation had not gone particularly well...far worse than a bright orange wall, the world was filled with violence and greed and self-serving people. But after trying to get back to a clean slate, God realised that fighting violence with violence was never going to work—not for gods or humans. And so God makes a declaration:
I am setting up my covenant with you.
No conditions, no requirements. Just God acting, unilaterally, to re-create the world with something other than violence at the core.
And so God says, I am setting up my covenant with you...and with your descendants after you...and with every living creature. For all future generations.
Forever.
Everyone.
Everything.
This is an all-encompassing promise, from God to the world and all who live in it: God will not direct violence toward the world ever again.
And as a reminder, God redecorates. God takes the bow, and hangs it on the wall, facing away from the earth. From now on, we fight back with beauty, not with weapons.
Often I think we overlook the living creatures in this promise. It’s hard enough for us to allow God’s promise to be for people other than ourselves or those who look like us and worship like us...to be asked to include the rest of creation is often more than we can bear. Add in the idea that somehow we are supposed to believe that God chooses—even insists on—a nonviolent way, and we are called to follow in those footsteps, and that makes this story feel impossible.
Which is probably why we have so often turned it into a nice children’s story—because if we can domesticate it then perhaps it won’t ask so much of us.
But as we enter the season of Lent, a season of preparation, of turning our face to Jerusalem, of walking with Jesus toward the cross, I think it matters a great deal that we see this story in its starkest light: God has laid aside violence. Period. The weapon is unstrung and affixed to the wall, turned from an instrument of pain and death to an symbol of beauty and love. From this moment onward, God will call us to turn swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, to lay down the sword and take up the cross, to look on the rainbow and remember that violence can never work. God is the first to make this commitment—it is God who sets up the covenant, and God who keeps it, and who keeps us.
It is so easy to make God in our own image, insisting that God is violent or vengeful, that God requires blood and sacrifice. But here, right at the new beginning of all creation, we see that the opposite is true, and that we have so often worshipped something other than God. Rather than trusting that love is stronger, that grace is sufficient, we have trusted in the very weapons God himself laid down. We have believed God continued to use the violent way, when God very clearly said otherwise. And our society reaps the rewards of that idolatry, as children die in their classrooms, wars rage around the globe, the earth itself groans and cracks and dies by our hand, and our governments tell us we need to put more effort and resources into protecting our borders and fighting the bad guys than we do into healthcare and education and the arts.
And this promise is for you, for your children, and all who are far away, and for all future generations....and for every living creature, from the greatest to the smallest. God says “when I see the beauty I have painted in the clouds, I will remember”....will we remember? Will we look on the promise of God and not just believe, but live as if it is true, and as if we are made in God’s image, as if we are following the One whose cross and empty tomb are the proof that God’s love always wins?
In the psalm we sang a few minutes ago, we prayed for God to show us God’s ways, to teach us the path, to guide us in truth...of steadfast love. That is the true path, for God and for the people of God. It may be that when we see the way, we will find it harder than we imagined, because honestly the path of violence and exclusion is easier. But it will always require more blood, it will never leave us satisfied...because it is not God’s way. God’s way leads to life abundant, for all creation.
In this season of Lent, I invite you to make a practice of fighting back with beauty. Look at the rainbow, the painting, the icon, the sculpture, the sprouting plants, the moving clouds, the returning birds...whatever it is that draws your eye. Marvel at God’s redecorating, and allow yourself to be re-made, too. Look and be reminded that God hung up the weapon and turned it into art. Then go and do likewise.
May it be so. Amen.
Showing posts with label lent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lent. Show all posts
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Sunday, March 06, 2016
Actions Speak Louder--a sermon for Lent 4
Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
Actions Speak Louder
Mark 12.28-44
6 March 2016, Lent 4,
NL2-26
One of the scribes came near and heard them
disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked
him, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?’ Jesus answered, ‘The first is,
“Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the
Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your
mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbor
as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these.’ Then the
scribe said to him, ‘You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that “he is
one, and besides him there is no other”; and “to love him with all the heart,
and with all the understanding, and with all the strength”, and “to love one’s
neighbor as oneself”,—this is much more important than all whole
burnt-offerings and sacrifices.’ When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he
said to him, ‘You are not far from the kingdom of God.’ After that no one dared
to ask him any question.
While Jesus was teaching in the temple,
he said, ‘How can the scribes say that the Messiah is the son of David? David
himself, by the Holy Spirit, declared,
“The Lord said to my Lord,
‘Sit at my right hand,
until I put your enemies
under your feet.’ ”
David himself calls him Lord; so how can he be
his son?’ And the large crowd was listening to him with delight.
As he taught, he said, ‘Beware of the
scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect
in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places
of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance
say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.’
He sat down opposite the treasury, and
watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in
large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are
worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, ‘Truly I tell
you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the
treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out
of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.’
I’m sure most of us know
that due to a combination of factors, thousands of people in Flint, Michigan
have been drinking water contaminated with high levels of lead, and there
appears to be no timeline for when the water can be made safe again. In the
meantime, churches and schools and clubs and individuals across the state and
the country have been donating bottled water and filters, trying to help,
because many of the residents of Flint have no extra money to spend on those
things.
About an hour and a
half west of Flint is a prison. And last month, during a class at that prison,
a man stood up in front of 250 of his fellow prisoners and gave an impassioned
plea: would they give some money to help the people in Flint? Some of them come
from that city, or from cities like it. Some have family and friends there, or
can imagine something similar happening to their families. Would they help?
Most of the inmates
earn about $10 a month at their prison jobs, which they use to buy toiletries,
phone cards, and supplies at the prison commissary. Every single one of the 250
men at that meeting pledged to give at
least $3/month—30% of their income—to send water and filters to the people
affected by this crisis.[1]
At a prison in
Indiana, the men asked the chaplain if they could designate a Sunday offering
for the people of Flint, and at that service these people who earn $1.25 per
day doing laundry, working in the cafeteria, and producing materials for the
state, gave $2,000.[2]
Previously, they have given that amount also to dig a well in Mozambique, and
to help people in Haiti.
I couldn’t help but
think of today’s scripture reading, which takes place on the Tuesday of Holy Week,
Jesus’ last day out teaching in public in the city. Not only because of the
striking parallels with the ways we usually understand the story of the widow
who makes her tiny yet enormous offering, but also because these stories feel
like a picture of what it means to love your neighbor as yourself, from an
unlikely—we might say upside down—perspective.
When the scribe asks
Jesus his question, it seems sincere. There’s no hint here of a trick question
or an attempt to trap Jesus—there’s a man genuinely interested in the answer. Which
commandment, of the 613 in the Torah, is most important? And Jesus answers
without missing a beat, quoting Deuteronomy 6 and Leviticus 19 together, and
telling us that these two commands, to love God and love our neighbor, are the
lens through which we should interpret all the other commandments and stories. If
we are reading scripture or our traditions in a way that do not lead us to
increased love of God and love of our neighbor, then we are not reading
correctly—because it is on these two commandments that all the others depend.
Therefore it is not optional for us to practice loving God and loving our
neighbors—or even loving God by
loving our neighbors.
As if to illustrate
his point, a widow enters the Temple courts. Widows were among the most
vulnerable people in the society—in a time when women had no legal standing, a
woman with no husband to take care of her, protect her, or look out for her
interests was dependent on the kindness and care of others. Scripture is
bursting with commandments, exhortation, and admonishments to take care of the
widow, the orphan, and the immigrant. The three are almost always grouped
together as a kind of shorthand for “those on the margins, those easily taken
advantage of, those in need.”
And into the Temple
courts comes a widow who has only 2 small coins. Those two coins were worth
about a sixtieth of a laborer’s daily wage, and they are all she has.
How does this happen?
In a society where
caring for widows is a crucial part of the religious and cultural fabric, how
does the widow become so impoverished?
The scribes, the legal
experts, who could read and write, were charged with handling contracts and
financial matters. They may have been dishonest in their dealings, especially
with those who wouldn’t have anyone else to advocate for them. Jesus accuses
them of devouring widows houses…perhaps they used their position to line their
own pockets and improve their own position at the expense of others.
But there’s a lot of
money going into that treasury. People put in large sums, and still had plenty
left. Where was that money going? It certainly wasn’t going to support the
widow, the orphan, and the immigrant. In fact, the one who should be cared for
by this system still had to give to it, even though it was apparently unjust.
We usually think of
the widow as a model for generosity—though it is the kind of generosity we
rarely aspire to, since most of us have no plans to give everything we have.
But what if instead the widow is an indictment of the whole social, cultural,
and religious system? The scribe asked an earnest question and received an
honest answer. The exchange between Jesus and the scribe is theological education
at its best.
But if our theology
ends when the question is answered, we have a serious problem.
Love God with all your
heart, soul, mind, and strength—with every fiber of your being, with everything
you are and everything you have and everything you know. Not just feel love,
but love, the verb, the action.
We know that we love
because God first loved us—breathing us into being, holding us in the palm of
God’s hand, knitting us together and calling us into community, healing us and
sustaining us. We have experienced God’s love, so we can love God.
The neighbor is
trickier. Our neighbor may not love us first, or in return, or ever. Our
neighbor may be difficult, or annoying, or dangerous, or different. And
yet—because God loved us first, we love our neighbor as we do ourselves. We
don’t have to feel love for them, but
we do have to love them—to act in loving ways towards others, to desire the
best for them, to work together for their good as much as for our own.
Notice Jesus didn’t
put any qualifiers on neighbor. Love your neighbor as yourself, period. Not
“love your neighbor unless they’re muslim, or gay, or black, or poor, or a
prisoner.” Just love your neighbor as yourself. And not “love your neighbor in
your heart but feel free to mock them, call them names, push them around, use
derogatory language about them, and hurt them with your words and your
actions.” Love your neighbor as yourself. If the way we are treating people in
our world right now is a reflection of how we love ourselves, we have a big
problem. If it isn’t, but we still do it to others, we have a bigger problem.
Our theology is no
good if it ends with the words. Love is more than that. All the “I love yous”
in the world are meaningless if our actions say something else. All our long
prayers praising God go unheard as long as the poor widow is in our midst putting
in all she has while we look on in admiration but with no intention of
alleviating her poverty. All the best seats in the house will show us nothing
if our love stays locked away in our feelings and never makes an appearance in
our public discourse, our relationships, our spending habits, our giving, our
approach to solving problems. Actions speak louder.
I certainly hope God’s
love goes beyond warm fuzzy feelings and pretty words—which means that if we
are to love as we have been loved, ours must go beyond as well, until we see
the poor widow as our neighbor, the people of Flint as our neighbors, the
prisoners as our neighbors, the people on the other side of the partisan
spectrum as our neighbors…and then we act like it. When we start treating each
other with love, we will turn the world upside down.
May it be so.
Amen.
Thursday, March 06, 2014
obstacles
Last fall, we had a day we called "worship through service" (instead of a "worship service"). During the regular church time, we sent the whole congregation out to different places in the community to do some work that couldn't be done during normal business hours. We cleaned up landscaping at the school next door, cleaned the food pantry, painted the women's shelter thrift store, packed emergency kits, prepared the homeless shelter for the coming season. It was an amazing day.
At the end of the day, I brought home my painting supplies and put them in a place where I knew I'd have to deal with them soon. They were in my way, and I couldn't ignore them, but I was so tired I just couldn't deal with sorting and putting them away right then.
So I left them in the doorway, where I'd be forced to step over/around them every time I went in or out of the garage, so I'd remember to put the stuff away soon.
You know where this is going already.
The box sat there for a week...then two. Eventually I started thinking "this is going to make a great blog post one day" so I snapped a photo, then moved the box out of the way. It's still right where I left it down there, but now behind that recycling bin you can see in the pic, so at least I can walk through the door unimpeded.
The box was annoying, it was in my way. It was a constant reminder that I wasn't doing everything I thought I could do--whenever I'd need to pass by, my hands would be full or I'd be in a hurry, and I'd think "I'll deal with that later" as I stepped over and carefully nudged the door open.
At some point, the stuff needs to be dealt with. If we leave it where it is, one day we'll trip. But just moving it to the side and ignoring its existence isn't a long-term solution either.
Pretty sure that's a life lesson, right there. A Lent lesson, even.
There's something in here about letting go. And something about facing up to the stuff I'd rather ignore. And something about brushing things aside or sweeping them under the rug, and how dangerous that is in the long term. And something about priorities and busy-ness and full hands.
Mostly, right now, I'm wondering what's in the box currently sitting (metaphorically) in my way, waiting for me to deal with it?
What's in the box metaphorically blocking your doorway?
At the end of the day, I brought home my painting supplies and put them in a place where I knew I'd have to deal with them soon. They were in my way, and I couldn't ignore them, but I was so tired I just couldn't deal with sorting and putting them away right then.
So I left them in the doorway, where I'd be forced to step over/around them every time I went in or out of the garage, so I'd remember to put the stuff away soon.
You know where this is going already.
The box sat there for a week...then two. Eventually I started thinking "this is going to make a great blog post one day" so I snapped a photo, then moved the box out of the way. It's still right where I left it down there, but now behind that recycling bin you can see in the pic, so at least I can walk through the door unimpeded.
The box was annoying, it was in my way. It was a constant reminder that I wasn't doing everything I thought I could do--whenever I'd need to pass by, my hands would be full or I'd be in a hurry, and I'd think "I'll deal with that later" as I stepped over and carefully nudged the door open.
At some point, the stuff needs to be dealt with. If we leave it where it is, one day we'll trip. But just moving it to the side and ignoring its existence isn't a long-term solution either.
Pretty sure that's a life lesson, right there. A Lent lesson, even.
There's something in here about letting go. And something about facing up to the stuff I'd rather ignore. And something about brushing things aside or sweeping them under the rug, and how dangerous that is in the long term. And something about priorities and busy-ness and full hands.
Mostly, right now, I'm wondering what's in the box currently sitting (metaphorically) in my way, waiting for me to deal with it?
What's in the box metaphorically blocking your doorway?
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Roots
It's so intriguing that the word for the last day of lent is also the wot that has been my church's focus for the season. We have spent the season thinking about what it means to be rooted in love so we can grow in faith. The cross has, slowly each week, transformed into the tree of life. We have deepened our roots through spiritual practices. We have gotten more grounded, in the hopes that we might live lives worthy o our calling, bearing fruit. And now on day 40, photo a day asks for roots. We have those.
day 40!
far
I wanted to take a picture of the moon tonight. Not only because it's far far away, but also because it was incredibly gorgeous--sort of like a harvest moon, it's just a day or two past full, orange and heavy in the sky. When I saw it, it was hugging the horizon as if it didn't quite want to let go and rise all the way. Seriously, beautiful.
I don't know if you've ever tried to take a picture of the moon with your iPhone, but let's just say: it's too far away for that.
And there was actually a split second when I wondered if there was someplace I could drive to get a better picture...you know, closer.
umm, no. You cannot drive closer to the moon.
Now the moon is rising--I catch glimpses through the trees outside my house--and it is no longer orange, no longer strangely large. It's normal sized and normal white now.
But for a while, it was huge, and burnt orange, and amazing.
and it's Good Friday today, and I'm sure there's a metaphor there somewhere, about seeing something and not being able to get closer, but wanting to hold on to it anyway...
day 39 of Lent photo-a-day...in use-your-imagination format.
I don't know if you've ever tried to take a picture of the moon with your iPhone, but let's just say: it's too far away for that.
And there was actually a split second when I wondered if there was someplace I could drive to get a better picture...you know, closer.
umm, no. You cannot drive closer to the moon.
Now the moon is rising--I catch glimpses through the trees outside my house--and it is no longer orange, no longer strangely large. It's normal sized and normal white now.
But for a while, it was huge, and burnt orange, and amazing.
and it's Good Friday today, and I'm sure there's a metaphor there somewhere, about seeing something and not being able to get closer, but wanting to hold on to it anyway...
day 39 of Lent photo-a-day...in use-your-imagination format.
Friday, March 29, 2013
cup
In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a terrible day.
But in the details of life, it kind of was.
I'd been looking forward to one particular aspect of the day...a food aspect. I spent the whole week anticipating how good it would be, ready for that one taste and texture combination that would take me back to another place, another time.
I was ready.
It was not.
I figured the special would sell out, so I got there early.
Too early.
I couldn't wait...I work 45 minutes away from this restaurant, after all, and I had other things on the day's agenda. So I had to let go of the dream, the anticipation, the setting of the taste buds, and hope for another day instead.
I cried in my car as I drove away.
Yes, it's possible that was really about something else, but seriously, in the moment it was all about the food, or lack thereof.
The day could only go up from there, really. And it did. There were many good things about the day, some of which were not overshadowed by my intense lunch disappointment.
And on a day like today, all you can really do is drink your glass of wine from a nice safe cup--the kind of cup that doesn't tip over when you balance it on the arm of the couch (so you don't have to reach for it while you cuddle up in the blankets with a book). The kind of cup that isn't susceptible to the vibrations of the always-in-motion cat. The kind of cup that's solid and predictable and in no way disappointing.
But in the details of life, it kind of was.
I'd been looking forward to one particular aspect of the day...a food aspect. I spent the whole week anticipating how good it would be, ready for that one taste and texture combination that would take me back to another place, another time.
I was ready.
It was not.
I figured the special would sell out, so I got there early.
Too early.
I couldn't wait...I work 45 minutes away from this restaurant, after all, and I had other things on the day's agenda. So I had to let go of the dream, the anticipation, the setting of the taste buds, and hope for another day instead.
I cried in my car as I drove away.
Yes, it's possible that was really about something else, but seriously, in the moment it was all about the food, or lack thereof.
The day could only go up from there, really. And it did. There were many good things about the day, some of which were not overshadowed by my intense lunch disappointment.
And on a day like today, all you can really do is drink your glass of wine from a nice safe cup--the kind of cup that doesn't tip over when you balance it on the arm of the couch (so you don't have to reach for it while you cuddle up in the blankets with a book). The kind of cup that isn't susceptible to the vibrations of the always-in-motion cat. The kind of cup that's solid and predictable and in no way disappointing.
day 38 of Lent photo a day...Maundy Thursday
Thursday, March 28, 2013
help
She's helping, can't you tell?
helping me get off the couch and...work out, cook, clean, read...
helping me write a sermon for sunday, prayers for liturgy link, and to edit a meditation for tomorrow...
....
or, you know, helping me take a rest from the strangely pervasive idea that I can do everything.
Being pinned to the couch isn't all bad, especially when it comes via a furry purry friend.
She's a big help.
helping me get off the couch and...work out, cook, clean, read...
helping me write a sermon for sunday, prayers for liturgy link, and to edit a meditation for tomorrow...
....
or, you know, helping me take a rest from the strangely pervasive idea that I can do everything.
Being pinned to the couch isn't all bad, especially when it comes via a furry purry friend.
She's a big help.
day 37 of lent photo a day...what on earth am I going to blog about next week??
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
light
Winter in the upper midwest is dark.
Spring is not supposed to be, and we do have that whole Daylight Saving business (and I'll admit it's nice that it's light out when I leave work), but it this year it's been pretty cloudy-dark too. You know, what with all the snow that keeps falling all the freaking time.
But today as I was driving home, light broke through. And it was glorious! By the time I got home it was full-on sunny. At one point in the drive I was wishing for the ability to take photos and drive at the same time because there were totally god-rays coming down over a little pond....
And now I'm looking at a beautiful full moon out my window--so bright and clear it's lighting the night.
day 36 of Lent photo a day
Spring is not supposed to be, and we do have that whole Daylight Saving business (and I'll admit it's nice that it's light out when I leave work), but it this year it's been pretty cloudy-dark too. You know, what with all the snow that keeps falling all the freaking time.
But today as I was driving home, light broke through. And it was glorious! By the time I got home it was full-on sunny. At one point in the drive I was wishing for the ability to take photos and drive at the same time because there were totally god-rays coming down over a little pond....
And now I'm looking at a beautiful full moon out my window--so bright and clear it's lighting the night.
 |
| I got to drive toward the sunshine. aaaaaah...nice. |
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
rejoice
It's a little weird to see the word "rejoice" come up before Easter, but there you go. Here at the beginning of Holy Week, what causes you to rejoice?
My church and I have been making lists of things we're grateful for--every day last week, and some of us have continued the practice this week. That's a reason to rejoice, but one that's hard to capture in a photo!
I was tidying up my house a little because tomorrow morning my Domestic Goddess (who is a SERIOUS reason to rejoice!) will arrive very early to clean up after my craziness. I turned around and spied these alabaster beauties on the shelf, and remembered a beautiful day spent with wonderful people. We rejoiced greatly that day, and I rejoice remembering them. (if this was facebook, I would tag them...instead, you'll just have to know who you are, Karla/David/kids/Jennifer/Sarah!)
These also remind me to hold my Egyptian friends in prayer--they could use some rejoicing, some of the new life Easter promises, some of the beauty held in this bowl.
My church and I have been making lists of things we're grateful for--every day last week, and some of us have continued the practice this week. That's a reason to rejoice, but one that's hard to capture in a photo!
I was tidying up my house a little because tomorrow morning my Domestic Goddess (who is a SERIOUS reason to rejoice!) will arrive very early to clean up after my craziness. I turned around and spied these alabaster beauties on the shelf, and remembered a beautiful day spent with wonderful people. We rejoiced greatly that day, and I rejoice remembering them. (if this was facebook, I would tag them...instead, you'll just have to know who you are, Karla/David/kids/Jennifer/Sarah!)
These also remind me to hold my Egyptian friends in prayer--they could use some rejoicing, some of the new life Easter promises, some of the beauty held in this bowl.
day 35 of Lent photo a day
Monday, March 25, 2013
blessed
This is my pantry.
Even when I think I have nothing to eat and I'm starving, the reality is quite the opposite. I mean, how much more opposite could it be? I'm blessed to have a packed pantry and the skill to turn it into something delicious. Since scripture says we are blessed to be a blessing, that probably means I should cook for more than just me, more often!
Even when I think I have nothing to eat and I'm starving, the reality is quite the opposite. I mean, how much more opposite could it be? I'm blessed to have a packed pantry and the skill to turn it into something delicious. Since scripture says we are blessed to be a blessing, that probably means I should cook for more than just me, more often!
5th Sunday in Lent photo a day
Sunday, March 24, 2013
restore
There's nothing quite like the scent of lavender. I love it. It's so relaxing yet rejuvenating. Lately I've been just dabbing a little on the back of my neck, so I catch a little of the scent throughout the day (and it gets rubbed off on my scarf, too, making winter slightly more bearable as it drags on and on and on...). When I go to my favorite spa, I always beg them not to make me take the "scent-sory" journey--I just want lavender. It restores my soul.
day 34 of Lent photo a day.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Cheerleaders and Naysayers--a sermon for Palm Sunday
Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
Cheerleaders and Naysayers
Luke 19.28-40
24 March 2013, Palm Sunday C
After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
~~~
Many of us have spent this past week trying to see the world through different lenses—trying to see what God is doing in our midst. The prophet asked us “do you not perceive it?” and sometimes our answer has been “no”—but we keep trying. We’ve made lists of things for which we are grateful, we’ve tried to keep our eyes open to new things, we’ve prayed for open hearts and open minds. We’ve met together in parishes and as leadership teams, and looked intently at our church and our world trying to see what God sees.
And now we come to this day, to a procession that looks to us for all the world like a parade of joy and excitement, the beginning of something big. Even though we know how this story is going to turn out, we find ourselves lining the streets of Jerusalem, waving branches and cheering like children, shouting for Jesus to finally become the king we’ve always wanted. Come in! Take over! Make life better!
In Jesus’ day, the Messiah was expected to be a warrior king, who would use his power to oust the Romans and restore the rightful way of things. He would cleanse the nation of corruption and set them back on the right track. He would be the one who took the country back.
But even as Jesus rides into Jerusalem on his colt, Pilate, symbol of all that is wrong with the world, accompanied by a legion of the formidable Roman army, comes sweeping into the city, ready to keep the peace for Passover—by any means necessary. When the most powerful military in the world takes up residence in your city, it’s probably a bad time to stage a protest that involves words like “king” and “peace.” Or it’s a very good time, depending on your perspective.
And, as we learned last week, it’s all about perspective!
There are of course plenty of cheerleaders in this crowd following Jesus. Luke tells us there’s a multitude of disciples—so probably not just 12, but a bunch. It’s likely the women who’ve been so faithful throughout Jesus’ ministry were there, and probably some townspeople, and who knows how many others. Seeing a man riding a colt would likely bring people out of their houses too, if for nothing else than the sheer novelty factor. Of course, novelty wears off fast when you recognize the symbolism that’s in front of you.
Since every Jewish boy learns the scriptures backward and forward, seeing a rabbi on the back of a donkey, with people shouting “Hosanna!” or “king!” or “peace!” all around him would instantly call up the prophets. Make no mistake: this is a carefully planned event on Jesus’ part. He’s staging a protest and wants to make sure everyone understands what is happening: that he is proclaiming himself to be the fulfillment of the scriptures, in opposition to the parade of powers on the other side of the city—all without ever saying a word himself.
No wonder there are so many cheerleaders in the crowd.
And no wonder the naysayers came out of the woodwork so fast.
The Pharisees, and others with a lot invested in the status quo, got the message right away. Their ability to maintain their power depends on their ability to stay in bed with the Roman governor and his puppet king, so they’re not amused by this display. “Tell them to be quiet!” they ask Jesus. Or maybe they even order him. Or maybe they plead. “Teacher—order them to stop!!” It’s dangerous enough to be a part of a crowd these days, but to be part of a crowd openly committing treason is a whole new level of danger. This kind of parade could bring the sword of Rome down on the whole population, not just those involved in it.
But Jesus knows there’s no stopping this news. Even if the disciples would shush, the very stones of the city would pick up their cry for justice, for peace, for righteousness, for hope.
And here is where the story’s deep irony becomes apparent. Because we know what is coming. We know that in just a few days, the disciples will in fact stop their praising and fall silent. Both the cheerleaders and the naysayers will disappear, leaving the One who called them to face the powers of this world by himself.
The way that violence works is, in part, by silencing. That was never more true than in the act of crucifixion—a torture designed to be so shameful that the one facing it would be left to decompose and his family would never speak of him again. Crosses lined the roads of the Roman Empire, testament to the power of violence.
But Jesus refuses to give violence that power. Even if everyone else’s voice is cut off, God’s will still speak—through stones if necessary. And on Friday, when this story comes to what seems to be an end, Jesus will not suffer silently. He won’t be a Messiah who breaks the power of the Empire with a sword—he will be a Messiah who breaks the power of the empire with a Word.
He will speak from the cross, reminding those who witness its horrors that he is a human being, beloved of God, not an object to be cast aside. It is so easy for us to dehumanize others, even Jesus, to make them into things we can play with or break or idolize—but Jesus refuses to be an object, no matter how convenient it might be for us.
Jesus will speak from the cross, insisting that those who use violence do not understand what they are doing—because this time it won’t work. It will be different. The powers of this world can never win, because we insist on using flawed tools. And we deceive ourselves if we insist that we would never do this. The reality is that we are constantly complicit in a system that would be just as quick to torture and kill the Son of God today as it was 2,000 years ago, because we continue to believe that violence can save us—or even, that violence has saved us. We continue to believe that our way is better than God’s way. We continue to believe that loving our enemies is impossible, that God belongs in the church building and nowhere else, that the goal of life is to have the most, no matter the cost.
Jesus will speak from the cross, forgiving the people even as he condemns the horror. Though even his cheerleaders will be nowhere to be found and his naysayers will be congratulating themselves at a distance—still we, who are both, will hear those words and wonder about God’s new thing.
And when there’s nothing left, Jesus will speak from the cross, proclaiming that God’s love has the final word…and when even he falls silent, the stones will cry out, shaking and breaking and waving their own branches and making the point: there is no stopping God.
We stand on the cusp of the Holiest of weeks. This is one of the few times when we so blatantly remind ourselves that the line between good and evil, between cheerleader and naysayer, between disciple and Pharisee, runs right down the center of every human heart. And ultimately, we all fall silent, because Jesus did not call us to be cheerleaders or naysayers, but disciples who live and speak good news in the midst of the world, ambassadors for God’s kingdom.
May the stones pick up the song until we can sing it again.
Amen.
PCOP
Cheerleaders and Naysayers
Luke 19.28-40
24 March 2013, Palm Sunday C
After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
~~~
Many of us have spent this past week trying to see the world through different lenses—trying to see what God is doing in our midst. The prophet asked us “do you not perceive it?” and sometimes our answer has been “no”—but we keep trying. We’ve made lists of things for which we are grateful, we’ve tried to keep our eyes open to new things, we’ve prayed for open hearts and open minds. We’ve met together in parishes and as leadership teams, and looked intently at our church and our world trying to see what God sees.
And now we come to this day, to a procession that looks to us for all the world like a parade of joy and excitement, the beginning of something big. Even though we know how this story is going to turn out, we find ourselves lining the streets of Jerusalem, waving branches and cheering like children, shouting for Jesus to finally become the king we’ve always wanted. Come in! Take over! Make life better!
In Jesus’ day, the Messiah was expected to be a warrior king, who would use his power to oust the Romans and restore the rightful way of things. He would cleanse the nation of corruption and set them back on the right track. He would be the one who took the country back.
But even as Jesus rides into Jerusalem on his colt, Pilate, symbol of all that is wrong with the world, accompanied by a legion of the formidable Roman army, comes sweeping into the city, ready to keep the peace for Passover—by any means necessary. When the most powerful military in the world takes up residence in your city, it’s probably a bad time to stage a protest that involves words like “king” and “peace.” Or it’s a very good time, depending on your perspective.
And, as we learned last week, it’s all about perspective!
There are of course plenty of cheerleaders in this crowd following Jesus. Luke tells us there’s a multitude of disciples—so probably not just 12, but a bunch. It’s likely the women who’ve been so faithful throughout Jesus’ ministry were there, and probably some townspeople, and who knows how many others. Seeing a man riding a colt would likely bring people out of their houses too, if for nothing else than the sheer novelty factor. Of course, novelty wears off fast when you recognize the symbolism that’s in front of you.
Since every Jewish boy learns the scriptures backward and forward, seeing a rabbi on the back of a donkey, with people shouting “Hosanna!” or “king!” or “peace!” all around him would instantly call up the prophets. Make no mistake: this is a carefully planned event on Jesus’ part. He’s staging a protest and wants to make sure everyone understands what is happening: that he is proclaiming himself to be the fulfillment of the scriptures, in opposition to the parade of powers on the other side of the city—all without ever saying a word himself.
No wonder there are so many cheerleaders in the crowd.
And no wonder the naysayers came out of the woodwork so fast.
The Pharisees, and others with a lot invested in the status quo, got the message right away. Their ability to maintain their power depends on their ability to stay in bed with the Roman governor and his puppet king, so they’re not amused by this display. “Tell them to be quiet!” they ask Jesus. Or maybe they even order him. Or maybe they plead. “Teacher—order them to stop!!” It’s dangerous enough to be a part of a crowd these days, but to be part of a crowd openly committing treason is a whole new level of danger. This kind of parade could bring the sword of Rome down on the whole population, not just those involved in it.
But Jesus knows there’s no stopping this news. Even if the disciples would shush, the very stones of the city would pick up their cry for justice, for peace, for righteousness, for hope.
And here is where the story’s deep irony becomes apparent. Because we know what is coming. We know that in just a few days, the disciples will in fact stop their praising and fall silent. Both the cheerleaders and the naysayers will disappear, leaving the One who called them to face the powers of this world by himself.
The way that violence works is, in part, by silencing. That was never more true than in the act of crucifixion—a torture designed to be so shameful that the one facing it would be left to decompose and his family would never speak of him again. Crosses lined the roads of the Roman Empire, testament to the power of violence.
But Jesus refuses to give violence that power. Even if everyone else’s voice is cut off, God’s will still speak—through stones if necessary. And on Friday, when this story comes to what seems to be an end, Jesus will not suffer silently. He won’t be a Messiah who breaks the power of the Empire with a sword—he will be a Messiah who breaks the power of the empire with a Word.
He will speak from the cross, reminding those who witness its horrors that he is a human being, beloved of God, not an object to be cast aside. It is so easy for us to dehumanize others, even Jesus, to make them into things we can play with or break or idolize—but Jesus refuses to be an object, no matter how convenient it might be for us.
Jesus will speak from the cross, insisting that those who use violence do not understand what they are doing—because this time it won’t work. It will be different. The powers of this world can never win, because we insist on using flawed tools. And we deceive ourselves if we insist that we would never do this. The reality is that we are constantly complicit in a system that would be just as quick to torture and kill the Son of God today as it was 2,000 years ago, because we continue to believe that violence can save us—or even, that violence has saved us. We continue to believe that our way is better than God’s way. We continue to believe that loving our enemies is impossible, that God belongs in the church building and nowhere else, that the goal of life is to have the most, no matter the cost.
Jesus will speak from the cross, forgiving the people even as he condemns the horror. Though even his cheerleaders will be nowhere to be found and his naysayers will be congratulating themselves at a distance—still we, who are both, will hear those words and wonder about God’s new thing.
And when there’s nothing left, Jesus will speak from the cross, proclaiming that God’s love has the final word…and when even he falls silent, the stones will cry out, shaking and breaking and waving their own branches and making the point: there is no stopping God.
We stand on the cusp of the Holiest of weeks. This is one of the few times when we so blatantly remind ourselves that the line between good and evil, between cheerleader and naysayer, between disciple and Pharisee, runs right down the center of every human heart. And ultimately, we all fall silent, because Jesus did not call us to be cheerleaders or naysayers, but disciples who live and speak good news in the midst of the world, ambassadors for God’s kingdom.
May the stones pick up the song until we can sing it again.
Amen.
alone
I may live alone, but my dad still takes care of me, especially at the holidays. He sends me a Christmas stocking, a valentine package, and an Easter basket! This year's Easter basket is pared down to just the good stuff (and the requisite package of purple peeps, for tradition's sake!).
Yes, I can eat those by myself. Don't worry. :-)
Thanks dad!
Yes, I can eat those by myself. Don't worry. :-)
Thanks dad!
day 33 of Lent photo a day
Friday, March 22, 2013
home
just inside the door...i'm home.
home is where you can get comfy--kick your shoes off, wear fuzzy socks, curl up on the couch, and relax. And, like most midwestern homes, shoes come off at the front door. Not only because it's comfier but also because my carpets don't need any help getting dirty. :-)
day 32 of Lent photo a day
home is where you can get comfy--kick your shoes off, wear fuzzy socks, curl up on the couch, and relax. And, like most midwestern homes, shoes come off at the front door. Not only because it's comfier but also because my carpets don't need any help getting dirty. :-)
 |
| you can see that my house cleaner has been here, because most of the out-of-season shoes are hiding in the closet, and there's some semblance of order here... |
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Beloved
I thought about reposting yesterday's pic because it included my beloved Fred, who has been sleeping with me for decades, on several continents. But I decided on a living breathing beloved, who also sleeps with me but is much furrier.
Ollie's favorite position is on my shoulder--she loves to be held, purring in my ear. She also sleeps on my shoulder fairly frequently. She's adorable and lovable and cuddly and wonderful, and she loves me right back.
Ollie's favorite position is on my shoulder--she loves to be held, purring in my ear. She also sleeps on my shoulder fairly frequently. She's adorable and lovable and cuddly and wonderful, and she loves me right back.
day 31 of lent photo-a-day
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
dream
My most accessible happy place...
I have lots of dreams. Sometimes they are memorable, other times not. Sometimes they are anxiety dreams, sometimes they are interesting, sometimes they are super obvious (thanks for a not-subtle subconscious!), sometimes they are multi-sensory, sometimes they wake me up. Other times they last only until I open my eyes and then they're gone, winging their way to the ether of my brain.
I also dream on this pillow while I'm awake but refusing to leave the comfort of the bed. I dream of what the world could be like. I dream of the future of the church. I dream of having cats that don't tell me they want fresh food by licking my forehead.
(day 30 of lent photo a day!)
I have lots of dreams. Sometimes they are memorable, other times not. Sometimes they are anxiety dreams, sometimes they are interesting, sometimes they are super obvious (thanks for a not-subtle subconscious!), sometimes they are multi-sensory, sometimes they wake me up. Other times they last only until I open my eyes and then they're gone, winging their way to the ether of my brain.
I also dream on this pillow while I'm awake but refusing to leave the comfort of the bed. I dream of what the world could be like. I dream of the future of the church. I dream of having cats that don't tell me they want fresh food by licking my forehead.
(day 30 of lent photo a day!)
Monday, March 18, 2013
rise
When they're ready, they rise to the top.
YUM.
I really love food. Good food is a joy and wonder in life. Of course, I'm also aware that I've gained weight during my stressful last few years, and I'd like to reverse that situation, so I'm paying attention to what I eat a little more than I have recently. I still eat what I like, and I still cook what I want, so I'm both watching how much I eat and being more intentional about skipping that stuff that's not that good anyway, it just fills you up in the right moment (aka, fast food--which I'm not eating for Lent anyway!). May the good stuff rise to the top and the not-worth-it-stuff fall away.
day 29 of Lent photo a day (the count doesn't include Sundays!)
YUM.
I really love food. Good food is a joy and wonder in life. Of course, I'm also aware that I've gained weight during my stressful last few years, and I'd like to reverse that situation, so I'm paying attention to what I eat a little more than I have recently. I still eat what I like, and I still cook what I want, so I'm both watching how much I eat and being more intentional about skipping that stuff that's not that good anyway, it just fills you up in the right moment (aka, fast food--which I'm not eating for Lent anyway!). May the good stuff rise to the top and the not-worth-it-stuff fall away.
 |
| portobello ravioli...yum. |
new
last week I got a box from dad, and it has all kinds of new-to-me cookbooks from mom. I'm not really a baker, but who knows, I might just try something new. (and if not, I might be willing to turn them into new-to-YOU cookbooks!)
New recipes, new life for books off the shelf, new pictures to look at (and these are some gorgeous cookbooks, let me tell you!), new opportunities to try things out...
New recipes, new life for books off the shelf, new pictures to look at (and these are some gorgeous cookbooks, let me tell you!), new opportunities to try things out...
Fifth Sunday in Lent photo-a-day (when the lectionary text was "behold, I am doing a new thing--now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" perhaps a sign related to dough rising and becoming springy.)
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Godvision--a sermon for Lent 5C
Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
Godvision
Isaiah 43.16-21, John 12.1-8
17 March 2013, Lent 5C
Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.
…
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
~~~~~~~
Has anyone here ever used the phrase “no pain, no gain”? It’s not one of my favorites, but it sort of sums up why we needed last week’s practice—to look honestly at how we spend our time, energy, and money, and ask whether that spending reflects the gospel and our calling as followers of Jesus. It’s all part of digging around the roots and making room for fertilizer to reach in. What was that experience like?
Last week the prophet Isaiah asked us “why do you spend your money for that which is not bread?” and called us to listen, that we may live. Part of that assessment is about clearing out the things that keep God’s love from entering our root system and bearing fruit on our tree of life. So now that we’ve made that assessment, the prophet calls us to leave the old behind and prepare for the new. In fact, he says, even now this new thing is happening. Even now—at this very moment, God is doing a new thing, right here in our midst and in the world around us.
Do we perceive it?
Perception is a funny thing. What we see, and how we interpret what we see, makes a huge difference in how we respond. For instance, at my very first horseback riding lesson, another person came in just to pet his horse. He stood cheek to cheek with the horse, cooing, and he called it his therapy. Meanwhile, I was standing five feet away from the horse I was supposed to be brushing, crying in fear. He saw happiness, I saw 1600 pounds of danger. That difference in perception changed how we acted toward the same animal.
There is a little three-leafed plant that covers the ground and is a nuisance in our beautiful grass lawns. But in that same little nuisance, St. Patrick saw the presence of God—the Trinity laid out for all to see, covering the ground with reminders of who God is.
One of my friends was out hiking one day and saw a bear in the distance. He froze, trying to decide whether to keep going or wait. After a few minutes he decided he had to keep walking or else stay on the trail forever, and soon discovered that the bear was actually an enormous rock. His perception was a little off, and he had to make a choice about how to respond.
I suspect many of us have had these experiences, seeing a shadow and interpreting it to be something much scarier than it really is. We know this is a common problem when it comes to seeing people—when we see people who look different from us, for example people of different skin colors or different body types or different fashion senses, we make assumptions about them. We may lock our doors as we drive through their neighborhoods, or assume they’re armed even if we have no evidence, or believe we know their morals or their sexuality or their line of work based only on what they wear and how they carry themselves. We live in a world where teenage boys with dark skin have to be taught never to run outdoors and teenage girls believe their self-worth comes from the size of their body.
Perception matters. Sometimes it life-or-death matters.
We have probably all also had the experience of change to familiar routines or spaces—when road construction forces a detour from our regular commute, or the preacher stands in a different place, or our favorite restaurant changes the menu. When change comes, what do we see? Do we see opportunity to experience a wider taste of life, to expand our worldview, to explore? Or do we clam up with fear and frustration? Maybe somewhere in between, depending on the situation! Perception matters.
What do we see, and how do we interpret? God promises some very unlikely things—that there will be water in the desert, a road in the wilderness; that wild animals that normally eat each other will live together; that people who might cause us to lock our doors will be the very neighbors we are called to love. Even now, God is doing a new thing—do we perceive it?
Mary does.
In two stories, in two separate gospels, Mary is the sister who sees. She sees Jesus for who he is—God, right there in the room with her. She doesn’t see just another wandering rabbi, or an eligible bachelor, or just another man demanding dinner. She sees God incarnate, love personified. In both stories, she responds to her perception in ways that upset other people. In Luke’s story, Mary sits at the feet of Jesus and listens with all her being, which Martha can’t handle. And in today’s story from John, Mary again sits at the feet of Jesus, this time with the most valuable thing she has to offer. She pours her wealth out at Jesus’ feet, and Judas can’t handle it.
300 denarii was nearly a year’s wages. Imagine pouring out your salary for the year at the feet of Jesus.
Or are we more likely to be Judas in this situation, criticizing Mary’s extravagant generosity?
Isaiah says that we are “created for God’s praise.” In other words, when we perceive what God is doing, we are to respond with generous praise. Mary does exactly that.
Some in the gospel story respond to Jesus with disdain, others with fear, still others by asserting their own power or authority. Surely this is not what God meant by a new thing? There must be some mistake—we wanted to control it, we wanted it to be our way, we wanted to understand, we wanted God to act on our terms and our time.
Some in the story respond by following. Some respond by giving everything they have. Immanuel—God is with us! We wanted to know God’s presence—here he is. We wanted to see God face to face—here he is. We wanted to hear God’s word—here he is. We listen, we see, we turn and re-turn, and find ourselves with Godvision—with the lenses to see what God sees: a kingdom with so much potential, if only we will open our eyes.
When we perceive God’s new thing, and respond to it with praise and generosity, some will scoff. Prayer and worship and offerings and service rarely produce tangible things after all—so they’re not valued in our culture or economy, though they are the main currency of God’s economy. Some will ask why on earth we would do such a thing. Love, in our culture, is for those who deserve and earn it, not for sharing with everyone. People will wonder if we’ve gone out of our minds or if we’re being wasteful. But King David said it well: “I will not offer to God offerings that cost me nothing.” We cannot help but be generous when we encounter God among us. We cannot help but respond in praise when we see the amazing things God has in store. Every day, God is doing a new thing: in the creation, in our lives, in the life of the church. It springs forth, not just easing its way into our lives but bursting in full of color. Do we perceive it?
One way to enhance our perception is to change our perspective. If we always look at things in the same way, from the same angle, it can be hard to see God’s new thing. When we look from a new angle—from a different pew, for instance, or from the floor at Jesus’ feet rather than the kitchen door, we might find our sight and hearing improves. When we consciously try to approach things or people with a different attitude than usual, we might find our judgments are slower and our empathy grows. How might we change our perspective and see what new thing God is doing right now?
Well, there’s always the option of literally changing your perspective by trying out a different pew. Maybe next week you can choose to sit somewhere different and see how things look and sound and feel from a new place. There’s also the option of choosing to see through a particular lens—honing our Godvision. So for this week’s challenge, I suggest that we all try to look at the world through the lens of gratitude. Each day, make a list of 5-10 things that you are grateful for. Different things each day—no fair just copying the list! Post your gratitude list on the fridge, or the bathroom mirror, or on the steering wheel or the edge of the computer screen. Practice your gratitude lenses throughout the week, and find out if that helps you be more aware of what God is doing in your life. Feel free to share with us on Facebook the things you are grateful for—it helps us all to give thanks together!
And then, because both Isaiah and Mary show us that this is a two-part way of life, this week’s practice will also be two parts. During the week, be praying about how God is calling you to respond to this new enhanced Godvision. Perceiving God’s new thing is amazing and wonderful and important—and should lead to action. How will you embody praise and generosity in response to God’s amazing grace? Think of something concrete that you can put into practice during the Easter season. If you want some accountability, there’s a whole body of Christ here ready to help uphold, encourage, and challenge you to be faithful.
Behold: God is doing a new thing, pouring God’s own self out for us…and asks us to see and hear and partner in making the kingdom a reality. Even now it springs forth: the desert is fed by streams of water, the creation lives together in harmony, and we love our neighbors as we love ourselves—for God is in our midst. Do we perceive?
May it be so. Amen.
PCOP
Godvision
Isaiah 43.16-21, John 12.1-8
17 March 2013, Lent 5C
Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.
…
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
~~~~~~~
Has anyone here ever used the phrase “no pain, no gain”? It’s not one of my favorites, but it sort of sums up why we needed last week’s practice—to look honestly at how we spend our time, energy, and money, and ask whether that spending reflects the gospel and our calling as followers of Jesus. It’s all part of digging around the roots and making room for fertilizer to reach in. What was that experience like?
Last week the prophet Isaiah asked us “why do you spend your money for that which is not bread?” and called us to listen, that we may live. Part of that assessment is about clearing out the things that keep God’s love from entering our root system and bearing fruit on our tree of life. So now that we’ve made that assessment, the prophet calls us to leave the old behind and prepare for the new. In fact, he says, even now this new thing is happening. Even now—at this very moment, God is doing a new thing, right here in our midst and in the world around us.
Do we perceive it?
Perception is a funny thing. What we see, and how we interpret what we see, makes a huge difference in how we respond. For instance, at my very first horseback riding lesson, another person came in just to pet his horse. He stood cheek to cheek with the horse, cooing, and he called it his therapy. Meanwhile, I was standing five feet away from the horse I was supposed to be brushing, crying in fear. He saw happiness, I saw 1600 pounds of danger. That difference in perception changed how we acted toward the same animal.
There is a little three-leafed plant that covers the ground and is a nuisance in our beautiful grass lawns. But in that same little nuisance, St. Patrick saw the presence of God—the Trinity laid out for all to see, covering the ground with reminders of who God is.
One of my friends was out hiking one day and saw a bear in the distance. He froze, trying to decide whether to keep going or wait. After a few minutes he decided he had to keep walking or else stay on the trail forever, and soon discovered that the bear was actually an enormous rock. His perception was a little off, and he had to make a choice about how to respond.
I suspect many of us have had these experiences, seeing a shadow and interpreting it to be something much scarier than it really is. We know this is a common problem when it comes to seeing people—when we see people who look different from us, for example people of different skin colors or different body types or different fashion senses, we make assumptions about them. We may lock our doors as we drive through their neighborhoods, or assume they’re armed even if we have no evidence, or believe we know their morals or their sexuality or their line of work based only on what they wear and how they carry themselves. We live in a world where teenage boys with dark skin have to be taught never to run outdoors and teenage girls believe their self-worth comes from the size of their body.
Perception matters. Sometimes it life-or-death matters.
We have probably all also had the experience of change to familiar routines or spaces—when road construction forces a detour from our regular commute, or the preacher stands in a different place, or our favorite restaurant changes the menu. When change comes, what do we see? Do we see opportunity to experience a wider taste of life, to expand our worldview, to explore? Or do we clam up with fear and frustration? Maybe somewhere in between, depending on the situation! Perception matters.
What do we see, and how do we interpret? God promises some very unlikely things—that there will be water in the desert, a road in the wilderness; that wild animals that normally eat each other will live together; that people who might cause us to lock our doors will be the very neighbors we are called to love. Even now, God is doing a new thing—do we perceive it?
Mary does.
In two stories, in two separate gospels, Mary is the sister who sees. She sees Jesus for who he is—God, right there in the room with her. She doesn’t see just another wandering rabbi, or an eligible bachelor, or just another man demanding dinner. She sees God incarnate, love personified. In both stories, she responds to her perception in ways that upset other people. In Luke’s story, Mary sits at the feet of Jesus and listens with all her being, which Martha can’t handle. And in today’s story from John, Mary again sits at the feet of Jesus, this time with the most valuable thing she has to offer. She pours her wealth out at Jesus’ feet, and Judas can’t handle it.
300 denarii was nearly a year’s wages. Imagine pouring out your salary for the year at the feet of Jesus.
Or are we more likely to be Judas in this situation, criticizing Mary’s extravagant generosity?
Isaiah says that we are “created for God’s praise.” In other words, when we perceive what God is doing, we are to respond with generous praise. Mary does exactly that.
Some in the gospel story respond to Jesus with disdain, others with fear, still others by asserting their own power or authority. Surely this is not what God meant by a new thing? There must be some mistake—we wanted to control it, we wanted it to be our way, we wanted to understand, we wanted God to act on our terms and our time.
Some in the story respond by following. Some respond by giving everything they have. Immanuel—God is with us! We wanted to know God’s presence—here he is. We wanted to see God face to face—here he is. We wanted to hear God’s word—here he is. We listen, we see, we turn and re-turn, and find ourselves with Godvision—with the lenses to see what God sees: a kingdom with so much potential, if only we will open our eyes.
When we perceive God’s new thing, and respond to it with praise and generosity, some will scoff. Prayer and worship and offerings and service rarely produce tangible things after all—so they’re not valued in our culture or economy, though they are the main currency of God’s economy. Some will ask why on earth we would do such a thing. Love, in our culture, is for those who deserve and earn it, not for sharing with everyone. People will wonder if we’ve gone out of our minds or if we’re being wasteful. But King David said it well: “I will not offer to God offerings that cost me nothing.” We cannot help but be generous when we encounter God among us. We cannot help but respond in praise when we see the amazing things God has in store. Every day, God is doing a new thing: in the creation, in our lives, in the life of the church. It springs forth, not just easing its way into our lives but bursting in full of color. Do we perceive it?
One way to enhance our perception is to change our perspective. If we always look at things in the same way, from the same angle, it can be hard to see God’s new thing. When we look from a new angle—from a different pew, for instance, or from the floor at Jesus’ feet rather than the kitchen door, we might find our sight and hearing improves. When we consciously try to approach things or people with a different attitude than usual, we might find our judgments are slower and our empathy grows. How might we change our perspective and see what new thing God is doing right now?
Well, there’s always the option of literally changing your perspective by trying out a different pew. Maybe next week you can choose to sit somewhere different and see how things look and sound and feel from a new place. There’s also the option of choosing to see through a particular lens—honing our Godvision. So for this week’s challenge, I suggest that we all try to look at the world through the lens of gratitude. Each day, make a list of 5-10 things that you are grateful for. Different things each day—no fair just copying the list! Post your gratitude list on the fridge, or the bathroom mirror, or on the steering wheel or the edge of the computer screen. Practice your gratitude lenses throughout the week, and find out if that helps you be more aware of what God is doing in your life. Feel free to share with us on Facebook the things you are grateful for—it helps us all to give thanks together!
And then, because both Isaiah and Mary show us that this is a two-part way of life, this week’s practice will also be two parts. During the week, be praying about how God is calling you to respond to this new enhanced Godvision. Perceiving God’s new thing is amazing and wonderful and important—and should lead to action. How will you embody praise and generosity in response to God’s amazing grace? Think of something concrete that you can put into practice during the Easter season. If you want some accountability, there’s a whole body of Christ here ready to help uphold, encourage, and challenge you to be faithful.
Behold: God is doing a new thing, pouring God’s own self out for us…and asks us to see and hear and partner in making the kingdom a reality. Even now it springs forth: the desert is fed by streams of water, the creation lives together in harmony, and we love our neighbors as we love ourselves—for God is in our midst. Do we perceive?
May it be so. Amen.
surround
St. Patrick's Day is a big deal in Chicagoland. A BIG deal. Basically because it's an excuse to drink a lot, starting very early in the morning. People flood downtown for the parade, to see the river dyed bright green, and to drink at every pseudo-Irish pub in the city. And the suburbs. I wish I'd gotten a picture of the mob trying to get on the train at every stop.
I hopped down to Palatine and joined some PCOP members for the parade and lunch. During lunch, the room was surrounded by a bagpipe band. That's right, a whole band of pipers and a few drummers proceeded to play several pieces in this little room while we snacked on such Irish classics as fried cheese curds and french fries.
I hopped down to Palatine and joined some PCOP members for the parade and lunch. During lunch, the room was surrounded by a bagpipe band. That's right, a whole band of pipers and a few drummers proceeded to play several pieces in this little room while we snacked on such Irish classics as fried cheese curds and french fries.
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| obviously, we were sitting on the perimeter of the room, so could see only half the band's faces and the backs of the other half. |
Day 28 of lent photo-a-day.
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