Empowered by God

The gospel reading for Proper 13 (also known as the 9th Sunday after Pentecost) is Matthew 14: 13-21. This reading in Matthew’s gospel has an awkward beginning which makes us to go back a few verses for context. When we do, we learn that John (the baptist and Jesus’ cousin) was beheaded as a macabre party favor. Jesus, upon hearing the news, withdraws from where he is, takes a boat, and heads for a deserted place. We presume he is in mourning, and, understandably, wants time to himself. However, this is not to be. A crowd has proceeded him. They want to hear from him. Jesus, who is in mourning, sees the crowd and filled with compassion, cures the sick. 

As evening falls the disciples approach Jesus to tell him that because of the locale and the hour, he should be telling people to go to the village and buy some food. Jesus responds by saying “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” The disciples come up with five loaves of bread and two fish. Jesus looks toward heaven, blesses the bread, breaks the loaves, and then gives them to the disciples to distribute among the crowd. The crowd is fed, and there is food left over. The gospel tells us that the crowd that day consisted of “five thousand men, besides women and children.”

This passage is a glimpse into the Eucharist; but it also tells us something about who God is. God empowers us to act on his behalf in the world. Jesus doesn’t look at the crowd and ask them why they didn’t anticipate they would get hungry and prepare accordingly. He doesn’t chastise them for not bringing food to eat. He looks on them with compassion, and feeds them. He expects the same reaction from those who call themselves his followers.

Our current political & cultural climate is toxic. We’re hearing language that the poor among us are poor because of sin in their lives. This is not the gospel. Jesus expects us to act on behalf of those for whom the world has beaten down. It should be obvious that not everyone has equal opportunities. The expectation of the gospel is that those with means lend a hand to those without. We, who claim to be followers of The Way, have an obligation to ease the burden of the poor, the sick, and the needy. We are called to be like the Good Samaritan, not like a Pharisee.  

Unemployment Blues

We gather in the lobby, sitting on the vinyl clad furniture. A group of mostly middle-aged men and women. We nod to each other, acknowledging each other's presence. A nod, silent, yet says so much. Silent recognition. We've seen each other before in classes, in workshops, in the elevators, in the restrooms. Sometimes we know each other's names. We always recognize each other's pain. In the lobby, rumors buzz like summer flies. "Didja hear that AT&T is hiring?" "If I can improve my skills, I can get on with that temp agency that was here yesterday." No one ever seems to know someone who's actually been hired. They talk about the future - the one where they have a job, they talk about the weekend, they talk about the classes they've signed up for next week. No one talks politics - there's no need. It doesn't matter. The fix is in. 

After the nod, comes the look. The look is the same for everyone - hopeful and vacant at the same time. Maybe one more class, one more review of my resume will land me the job that I want. Or, more accurately, the job that I need. Savings and prospects are dwindling at an equal rate. Welcome to the new reality. 

Our Employment Specialists are always upbeat. Why not? They've got jobs. They're mostly young. I imagine them going out together for drinks after work talking about the terrible resumes or cover letters they saw that day. They tell us (the clients) to dress everyday like we're going to an interview. No one does. 

A woman moves to the elevator lobby to take a phone call. She's glad to hear from "Tony". She assures him that she still wants the apartment and will have no problem paying the rent. She sounds positive, almost cheery. Silence follows only to be broken by "I understand" and "no, I don't blame you. Thank you, anyway." She wonders aloud to no one in particular how she'll be able to move to an apartment she can afford without a job. Then she joins the rest of us as we march to the computer lab hopeful that if she can only learn how to use Excel, someone will hire her.

At the end of the class, I leave the building and head towards BART for the return trip home. The streets are bustling with people. There's also the legless man who sits in a wheelchair at the corner asking for spare change. A little further down the street is the thirty-something woman sitting on the sidewalk reading to her two small children. A basket with a couple of dollars in it is on the ground next to her. Music emanates from the BART station, proof that the usual group of buskers are there. They take turns playing, so no has a monopoly on the passengers passing through. People in need know how to share. Now, there's a lesson we can all learn from.

Tomorrow, I'll get up, shower and shave, dress, and head for the train. I've got another class to take, another lesson to learn, and maybe, just maybe, this will be the one that lands me a job.

It Is Finished

During Holy Week, All Souls Episcopal Parish has a 3-hour contemplative service on Good Friday. The service is a combination of readings, music, and personal reflection. The reflections are written and read by members of the congregation. This year, the reflections were based on the seven last words of Jesus, so there were seven personal reflections. I was asked by the Rector to participate and prepare a reflection.

Here it is:

"It is finished" (John 19:30)

I’m afraid of death. Not so strong a fear that I'm immobilized, but a fear that sneaks up on me from time to time, most often when I'm trying to fall asleep. My fear stems from not knowing exactly what will happen to me when I die. Thinking of an expanding universe, or infinity, or eternity, often triggers an episode. With almost everything else I don't understand, I can gather information. I can't do that with death. There are no stories. 

I know I'm not alone. I know others share the same fear.

When I first came to faith, I was taught a few things that were supposedly essential doctrines; heaven is real, hell is real, Christians go to heaven, everyone else goes to hell, and if you're afraid of dying, you're not really saved. I spent years doubting my salvation simply because I had a fear of death.

As I've gotten older, the fear has lessened. I attribute that to having a better understanding that my faith is much more about how I live my life in the here and now and not so much about getting into heaven. It's like Jesus is telling us to take care of the things here. Because it is finished, other things have been taken care of. I don’t have to worry.

I’m always amazed at the Lazarus story. If I could change anything about the Lazarus story as recorded in the Gospel, I would have him describe what it was like to be dead. He must have had quite the story. What was Lazarus' experience? What was being dead like?

"It is finished. " According to John's Gospel, these are Jesus' last words. John wrote this gospel in Greek and used the word tetelestai. The word gives the sense that “everything is complete, there’s nothing more to do” John Stott, a British theologian and Anglican Evangelical, says that not only did Jesus finish the work but it “never needs repeating or improvement.”

When Jesus said "it is finished" it wasn't a sigh of resignation. This was a shout of triumph- "IT IS FINISHED!. What was supposed to be an ending became a beginning.

Diana Butler Bass recently wrote a piece about Julian of Norwich. In that article Bass suggests that Jesus didn’t die for us but rather with us. Bass writes “We are with Jesus on the Cross, not at a distance from it, standing by, watching safely from afar; those are our hands and feet nailed, our blood dripping, our voices crying out “We thirst.”

In Galatians Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ.”

It is finished. There’s nothing else to do. It can’t be improved upon. It’s perfect.

I can't say that I'll never have a fear-of-death episode again. But I can say that because it is finished, I put my trust in a God who experienced death and will be with me when I face my own death. Because it is finished, I trust my savior to prepare a way for me. Because it is finished, I believe that Jesus will see me through. Because it is finished, death does not have the last word.

"I'm too old to sleep on wet grass."

I hadn't seen one of the regular guests at the breakfast program for a few weeks. Whenever one of the regulars doesn't show up, I have three thoughts:  they've found housing, they've been hospitalized (or worse), or they've just moved on. In the case of one particular guest, it turns out that she was hospitalized due to some problems with her heart.

This guest reminds me of my mother. She's about the same age as my mother was when she (my mother) died. She's also about the same height as my mother was. I had thought that she was housed and used the breakfast program to supplement her diet. Turns out, I was mistaken. She is in fact, homeless. She had been admitted to a local hospital and upon her release, she was put up in a hotel in order to ensure she had recovered. That lasted two weeks. When her hotel stay ended, she had no where to go. To top is off, the weather in the Bay Area lately has been raining and windy with sunshine interspersed here and there. 

She made her way to the men's and women's shelter located at the former Oakland Army Base. She didn't have a voucher to stay there, but the shelter staff took pity on her, and found her a cot. It was supposed to be for just one night, but because it was two days before Christmas, the shelter staff let her stay. So far, she's been there for four nights, without a voucher, due to the kindness of shelter staff.

When I saw her this morning, I told her that I had missed seeing her and asked her how she was. She told me her story and ended it by saying "I'm too old to sleep on wet grass."

When, in this country, did it become acceptable for an elderly woman to have to face the prospects of sleeping on wet grass?

I don't know her life story. I don't know how she came to be in this situation, this late in her life. What I do know is that she deserves better than to have to worry about sleeping on wet grass.

Rethinking Judas

Sherry and I often get into a discussion about Judas, especially during Lent. Judas gets the bad rap. He's the bad seed. We ask the question amongst ourselves - "If not Judas, who?"

During the Maundy Thursday service, the sermon included this little tidbit that I'd never heard or considered before. In John's gospel, Jesus washes the feet of his disciples. All of them. Even Judas'. Read John 13:1-30 and see for yourself.

Then yesterday, during the Good Friday contemplative service, this poem by Ruth Etchells was read:

In Hell there grew a Judas Tree


Where Judas hanged and died


Because he could not bear to see


His master crucified.

Our Lord descended into Hell


And found his Judas there


For ever hanging on the tree


Grown from his own despair.

So Jesus cut his Judas down


And took him in his arms


“It was for this I came” he said


“And not to do you harm."

My Father gave me twelve good men


And all of them I kept


Though one betrayed and one denied


Some fled and others slept –

In three days’ time I must return


To make the others glad


But first I had to come to Hell


And share the death you had

My tree will grow in place of yours


Its roots lie here as well


There is no final victory


Without this soul from Hell”

So when we all condemned him


As of every traitor worst


Remember that of all his men


Our Lord forgave him first.

I was crying by the time the lector finished reading the poem. God, hung in shame and humiliation on a tree like a common criminal, removes Judas from his own tree in an act of supreme love.

Jesus, knowing that Judas will betray him, washes his feet anyway. The idea that Jesus releases Judas in hell and forgives him, even in death, is almost too much to comprehend.

Next year, when Sherry and I have our conversation about Judas, we won't ask "if not Judas, who?" Instead, we'll contemplate the incomprehensible love of a Savior who washes the feet of his soon-to-be betrayer and then rescues him from the grave of his own making. 

It sounds like we may have more in common with Judas than we're comfortable with.

Who is Guilty?

A few days ago, a pastor whom I respect, shared on Facebook an op-ed piece about the Sgt. Bales tragedy from David Brooks entitled "When the Good Do Bad". The op-ed was published in the NY Times.

He prefaced his sharing of the article with this: "The doctrine of depravity and original sin, so often despised and marginalized these days, surfaces again as we ask why "good people do bad things"".

My response (below) was not an actual response the Brooks article, but more to the concept of depravity as a theological construct to explain why the world is (in the minds of some) spinning out of control. 

Not to give Sgt. Bales an excuse for what he might have done (he hasn't been found guilty yet), I can't help but think of the depravity he probably witnessed in the execution of his "duties", which were, of course, to neutralize the "enemy" by any means necessary. One of the purposes of basic training is to re-orient the mindset of the recruit, so that they will be able to pull the trigger if, and, when necessary. We take young men and women and teach them how to kill. Of course, because it's done in wartime, it's an acceptable form of killing.

 Of course, the counter argument is that of the hundreds of thousands of men and women in uniform, only a handful commit such heinous crimes. That's true. However, the number of PTSD cases the VA is monitoring (over 200,000 according to a recent NPR story) should give all of us pause to think and consider. While these men and women may not commit heinous crimes, their mental health has been adversely affected by what they experienced. Depravity or not, they have come home radically changed.

 I think Mr. Brooks puts too much of the blame on Sgt. Bales and not enough on the system that trained him and deployed him multiple times. Is depravity just the burden of the individual, or is the system depraved as well?

Depravity, as defined by Mirriam-Webster is "marked by corruption or evil, especially perverted." I am not a Calvinist. I can't accept the idea that all humanity (created in the image of God) is marked by corruption or evil. Yes, we all struggle with sin and need the grace of Christ in our lives to redeem us. But I can't accept either Calvin's or Jonathan Edward's notion of a God who can hardly wait to condemn us. When I read the Gospels, I read about a God who has unlimited and unimaginable love for us. The parable of the Prodigal Son paints a picture of a loving father who, when he sees his wayward son off in the distance, runs to him in an incredible show of love and forgiveness.

I don't know what happened to Sgt. Bales on that fateful night. I do know that many lives are forever changed because of the acts he has been accused of committing. I also know that in the eyes of God, Sgt. Bales is as loved as I am. In the Episcopal church, we often pray for forgiveness for the sins we have committed as well as for the sins committed on our behalf.

If found guilty, Sgt. Bales will face punishment, as well he should. However, as a Christian, do I share some of his guilt as well? How do I make amends to the people who have been hurt by this event?

Open Heart

I'm currently reading a book by Kenneth E. Bailey entitled Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes. Dr. Bailey spent over 40 years living and teaching in the Middle East. He is Christian and his specialities include culture and language, including Arabic, Hebrew and Aramaic.

In Chapter 7, The Lord's Prayer: God our Father, Dr. Bailey tells a story that happened to him while giving a lecture in Riga for the Latvian Lutheran Church. His students were of the age that they would have been educated within the state communistic system. Curious about how they came to faith, he asked a young woman about her journey. She never went to church (they were outlawed), her family were atheists and she was not aware of an underground church in her area. 

The young woman explained: “At funerals, we were allowed to recite the Lord’s Prayer. As a young child I heard those strange words and had no idea who we were talking to, what the words meant, where they came from or why we were reciting them. When freedom came at last, I had the opportunity to search for their meaning. When you are in total darkness, the tiniest point of light is very bright. For me the Lord’s Prayer was that point of light. By the time I found it’s meaning I was a Christian.”

I loved this story. I love how the Holy Spirit took advantage of a young woman's curiosity and turned it into faith. No human-constructed formulaic prayer needed. Just an open heart.  

This Lent, may I have an open heart that the Holy Spirit can take advantage of.