Obade, Obada, Obadiah! Lalalala, Obadiah

Texts: Obadiah 1-15; Luke 6:27-31


Have you ever had a day where you just know you shouldn’t get out of bed? Not because you’re too tired or your bed is too comfortable, but because something is telling you, don’t do it, because somehow you know, you just know that this day isn’t going to be any good.

I don’t know if Edom got the message or not, but this nation should have definitely just stayed in bed. Because as soon as Edom got up, even before he had poured his first eye-opening cup of coffee, somebody is knocking on his door. Knocks like a prophet. Knocks like Obadiah. Obadiah doesn’t just gently tap, he pounds his heart into that door. Because Obadiah has been brought to Edom’s door by a vision searing his eyes, the word of God burning his tongue.

“Edom, Edom, the day has come. It is time to hear your ruin pronounced.”

Edom might just shake his head and go ahead and pour that cup of coffee. Ruin? Who in the world would bring ruin upon his head? Who could? Edom had good reason to feel so confident, to say in his heart “who will bring me down to the ground?” Edom was better off than many nations. More than enough food and water, easily defendable. On this country’s land, there were highlands which rose southeast of the Dead Sea in 3 great steps of sandstone cliffs to a height of more than 5, 000 feet; there was a maze of mountains, cliffs, chasms. It would take a lot to bring Edom low. Someone, some nation, would surely think twice – if not more – about attacking Edom.

Many would not blame Edom ignoring Obadiah at his door. Edom is a great nation and Obadiah, who does he represent? Israel? Well, as Edom has seen first hand, Israel was just overtaken by another country called Babylon. The people were taken into exile or sold into slavery – only the stragglers remained behind, stragglers like this prophet Obadiah. Would he be the one to bring Edom down? He and what army? Israel was scattered, nothing was left of this once great nation.

Obadiah won’t be ignored, however. He keeps pounding away because he does not come representing Israel – he has come representing the God of Israel, Adonai. He has come as his name suggests, as a servant of the Lord, a Lord who has some words for Edom.

“Though you soar aloft like the eagle, though your nest is set among the stars, from there I will bring you down.” Maybe those words got Edom’s attention, made him put his cup of coffee down and actually listen to the words from the intent man knocking at his door. But if those words didn’t catch his attention, surely the next will. Obadiah paints an ugly picture for Edom. Everything Edom has will be lost – the wisdom traditions Edom is known for, all treasures, the holy sites, all understanding – everything will be lost, not to strangers but to those once called friends. Not even a remnant will be left behind.

Why does Edom receive such a proclamation? Because Edom three times wronged the Lord and the Lord’s people. As Obadiah reminds Edom, it is for the slaughter and violence done to Israel that shame will cover him. For Edom has taken treasures of Israel, captured the Israelites and sold them into slavery. This is the first wrong. But Edom did not attack Israel, make war against the nation for want of land or goods. Edom watched while the armies of Babylon moved in, watched as Babylon destroyed the temple, scattered the people, and then and only then, did he swoop down from his lofty perch, not like an eagle, but like a vulture. For Edom is a scavenger, picking Israel clean of any goods Babylon left behind, cutting off the fleeing Israelite’s path of escape, capturing them and handing them over to the highest bidder. Nothing but the bones of Israel remained after Edom came through. This is the second wrong.

The third wrong is perhaps the greatest wrong of all. Edom wasn’t just some well-to-do nation, a bully that kicked Israel when he was done. Edom was, is, Israel’s brother. For just as Israel was once called Jacob, Edom was once called Esau. Jacob and Esau, brothers, twins.

Instead of helping his brother, coming to his aid, Edom gloated, rejoiced even, in the day of Judah’s distress. And so Obadiah is here to tell him, that the day of the Lord is near. The day when the nations, Edom’s allies and confederates who have sat down at table and broken bread with him, the day when these nations turn on Edom and driving HIM from HIS home. That day is near.

For as Edom has done, so shall it be done to him. You reap what you sow, this is a familiar concept to us, familiar to people all around the world, people of all different faiths. “Your deeds shall return on your head,” Obadiah tells us. The Hindu tradition of karma tells us that “you do good things, good things will happen to you - if you do bad things, bad things will happen to you;” Wiccan tradition holds to the law of three – whatever you put out into the universe, good or bad, you will receive them three times as much.

I know I have been caught when I stubbed my toe right after I had perhaps not such a nice thought, saying “okay, God, you’re right, I’m sorry,” as though my negative energy was brought back down upon me in the form on an injured tow. Even though intellectually I believe God has better things to do than make me stub my toe, I have inherited trace elements of a belief in a cosmic reward and punishment system, as Proverbs says – “the righteousness of the blameless keeps their way straight but the wicked fall by their own wickedness.[1]”

But I dismiss my injured appendage as God’s punishment, dismiss this worldview being so encompassing, because it is a worldview that does not always seem to hold true. This is the same observation made by the writer of Ecclesiastes. “There is a vanity,” Qoheleth says, “that takes place on earth, that there are righteous people who are treated according to the conduct of the wicked, and there are wicked people who are treated according to the conduct of the righteous[2].” Or in other, more popularized words, bad things happen to good people.

Having just witnessed a horrible thing, the destruction of Jerusalem, the utter desolation of his people, having just experienced immense loss himself, Obadiah, this servant of the Lord, perhaps can appreciate Qoheleth’s viewpoint better than most. Divine retribution cannot be the only statement Obadiah is making in his proclamation. When he says “as you have done, it shall be done to you,” he is pronouncing the reality of the world which God created. There is another Hebrew tradition, found in other prophets like Hosea, that says the punishment is in the thing itself. Edom’s punishment is found in, is a result of, Edom’s actions. In God’s created world, when you break covenant with your brother, those you consider friends will see no problem in turning on you. The truth is, once friends start turning on friends, family on family, then it’s all down hill. The cycle of destruction will continue, one country attacking another, one brother attacking the other. It will continue until somebody stops it, until someone breaks the circle of hatred.

This cycle of violence, of hatred and animosity, this is what Jesus is addressing when he says “do unto others as you would have them do to you.” Jesus tells his followers, tells us to love our enemies, not just love them with some sort of passive love – but an active love. One that has us pray for our those who have hurt us, bless them, do good for them. For it is only when we offer our other cheek when someone strikes us instead of striking back that we can break the cycle.

Someone has to be the first one to step back and offer the olive branch, offer their cheek, otherwise generation after generation will practice evil, will curse, will wish ill on those they consider enemies.

As followers of Christ, we have been given the daunting charge to be those someones. We are called to end the cycles of bitterness and animosity in our own lives, in all parts of our lives. When someone makes a snide comment to us at school, we are called to not offer one back, as witty as it may be. When someone at work takes advantage of us, we are called to not do the same if given the opportunity, no matter how far ahead we may get. When someone we love, we trust, causes us pain, we are called to not intentionally hurt them back, no matter how much it may make us feel better in the moment. We are called to forgive as we long to be forgiven.

We all know when we offer our other cheek, we risk getting slapped again. But if we do not risk it, we will find ourselves trapped in an endless cycle of ugliness that I can’t imagine anyone would want to be a part of.

We also know that when Christ calls for us to love our enemies, he isn’t calling us to love just for ourselves or even for OUR enemies. Christ calls for us to forgive, to love, to do good, for all. We are called to be an example, that those around us might see how we offer love in the face of hate, blessings in the midst of curses, good in the face of evil, that they might see the power of Christ’s love lived out through us and find themselves changed, moved toward this way of living. Instead of perpetuating a cycle of hatred and bitterness, we are called to strengthen and spread a cycle of love and grace.

For some of us, loving our enemies may seem particularly daunting. Many of us have been hurt by people in ways that seem unforgivable. Over the years I have heard more than one person comment on turning the other check, saying “but Jesus really didn’t mean in this situation.” I don’t know what Jesus really meant, but knowing his ministry and message, I would imagine that whatever situations we think Jesus wouldn’t want us to turn our other cheek, that those are the ones in which we need to the most. That those situations are where we might be surprised and moved by the power of love has.

Love can overcome hate, goodness can overcome evil and the players in Obadiah’s prophecy are proof of that. While the relationship between Edom and Israel in Obadiah’s time remind us of how hatred and violence can be cyclical, the relationship between their forebears remind us that even what seems unforgivable can be forgiven, that love not hate leads to prosperity.

For in Jacob and Esau, we have a relationship torn apart by animosity and bitterness AND a relationship renewed by forgiveness and love. When Jacob tricked Esau out of his birthright and their father’s blessing, Esau wanted to kill him – this is why Jacob left his family’s land and went to his uncle Laban – where he would grow in wealth and wives. When turmoil at Laban’s brought Jacob back to his homeland, Esau brought four hundred men with him – men who certainly weren’t there as welcoming party – to meet is brother. Upon hearing this, Jacob does not raise up his own troops, arm his men, he sends gifts. When the brothers finally do met, Jacob brings only his family, he leaves himself vulnerable to Esau’s wrath, and bows before him seven times. And Esau, Esau who lost everything to his younger brother who was always mom’s favorite, Esau runs up to meet him, embraces him, kisses him, and the two brothers, reconciled, weep together. Their reconciliation strengthened their families – when they did go their separate ways again, it wasn’t because of hostility but because together the two families were so prosperous that the land could not sustain both.

While later in generations Edom forgets the covenant with Israel, here Esau and Jacob remember what it is to be brothers, what it is to be children of Abraham, the light to the nations. They both offered love to the one who caused them much pain, they both broke the cycle of bitterness and promoted one of forgiveness. Esau and Jacob remind us that rancor truly can turn to respect, animosity to affection, loathing to love. May we remember their story, may their story be our story as we are like Esau and not Edom, may we trust in the power of God’s grace and do unto others as we would have them do to us. Amen.

[1] Proverbs 11:5
[2] Ecclesiastes 8:14

A Snippet of a Story

Greetings from Ethiopia! No, wait, greetings from Montreat! No, that’s not right either. Greetings from Covenant? Yep, that’s the right one. My travels have brought across the Atlantic Ocean and back, across the Virginia/North Carolina border and back and I must say it is good to be back. I had an amazing time with our youth in Montreat - these kids have such joy and enthusiasm. I also had an almost inexpressibly meaningful and powerful time in Ethiopia. On August 20 for Mission Sunday you’ll hear quite a bit about our team’s travels and thoughts, but I’d like to share one story with you now.

The street children in Addis Ababa tended to come across to me as more hardened, embittered than their country counterparts. We would be asked for money frequently, whenever our car stopped at a stop sign or if and when we got out of the car. Though asked, we never gave – certainly not because we wouldn’t want to but because if we gave to one child or even all the children around us, it wouldn’t be enough. More would come and our safety could become an issue. So as hard as it was to say no (or ignore the requests altogether) this is what we did. In return we often received rude looks or gestures.

During one of our last days in Addis, I was walking from our car to a small shop only about 20 meters away when a young boy, one of the street children, put out his hand and asked me for money. I told him “no money, no money” followed by a “poof” complete with hand gestures (think ‘I’ve just made a rabbit disappear’). The boy looked at me rather strangely and so I repeated “poof” with my magician hands. Then he started to giggle. This was a sound I had heard many times before in the country but not from a city street kid. He repeated my gestures and word back to me and we laughed together until I got to the shop. I did my shopping and when I came out, I saw my little friend again. He had gone on to see if others might give him some change but came running up to me with another “poof” and a giggle. Though we had not exchanged money, we did exchange laughter and in that joy, we managed to make a connection – however brief – that warmed my heart a thousand times over.

Comes A Time

Now that I'm back and sort of settled in, I hope to soon give some more glimpses into my Ehtiopia experience. But until then, here's my first sermon since I've come back home.

Esther 1:1, 10-22
John 4:18-19

Today we continue our Minor Book, Major Message series with the book of Esther. Some of you may have been surprised to find Esther in this series – how many of you think you know Esther’s story, at least a little bit? The young girl that becomes queen and with the help of a cousin, gets the king to save the people Israel, her people: that’s one we’ve heard before. After all, it’s a story and a book that’s celebrated by lots of folks. There’s a whole great festival in Jewish tradition, Purim, that celebrates her victory with days of eating and drinking. Her story has also inspired some more contemporary celebrations - there are several musicals, from which I shall refrain from singing, and there’s even a pretty stellar Veggie Tales movie starring a green onion Esther and a grape Mordecai. Even though her story only makes one appearance in our lectionary, we know something about Esther.

But what came before Esther, now there’s something to be explored. How many of you knew who Vashti was before this morning? It’s hard being the one that came before everybody’s favorite. Esther we know, but the woman who came before her, she often gets forgotten as we rush ahead to the story we know and love. But when we rush over this first chapter, rush to get to Esther and Mordecai, rush to the “good stuff,” we miss out on some of the best stuff.

Vashti’s story – well, I’ll be honest, it’s pretty racy and it’s pretty discomforting. The story we heard today is only part of the story. After the seventh day, we read, when the king was ahem, “merry” with wine, he sent his eunuchs to fetch Vashti. Well, it was on the seventh day of “merriment,” the seventh day of a party that followed another party. This wasn’t Ahesuerus’ first hootenanny, it was his second most recent feast. The first lasted a little bit longer than 7 days, it lasted 180 days. So, it was really on the 187th day of partying, the king sends his eunuchs to gather his wife, the queen.

He sent these eunuchs to fetch his wife, who in just these last 7 days had been feasting with women, not because he wants to share in festivities with her or because he wants to ask her a question or anything like that. He wanted her to come so he can show her off. Parading the Queen in front of his guests would be the culmination of all these days of feasting. For these feasts aren’t so much about having a good time as they are about showing off. All the grand parties are about displaying the great wealth of Ahasuerus’ kingdom and the splendor and pomp of his dynasty. He must be an amazing king – he’s got all these great linens and couches, and just look at the marble all around the palace. The food and wine flowed without restraint, and the king instructed that all the officials could do as each desired. It was the greatest party ever thrown to show that Ahasuerus’ was the greatest king ever known.

And into this party, this party with free flowing wine where every man could do whatever he pleased, whatever that might mean, the king instructs Vashti to come that he might show these drink-heavy, inhibition free officials, her beauty. He also instructed that she should appear wearing the royal crown, the ultimate symbol of Ahasuerus’ power. Now, traditional interpretation has held that he was telling her to appear in the crown and the crown alone. Like I said, this story gets pretty racy. Whether or not this demand went to that extreme, the king is asking something of Vashti that would seem inappropriate for our time, let alone in a time when a woman’s modesty was everything to her. By telling her to come the king was telling his queen to debase herself, was treating her as another possession and not a person.

And Vashti said no.

She said no and then she loses everything. Like I said, this story gets pretty discomforting. Her story isn’t familiar to us in part I think because it doesn’t have a happy ending. A just ending. She stands up for herself and she loses everything. She loses her crown, her status, her husband, even her voice. Though we know she refuses the king’s demand, we know this only because of the narrator. We never hear her say no, we never hear her. Vashti is silenced by the text and then forgotten by the story that quickly moves on to the next queen. And what kind of an ending is that? No riding off into the sunset, no fairy godmother waving her magicwand, no hope for happily ever after. We don’t know Vashti’s fate, but for a deposed queen, for a rejected wife, in her time, it can’t be too promising.

In Jewish midrash tradition, the rabbis recognized something wasn’t right with this scenario. Perhaps they didn’t like that a woman standing up for herself would be so discarded, don’t like how villainous this makes Esther’s future husband look. So what do they do? They make Vashti a villain. In the Talmund, she becomes the great-granddaughter of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, the arch-villain who destroyed the temple and sent the Jews into exile. Some rabbis make her vain, changing the story so that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to display herself before the king and his intoxicated friends because of any concern of self-preservation or self-worth. Rather she had been stricken with leprosy, or my favorite, had been cursed with a tail and so she didn’t want anyone to see her in her less than gorgeous state.

In the Christian tradition we don’t have midrash to explain away Vashti’s fate. Instead we, like our text, have silence. Her story is not part of our lexicon, our lectionary, it gets skipped over, forgotten, made the unmemorable prologue to Esther’s tale, because it reeks of injustice. Vashti is saying no to oppression, yes to what she knows is right, yes the image of God within her… and her life is completely destroyed.

A story like this is hard to swallow – I like to think when people stand up for injustice, stand up for themselves, that even if it’s a hard battle, it’s one they eventually win. But that is not the truth of Vashti’s world and it’s not the world we live in. Vashti’s story reminds me of a piece of history that has always bothered me. I remember when learning about the different landmarks in the fight for emancipation of slaves, we heard about a man who like Vashti was treated like property, who fought for his freedom and lost in a big way. Dred Scott was a slave who sued for his freedom since he had been taken to a “free” state, and thus set free, and so he claimed he could not be enslaved again. He went through 11 years of fighting for his case, both he and his wife finally losing when the case was appealed to the Supreme Court.

The court made the decision against Scott on the basis that slaves were not citizens of the United States, and could never be, and did not have the right to bring a case to court. The chief justice wrote that “blacks had no rights which the white man was bound to respect; and that the negro might JUSTLY and lawfully be reduced to slavery for his benefit.”

The decision certainly doesn’t sound like justice to me. Not justice for Dred Scott, nor justice for all the other slaves who were denied the legality of their citizenship with that court decision. It doesn’t sound like just but as I said before it does sound like what happened with Vashti. Treated as property, she stood up for herself and lost. And, as with Dred Scott, holding on to her own integrity created an immediate backlash for her fellow women. If you remember the story, after Vashti is banished, a decree goes out to all women everywhere saying that no matter how high or low, no matter how wise or slow, no matter how kind or mean, no matter what all women should give honor to their husbands and all men should be master of his own house. (Now, remember men, this is a story about injustice, so don’t be getting any ideas.)

Both Vashti’s and Scott’s stories can be disheartening because we want to believe if we should be treated unjustly or if we should see someone else being oppressed, if we stand up and speak, speak for righteousness, speak for God’s kingdom here on earth, then surely, with God on our side, our speech will be heard and wrongs will be righted. We want to believe that as followers of the one who came to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, that as followers of Christ we will be able to realize jubilee, see God’s kingdom come, a kingdom of righteousness and justice.

We want to believe these things because we have been taught to believe them. We have been taught that we are the only hands Christ has in this world, the only feet, only heart, only body. We have been taught that all things are possible in and through Christ.

We have also been taught that while we are Christ’s ambassadors in this world, we are NOT God. Meaning, that though we may work for God’s kingdom, we do not know how or when it will come. We live in an immediate satisfaction society. What do we want, justice, when do we want it, now! This isn’t a bad thing to want and I know I am guilty of this immediate want as much as anybody else. And so I also know it’s hard to think that when we do what is right, what we think God wants for us and for God’s world, that there might be a delay in achieving those wants. That when we stand up for what is right, when we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God, we may not benefit from our work. I know it can be hard for us to see beyond ourselves into God’s greater kingdom.

As both Vashti’s and Scott’s stories spoke to the power of injustice, they also speak to God’s ability to work through us and beyond us. Scott fought for his freedom, and lost, but he did eventually find himself freed. His case made such an uproar among many northerners, even those who were not abolitionists or even necessarily anti-slavery, that his owners sold him to people who would set him free. And what’s more, the decision of the Supreme Court on his case made the issue of slavery too uncomfortable for those who had been able to ignore it before to continue to do so. This case is also is often attributed as one of the factors that lead to the nomination of Abraham Lincoln, the signer of the Emancipation Proclamation, to the Republican Party and subsequent election.

And Vashti – well, remember the book her story begins. The story of a queen deposed and women everywhere told to submit is the start of a tale of a woman who bends a king to her will and saves her entire people. Her story begins a tale that Jewish people celebrate every year to renew hope that all though they have suffered much, their final victory is assured.

Both Dred Scott and Queen Vashti remind us that when we are working toward God’s vision for us, when we take a stand, when we do what’s right and not what is safe, sometimes, we suffer for it. We, as individuals, may suffer and may not, I’m sorry to say, we may not see the righteousness we work for over come injustice in our lives. But their stories also remind us that we may have hope for our final victory, for God’s victory, for God’s kingdom breaking through in this world in our lives but also beyond our lives. We have hope that the seeds for justice may bloom in our lives and our lifetimes, but if they do not, they still will bloom within the full life and lifetime of God’s creation.

I wish Vashti’s story had a happy ending. I wish that once she was deposed, she found herself a nice little community, maybe even a nicer husband, and lived out the rest of her life well respected and well loved. And, who knows, maybe she did. But what’s more important than her fate, what we can learn from her story is that there is something more important than her fate. The story goes on and while it is sad we never hear of Vashti again, we do hear of Esther’s triumph and of the people Israel being saved. Each one of us here is an important part of God’s creation but we are not the beginning nor the end of that creation. When we work for what we believe God wants for us as individuals and as community, we cannot be working for ourselves. We must be working for God’s kingdom. For when we stand up for ourselves and for those around us, for what we know God wants for us, we agents of God’s kingdom, even if we cannot see it. We are working for God and trust that one day indeed that the blind will see and the oppressed will go free.

Dred Scott was just simple man who wanted to be free, as his epitaph says. And when Vashti stood up for herself, I doubt she could have ever imagined it would lead to the saving of a whole people. Neither likely understood those rippling affects their personal struggles would bring. Neither, I would imagine, do we. And so though we may be frustrated by any lack of success in righting wrongs in our own lives, we should be encouraged that God works in us and beyond us. We may and should take comfort that though the kingdom may not come fully here and now, we are still members of it and one day, even if not this day, God’s kingdom will come. Amen.

June 14th-15th

As it turns out we have internet access at the guest house we are staying at for two nights (last night and tonight). So I thought I'd post my first journal entry about what we've experiences so far.

June 14th-June 15th

Start: Washington, D.C. 8pm, the 14th
Finish: Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, 7:30pm, the 15th
Time on a plane: 21 1/2 hours
Total Traveling Time from Staunton to Bethel Synod's Guest House: 26 hours

And some how we survived!

Things we observed/experienced:
*Cheesy movies on the plane
*Well-behaved children, also on the plane
*Rome's airport (I got to step out on one of landings and breathe fresh air!
the Italian countryside
*when you ask for red wine on the plane - which the couple in front of Liz and I did - they hand you a whole half bottle. Sheesh.
*Addis Ababa at night - interesting note, the lights seemed more orange than in the States - don't suppose they have white light tech
*children - boys - running up to the van, standing right next to our windows and saying "no mother, no fatehr, no family, want for bread." That's such an odd place to be in - because of course your heart goes out to any one, but a child especially, who is struggling just to survive, but you don't know if these kids really are (we've been told it's a nice way to make easy money and so kids with family and bread ask as well) and you know if you give to one, all the others will come rushing for you and you really and truly only have so much to give
*people, all along the sidewalks, bundled up in thin cloth, clearly homeless, clearly in need of some care
*the Bethel Guest House is quite lovely - from where I'm sitting now, I can look out the window and see flowers newly planted in beds, can see trees I'm not familiar with, can see the Land Cruiser that's taking us to Bedele tomorrow
*the guard at the gate to the Bethel Synod compound had a hood over his head and was carrying a big stick - he looked like he was right out of Robin Hood!
*Addis smells like gasoline

Since we're leaving tomorrow, we're leaving this internet access behind, probably will be a while before I can give another entry. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

and we're off!

The Ethiopian team heads off tomorrow - and I'm actually all packed!

Since we won't have much if any access to the internet, this is probably it from me for awhile. I'll look forward, though, to coming back with many tales.

Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

Blessings
Amy

and this is why i love church

After the 8:30 service this morning, one of our church kids gave me a nice long hug. When her mom said it's time to go, she looked up at me and said "I'm glad you're my sister."

*insert heart melting noise*

I'm glad she's my sister too. I'm glad I have such wonderful brothers and sisters in Covenant and beyond. Man, do I love the church.

Walk On

Texts
Psalm 1
Acts 1:15-26

“The evil men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.”[1]

This sentiment is taken from Marc Anthony’s speech in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, a play which portrays perhaps the only betrayal that rivals in infamy that of Judas’. While Anthony makes this statement in reference to Caesar, such a statement could just as easily be said for Judas. Whatever good Judas may have done, teaching and healing he practiced at Jesus’ side, the acts of kindness he performed, his share in the disciples’ ministry as they followed this rabbi from Nazareth, is lost to us. But the evil that he did has certainly lived on after him.

The kiss, the 30 pieces of silver, even his name have become part of our lexicon for ultimate betrayal. While Pilate and the chief priests certainly had their hand in Jesus’ death, it was the part Judas played that is viewed as most heinous of all. While many hurt Christ, failed Christ, it is this man who was part of the inner circle, this man who sent his friend to death with a kiss, this man who is the chief villain of the piece.

Arch-villan is how much Western popular culture has seen Judas throughout history. He as appeared shadowy figure Da Vinci’s Last Supper, is condemned to the lowest circle of hell in Dante’s Inferno[2], and has even been turned into another villainous archetype, Dracula, by contemporary filmmaker Wes Craven.

Our church culture has reacted in similar ways (though as far as I know, there are no claims about Judas really being a vampire). One Easter-tide tradition that was once practiced throughout Europe and is still practiced in parts of places like Greece, Portugal, Mexico, and Venezuela, is the burning of Judas. In some Orthodox and Catholic communities, an effigy of Judas is hanged on Good Friday – drawing on Matthew’s version of Judas’ death – and then burned on Easter Sunday.

While there are certain exceptions, most of Western and later Christian history has painted Judas as the ultimate in human evil. But it’s not that simple. Judas did a horrible thing to be sure, but was he filled with nothing but evil as many have insinuated and believed? Probably not. He was called by Christ, after all, and served as a disciple for sometime before the big betrayal. While we don’t know of the good deeds he did, it would be hard to imagine there were none. Indeed, it would be impossible to imagine that there was no good within him. For while Judas betrayed Jesus, yes, he was not some pure demon who infiltrated Jesus’ closet circle. He was a man, he was human. He was one of us.

Perhaps that is why we often paint Judas the evil villain, complete with top hat and handlebar mustache. Because the more extreme he becomes, the less we can see ourselves in him. For Judas begins like we do – he hears a call to follow Jesus and he answers. He, like us, is a disciple of Christ, a disciple who does not fully understand all that God is doing in his presence, all that God envisions and plans beyond what he himself can see. And he ends like we hope not to end, as someone who turns against the one who has called him, taught him, loved him.

We are fascinated by Judas in part because his is a cautionary tale to future disciples, to us. Perhaps this is why Peter, as he is speaking to the crowd of believers, indeed as he is addressing the yet unnamed one who will be chosen to fill the betrayer’s place, speaks of Judas and his fate. Judas’ path is complicated, telling a truth that contradicts the suggestion that people are clearly good or bad. His life is one that has seen both ways, both the way of the righteous and the way of the wicked. His story could be our story, or so we fear because we all have known what it is to stumble in our walk with Christ, what it’s like to stray from the way of righteousness.

We are not the only ones to be so fascinated by this man, not the only ones to struggle with the question of how could someone, someone called a disciple, betray Christ? From the beginning, Christian communities have sought to make sense of this difficult question, to understand this troubling figure.

Within the gospels, Judas himself can be interpreted as many things. In Mathew and Mark Judas might be understood as a man who began good but was seduced to the way of the wicked by worldly thoughts of money or power.

The other two gospels suggest Judas was brought low by something much more otherworldly. The writer of Luke-Acts states that Satan entered Judas before he went away to plot with the chief priests to betray Jesus. Perhaps within his community, the community our Acts text was written within, the only way to make sense of what Judas did was to think of demonic forces at work.

In the Gospel according to John, however, Judas is not turned from good to evil by Satan. While Satan does enter Judas, he was bad from the very beginning. He was a thief; put in charge of the group’s money purse, he took a little for himself now and again. John’s Jesus is not ignorant of his disciple’s less than honorable heart nor does he wait until the Passover seder which became his Last Supper to announce it. Though he does not name him, Jesus vocalizes Judas’ true nature to all his disciples at the start, saying “Did I not choose you twelve? Yet one of you is a devil.”[3]

The gospel writers and their communities are certainly not the only ones within the early Christian movement to try and understand this complicated person of Judas. By now I would imagine most of you have heard about the Gospel of Judas, the manuscript of which current resides not too far from here at the National Geographic Explorers’ Hall in D.C.

Textual clues and references in other documents, suggest that this Gospel was written prior to 180 B.C.E., perhaps even as early as 130 B.C.E. This means the Gospel of Judas was written perhaps even as close as a few decades after the canonical gospels. While the communities of those gospels read and believed in a Judas who betrayed Jesus, the community of the Gospel of Judas was reading and believing in a Judas who did not betray Christ, indeed, in a Judas who was so obedient to Jesus that he turned his master over to the authorities out of love and devotion. For in the Gospel of Judas, Judas is Jesus’ most beloved disciple, who receives special teaching and a special assignment. Jesus wants Judas to turn him over, tells him to. True, others will not understand and Judas will be hated, but one day he will be rule over the other generations for what he has done.

While this text surely strays from canonical interpretation, it is interpreting the same events found within our four gospels in order to make sense out of the tradition of Judas’ betrayal. Clearly the writer of this gospel and the community he wrote in and for had trouble understanding how one called by Christ to serve could turn against him.

And yet it is curious that all these communities should wonder “how” Judas could betray Christ; curious that in trying to understand, some of these communities would interpret his actions being inspired by Satan or even go so far as to suggest Jesus really wanted Judas to turn him over.

It is most curious for us today if when we look within our text at the one who is speaking to the crowd of early believers about Judas’ betrayal and fate. Peter is certainly not a sin-free man. Though appointed “Rock” of the early Christian movement, Peter’s own disciple record leaves room for improvement. While Jesus called Judas a devil, Peter is the one who was rebuked with “get behind me, Satan.” And while Jesus foretold of Judas’ betrayal, he also spoke of Peter denying him not once but three times. It could be and has been argued that Peter’s denial of Jesus was just as much of a betrayal as Judas’ kiss. Just like Judas, Peter did not trust in Jesus’ promises, his teachings, didn’t fully believe and understand Jesus as Messiah.

Peter denied Christ, betrayed Christ, and yet it is Peter who is telling the believers and the soon-to-be new disciple Matthias of Judas’ fate. Peter who understands that it is indeed possible and all-too-easy to stray from the way of the righteous to the way of the wicked is telling these followers of Christ the cautionary tale of Judas. Peter who perhaps realizes that the real warning found in Judas’ story is not his betrayal, rather, it is what follows.

For Peter knows as well as any of us that greatest thing Judas is remembered for is not all that unique. While none of us will ever likely do so in such theatric fashion as Judas, we will each, have each, turn against God. For what are we doing when we sin but betraying God in our own way. When we sin, we - like Judas - betray the good work God is doing within us. When we sin, we – like Peter – deny that we know God and God’s way. We may wish it were otherwise, hopefully strive for it to be so, but the truth is this: we are all sinners, all deniers, all betrayers.

And yet we are not all like Judas. For while Judas’ infamous act may not be what we are warned against, his life does still speak to those who would follow Christ. For while he, like us, like the believers, like Peter, is a sinner, he is – hopefully – different from all others. What sets Judas apart is not his kiss of betrayal, is not his turning against God, but it is his turning aside from God.

Peter’s description of Judas includes a narration of his death. Judas’ death and the details surrounding it is where we find our warning, where we may learn from and not repeat his history. For what does Judas do before he dies? He buys a field. A seemingly innocuous action until you think about what that field represents. When Jesus calls his disciples, when he speaks about being a disciple, he makes it very clear – to follow him, walk with him, you have to leave behind all you have, your fish, your friends, your fields. You have to be willing to go where he will lead you, go where the Spirit sends. Judas, at one point in time, did that. He heard the call and he answered it; he began to walk with Christ. But now from Peter, we hear that Judas buys a plot of land. He becomes fixed. This purchase isn’t about investment or livelihood – it is a statement, one that says his journey with Christ, both figurative and literal, is over. He is finished walking.

Judas has turned aside from God to go to his own place. He hasn’t just sinned against God, he has given up on his journey with God, given up on his walk of faith. He allowed his betrayal, his sin, to overwhelm him, to stop him from walking. The Matthew account of Judas’ death makes this even more clear. In it, Judas actually repents, gives back the 30 pieces of silver to the chief priests, because he is so distraught by what he has done. He repents and then hangs himself. He repents and then does not allow for what may come from that repentance. He does not trust in forgiveness, he does not believe in grace. Instead, he turns aside from God.

This is what we are being cautioned against. This is what we should think of when we think on Judas. We do not know what God may have done with Judas, the good God might have worked through him, because that good is interred with Judas’ bones. That good was lost when Judas gave up. While his betrayal may have captured the attention and imagination of so many generations, it is his ending that should capture ours. For his betrayal warns against sin, against the way of the wicked – something we certainly should be concerned with but will never be able to completely avoid. We will stray, for we, like Judas, sin.

But we, unlike Judas, do not have to give up on our journey with Christ. We, unlike Judas, should trust in God’s grace, in the power of God’s mercy. We, unlike Judas, must believe that no matter how much we turn against God, no matter how greatly we betray our Lord, we can find forgiveness.

No sin – even Judas’ – is too great for God’s grace, too awful for God’s forgiveness. No sin means that we must give up on our journey of faith. No sin, no straying, no denial, no doubt means that God has given up on us. So listen to Peter, learn from Judas. Never give up on your journey with Christ. Whether in small steps or in large strides, keep walking with the Lord. No matter what, keep on walking.


[1] William Shakespeare. Julius Caesar. III, ii, 77.
[2] Along with Cassius and Brutus, the two men who conspired against Caesar.
[3] John 6:70

Friday Five

One of the web rings this blog is on (RevGalBlogPals) has a "Friday Five," where folks list five of whatever the prompt is. This week, it's to name five things you believe, silly or otherwise. Here is my Friday Five - I'd love to know yours.

1. I am a beloved child of God and so is everyone else.

2. Road trips are a necessary part of life (especially with good friends who get more than a little punchy the longer you're on the road).

3. Poor spelling is a sign of genius.

4. Loving community is the key to happiness.

5. God is love and those who abide in love abide in God and God abides in them.

june

I'm going to Ethiopia in June. I'm going to Ethiopia in June. I'm saying this over and over because it's just now starting to sink in. On June 14, four representatives of Covenant (of which I am one) are flying out to Addis Abbaba and then on to Bedele. That just a little over 2 weeks away. I'm excited, nervous, filled with wonder and hope for what this trip will be. I hope that it will strength the bonds between our churches, that it will make real a place and a people we pray for regularly, that it will inspire our team and fill us with a passion for our ministry together in Christ.

I'll probably be reflecting more on this as the time draws closer. For now, I'm content to keep realizing that yes, I'm going to Ethiopia in June.

L.O.V.E.

Texts:
1 John 4:7-21
John 15:1-8


One of the greatest blessings of my adult life is the relationship I have with my sisters and my brother. We though we all live in different states and don’t get to see each other but a few times a year, we are a great support system for one another. When we do get together, whether we’re on some adventure my mother has planned for us or just sitting around watching a movie, we have a heck of a lot of fun just being together. While we drive each other occasionally crazy, we really enjoy spending time with each other.

Yeah, it wasn’t always that good. Oh boy, it wasn’t. My sisters Neli and Dawn didn’t join the family until a few years ago, so growing up, it was just Beth, Ted, and me. And the three of us – well, we fought – and fought dirty. I won’t bore you with all the details, but we each had our tactics for getting what we wanted (one of Beth’s favorites was being so melodramatic about Ted’s or my “mistreatment” of her that our parents would rush to her defense – oh, she was good!). We each knew which buttons to push on the others and how. We rarely ganged up against each other, only because we were too busy fighting to form any sort of alliance.

My poor parents. It was a rare day that all three of us were getting along. I have no idea how they survived the day to day, let alone listening to us fight on those long family road trips. The folks never forced us to be the best of friends, to have Brady Bunch moments, but they did make us put up with one another. Whenever one of us went too far in our little battles, we got in serious trouble. And whenever one of us was expressing extreme frustration with a sibling, Mom or Dad would help us to see (even if we didn’t want to) where our sibling was coming from, helped us to see the other side. My parents never demanded that we smile and like each other, but they did make sure that under all our bickering, we had respect for each other, that we loved each other.

My folks taught that lesson well. When I was a kid, I would pick on my siblings all I wanted – but if an outsider even cast a disparaging look at them, it was over. That person was in for a severe tongue lashing the likes of which they had probably never seen. Because while Beth and Ted might drive me crazy, they were my sister and brother. I may not like my siblings all that much, but I loved them.

While I know the author of this epistle wasn’t referring to our biological brothers and sisters, it is in part because of this undercurrent of love I had for my sister and brother, even when they drove me up the wall by getting in my stuff, or – horror, of horrors – tagging along, that I can appreciate when the writer of 1 John says: “those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” If I want to be able to say “I love the Lord!” I have to be able to say, I love the Lord’s people. Because if I truly do love God, God who is love, I will follow God’s commandment for me, I will love my neighbor, my brother, my sister.

It’s not that hard of a commandment to follow. At least when the brother or sister you have to love is one that is just a pest. Loving because God first loved you is easy enough when those you are to love’s greatest flaw is that they are occasionally annoying. You can just roll your eyes at their behavior and think “I love you, I love you, I love you.” But following that commandment isn’t always that easy. When those we are called to love act in ways that make it challenging to understand how they too could be God’s creation, it gets hard. Very hard. I read in the news about people whose actions distort the image of God within them, those who reject others’ and even their own humanity, and wonder: how can I feel towards you any semblance of what I call love?

As hard as it is to follow God’s commandment with people like that, I believe there is even a greater challenge. Greater because it deals with what we face much more regularly. Most of us don’t go to school with or attend community functions with or even sit in the same church pew with mass murderers. We haven’t seen those brothers or sisters. But we have seen and do interact regularly with people who have personally hurt us or frustrated us. We do go to school, to work, and church with those whose beliefs strongly contradict our own. And the challenging questions for us is what do we do when the people we see in our day to day, the people are called to love, are the people who have hurt us with words or actions, people who do disagree with on issues close to our hearts? What do we do when we are supposed to love those who disdain the beliefs and values we hold as the core of who we are?

These are the kinds of questions I would imagine the Johannine community would have had after getting this letter. For the community that was originally told: “Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars” and “those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen” was a community dealing with deep division and suffering the sorrow of schism. This was a community where feelings were hurt, insults hurled, relationships broken because of strongly held and sharply differing beliefs.

Within this Christian community, there was a group that had broken away. This group differed with the Johannine Christians we would see as more orthodox on issues like who Christ was and on the importance of his salvation. While Johannine Christians argued that Christ set a moral standard in the way he walked, the way he lived, this breakway group argued that it was just enough to believe in the Word, what you do isn’t important just as what Christ did wasn’t important. Content to simply believe, they weren’t interested in living as disciples. We don’t know for sure but this group may have been a forerunner for the Gnostic Christians – those who understood this world and the flesh as false, who saw the purpose of life as pursuit of special knowledge from God.

We don’t know exactly how this schism developed. We don’t know who the leaders were, who may have said what about whom. Even though we don’t know the details on this particular division, given the reactions over such similar situations over whole course of our church’s history, it’s probably safe to assume it wasn’t pretty. When there is such passion, it doesn’t take much for disagreements to get personal. And this community isn’t just a bridge club, this community is family. And whatever happened, things got so bad that family split.

In the midst of the most passionate, personal of disagreements, of differences, where things got so bad people just broke off relationships and left, is this letter and its reminder that we are commanded to love our brothers and our sisters, that we are to love because God first loved us.

And so I can only imagine that this community was left with the same question we have – one we have whether faced with someone we vehemently disagree with or someone who has personally hurt us: how do you love?

It’s a good question, a hard question, a question I know I want the answer to. But before we can try to answer that question, there’s this voice inside that reminds me we have to ask another. Before we can talk about how we manage to love those we find it difficult to, we have to ask ourselves what we even mean by love? We talk about loving our brothers and sisters, struggle sometimes with that love, but what exactly are we talking about, struggling with? What is love?

Now that’s an even bigger question. There was a whole course at my college dedicated to that question. Now, trying to understand love for us today, I didn’t run out and take a college course on love, but I have been doing some research. Look love up in the dictionary and you get several, interesting answers. The most appropriate one I found was “unselfish concern and benevolent concern for the good of another.” That sounds good. In fact, it sounds quite similar to a definition for agape, the Greek word for love which used in this passage, which is often translated as something like unconditional, self-sacrificing love. That sounds pretty Christian, like something the writer of this epistle would be in favor of. We should all be able to get on board with that. And yet, I am not completely satisfied with that definition for love because but while interacting with our brothers and sisters in unselfish concern may sound like a beautiful thing, I think it can – on occasion - be problematic. As people who have found themselves in abusive relationships of one kind or another might tell you, sometimes you need to be a little more selfish and a little less self-sacrificing in your concern of certain others. Our understanding of love – if we are to love all our brothers and sisters, has to be broader than even our definition for agape love.

So along with looking up various definitions of love, I’ve been immersing myself in a little bit of pop culture. Even though we’re well past Valentine’s Day, love is at the forefront of much of our culture. So I’ve been beeping my eyes and ears open for any definitions or descriptions that seem to just fit. I’ve heard some good ones (according to my yoga tape love is what’s left when we let go of everything we don’t need) and some pretty ridiculous ones: (love is like pizza, when it’s good it’s really good, when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good). The best descriptions and definitions, though, seem to come from music, not surprising when you think that most songs on the radio seem to be about falling in or out of love. I’ll give you a few of my favorites
:
Love is more than just a game for two.
Love is a battlefield.
Love is the groove in which we move.
Love is real, real is love.
Love is just a fancy word for compromise.
Love is a piano dropped from a four story window.
Love is just like breathing when it’s true.
Love is but a song we sing.
Love is sacrifice.
Love is all there is, it makes the world go round.
Love is like sweet dark chocolate.
Love is not some victory march, it’s a cold and broken Hallelujah.
Love is the saddest thing when it goes away.
Love is seldom what it seems.
Love is blindness.
Love is a temple – love a higher law.
Love is bigger, is bigger than us.

Now these are great lyrics, good definitions, and I don’t much disagree with anything they say about love, but still, none quite encompass all we need love to be if we are to love all. So where do we find our definition of love? Where do we find the answer to our question of how to love?

Well, as John Calvin said “the word of the Lord is the sole way that can lead us in our search.” In other words, in my search for understanding what love is, I never should have left the text. And what does the text say about love? “God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent the only Son into the world so that we might live through him.” Our love, which comes from God is known in the Son. It was right that no one definition or expression of love, or even a combination of several, could completely satisfy me. For when we are searching for what it is to love as God commands us, we are not searching for a perfect definition, we aren’t searching for the best understanding, we are searching for God who is love. We are searching for the one who came as proof of love, as love living. For whether the person we are to love us one that just annoys us, one that has hurt us, or even one that we struggle to see as human, we can find what that love is within Christ and we can find the strength to love in Christ.

And Christ’s love is not a fixed definition. Christ’s love is not a static love, is not an immovable, unchanging love. Christ loved in different ways because he loved different people, he loved all people. He loved those who were his disciples, his friends; loved those whom he healed, he taught; he loved those that argued with him; he loved those who were threatened by him and threatened him. He loved all. And in his love, he would offer kindness and compassion; in his love, he would challenge the ways people thought and acted; in his love, he would be disappointed and even angry. In his love, whether it was gentle or “tough,” Christ moved people toward becoming the whole souls – what he called fruit bearing branches - God longed for them to be.

This love, Christ’s love, is the one we are to have. A love that may take on as many different definitions and forms as there are love songs. We are called to love our brothers and sisters but we are not called to love them all in the exact same ways. The love we offer is a love that – as did Christ’s – moves people toward being whole, love that will help them bear much fruit.

Knowing that the love we are offer is Christ’s love, we can too know and believe how it is we do love. For Christ tells us that “those who abide in me and I in them will bear much fruit, because apart from you can do nothing.” We can bear much fruit, can be true disciples and lovers of the Lord, because we abide in Christ. We can and do love knowing because we are not alone in our love. When we love, truly love, we draw on the strength of God, the wisdom of God, the courage of God. God commands us to love but does not leave us alone as we strive to do so. We can love and do love only because God first loved us and because God lives in us as we love each other. For God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God and God abides in them.

Love truly is bigger, bigger than us and for that we can all be thankful. Amen.

a dialogue of interest

A friend of mine recently directed me to a transcript of a talk that Tony and Peggy Campolo gave at North Point Chapel about ten years ago. Though an old speech/conversation, I found it remarkably poignant. Entitled "Is the Homosexual My Neighbor?" this transcript sees both Tony and Peggy make different cases on the issue of same-gendered relationships but offer a similar - and compelling - articulation of how the church is called to serve our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters.

As our church faces such similar questions and issuez - particularly at General Assembly this June - I think it is most critical that no matter what we believe on particular issues we do not let people become just an "issue." I become deeply troubled when I hear the various camps dehumanize those with whom they disagree. I'm currently working on a sermon for this Sunday based on a text that say, among other things, that if we say we love God but do not love our brothers and sisters, we are liars. Our call is to minister in love to all and when we do not - when we let our differences, however deeply seeded, divide us and keep us from our ministry of love - we are not loving God.

This transcript offers a wonderful call to ministry of love that can affect those with varying opinions about homosexuality. I invite you to read it and let it reside with you for awhile, to wonder if any of Tony or Peggy's statements ring especially true for you, if any cut you to the quick. Think about what ways our church - both Covenant and the greater church - can be a place of love where those who have felt that the church (or church people) despised them - and this goes beyond gays and lesbians. Think about these things - and then act, in small moments, in larger ways, act. The church will only become a truly loving community - Christ's community - when its people move past fears, prejudices, or whatever holds us back and strive to love.

Cravings

I've recently taken up walking in the park (almost) daily. It's good to get some exercise but I really love the chance to people watch, listen to music, and/or spend time with God that walking for an hour or so gives me. I've been so good at keeping up with this practice that my body starts to crave it during midday. My muscles get excited - "come on, Amy, use us!" - and I just can't wait for my walk. When days are too busy (like today, for example) and I really can't fit a walk in, it's tough. While my brain may be fully committed to whatever I'm doing, the rest of my body is trying to get me outdoors and moving. It's kinda nice to know that the time I spend walking has become so integral to my day that I'm experiencing withdrawls! A good reminder that taking time for yourself is a necessary thing indeed.

to pray or not to pray

This afternoon I had two welcome items in my mailbox - my new passport (which means I can stop worrying about being able to head off to Ethiopia in June) and the latest The Christian Century. If you haven't had a chance to pick up an issue of this magazine, you're missing out. Good articles that make you think about theological issues are not a dime a dozen.

One of the articles in this particular issue of the mag that made me think is about intercessory prayer. In a recent edition of the New York Times, there was an article about another test on the effects of prayer on heart patients. And the news is apparently not all that good. According to this article, "prayers offered by strangers had no effect on the recovery of people who were undergoing heart surgery, a large and long-awaited study has found. And patients who knew they were being prayed for had a higher rate of postoperative complications."

The Christian Century offers a fantastic tongue-in-cheek memo to a congregation where Martin Copenhaver pleads with his church to stop praying for others (check it out if you can). It also offers this thought in another article about the same study: "the basic theological confusion here is to think that prayer puts God at our disposal, that prayers is a lever we use to nudge God in a specific direction. A God who is at our disposal in that way would not be God."

I've thought about prayer a lot over the years. Why do we pray, what "good" does prayer do. It always made me uncomfortable to think that my prayers are what could and would change God's mind about something. While that can be a powerful thought, it can also be unbearably burdening. If something bad happens to someone I love, it's because I didn't pray hard enough. And, as the writer of the previously mentioned article says, God who would so be at my disposal wouldn't be God. So, if my prayers, our prayers, are not about producing the results we want, if it's not a matter of praying just hard enough so that what we want comes to pass, then why do we pray? Should we pray?

We all have to decide that for ourselves. Me, I lean towards keeping up my prayers. Why? Because pray for me isn't so much about healing people or ridding the world of poverty or violence because I wish it hard enough - though certainly God knows I do pray hard for such things. Prayer is more about putting my trust in God and in what God does with me. When I pray for peace in the Middle East, I don't know if those prayers will sway God to intervene in new ways. But I do believe that those prayers sway me. My prayer changes me, gives me a passion and compassion that make me a stronger person, a better follower of Christ. Through prayer, I draw closer to God and in doing so, I believe I am empowered to be the change I wish to seek. This is not to say I don't believe prayers for other people can heal them in some way, but it is not why I pray. If study after study could show that intercessory prayers don't effect change on the person or places prayed for, I would still pray for others - in part because I know prayer changes and heals me.

To pray or not to pray - I choose to pray.

reflections from atlanta

What a week, what a week! It's amazing to me how you can be gone from a place for so long (for Atlanta and I, it was an 11 month seperation) and yet the moment you step foot on those familiar sidewalks, it feels like home. And then, even more amazing, was how much it felt like home when I drove up Beverley to my apartment. It's rather nice that I feel as though I have several homes, several places I feel completely comfortable.

While in Atlanta, along with seeing those dear friends and sights, I really enjoyed myself at the lectures, being intellectually stimulated is always nice. I enjoyed AmyPlantigua Pauw's dry wit (in referring to the Trinity, she had some particularly clever bits - the Holy Spirit is not the "His Girl Friday" to the Father or the Son, and we cannot just randomly pick things that go in threes to describe our triune God - no "rock, paper, scissors").

I also loved listening to George Stroup, the man who co-taught my theology courses with Shirley Guthrie. He is an excellent speaker and has that making you think thing down. He spoke about God's freedom from and for the world, something Shirley spoke of, and made me think about religion and political causes. He said that while Christ had a preferential option for the poor (something good liberation theologians are want to tell you) he did not defend or champion any program or institution. Speaking of Christ's "royal freedom" (Barth), he insisted that Christ did not align himself to any particular movement, any organization. Instead, "Jesus is the partisan of the poor who laid the axe at the root of all the trees." He challenged that the church's (difficult) task was to witness to Christ's partisanship of the poor without identifying it with a particular party or program.

I enjoyed this discussion because it's where I have been leaning and yet did not have the speech to claim what I have been thinking. I firmly believe in Christ's partisanship of the poor and yet am not comfortable with affiliating that with a particular political party or movement. It can be tempting to blend the two together - your faith and your politics - but I want to resist that urge. I want my faith to inform my politics but not the other way around. I don't want to claim that Jesus would vote for X - though I certainly want my relationship with Jesus to help me figure out who I should vote for. It was nice to finally be given theological reasoning for why I feel this way.

After Easter

The Monday following Easter will find me on a plane headed toward Atlanta. For a week, I will be spending time at Columbia with friends and colleagues as we celebrate through worship and seminars the life of the late Shirley Guthrie. I’m looking forward to gathering with my peers, listening to lectures (without having to worry about taking notes!), and enjoying the culinary delights of my old hometown. I’m also looking forward to continuing my celebration of Easter.

I am excited that this gathering of my colleagues where in which will we celebrate the life of a beloved professor is following immediately after Easter. I fear that once Easter Day has come and gone, the celebration of the resurrection and the hope we have in it is no longer on the forefront of my mind. I get distracted, move on to the next Sunday, the next season in our church calendar. But this year, I will be spending my first “after Easter” days celebrating the life of Dr. Guthrie. When we celebrate the life of one who has died, we celebrate the promise we have for life everlasting, a promise we have because of what we celebrate this Easter Sunday. I am thankful that this year I will have an immediate reminder that the Good News of Easter is not just to be celebrated on Easter.

You Say You Want A Revolution

Texts: Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
John 12:12-19


Expectations. We all have them – a lot of them if you think about it. We have our day to day expectations – the car is going to start in the morning when you head off to work, we’re going to make it through the school day without seriously embarrassing ourselves, the dinner we’re making is going to be appreciated by our family. Beyond the day to day, we all have more complicated expectations about how our life is going to be, how the people in our lives are going to act and react to what comes our way. We have serious expectations for ourselves, for our family, for our work, our friends, our God.

Our story this morning is about those serious expectations. We all know that Jesus’ entry is the beginning of the end, a brief moment of triumph before ultimate humiliation. We know this, but almost two thousand years ago when Jesus entered the city, the people who came out to meet him didn’t. No, they had an entirely different expectation for what was going to happen.

The great crowd that went out to meet Jesus was a mixed one. There were those that had been with him when he had raised Lazarus, those who had seen him perform a miracle beyond belief, those who had gone and testified to what they had seen. There were also those who had heard this testimony, heard that Christ had performed this amazing sign and were inspired to meet him. There were also probably those who didn’t really know what was going on – those who joined in the crowd because it was another thing to do amid the exciting chaos of the festival.

The one thing all those in this crowd had in common was that they were in Jerusalem as part of the celebration of the Passover. As you may have heard over the years on various Palm Sundays, this celebration is a wild time. It’s bound to be when you have as many as one hundred thousand people in a city that normal holds only eighty. There’s an energy that permeates the air. This energy is due in part because of the sheer numbers there to celebrate – but it is also due to what they are all there to celebrate. The Passover isn’t just any feast – it is a feast that celebrates perhaps the most important act of God in Jewish history. It is a feast that remembers when God delivered the people of Israel from Egyptian bondage under the leadership of a man named Moses. When times got rough, when another army invaded and another country occupied their land, this was the story the people told themselves over and over again. As our resident storytellers could tell you, stories powerfully affect people, can do more than entertain or education. They tell us who we are, who God is. They can inspire, heal. This story of deliverance is the one that gave hope to those who were not free.

The people who have gathered to celebrate this Passover are a people who know what it means to not be free. While Rome may not be the strictest or most vile of occupiers – they did bring things like sewer systems and running water after all – they were still occupiers. As long as Rome ruled, the people of Israel could not be what they had been and what they longed to be – a strong and independent nation. They longed for liberation, longed for another Moses to come and free them. These were the people who came out to meet Jesus. And so whether they had followed Jesus’ ministry for some time, whether they had just heard about what this man could do, or whether they weren’t even sure who it was they were greeting, they all had liberation on the mind.

They came rushing out to meet him as though he were a ruler, a king. They came out shouting, “Hosanna, hosanna” – a word that may be a greeting of praise, but one that also can be understood as a prayer meaning “save now” or “save us, please.” In their initial greeting, the crowd lets Jesus know, lets us know, what they expect from him – they expect this great man, the one who raised Lazarus from the dead, to save them too.

The salvation they are thinking of, they are expecting, is not the one that Jesus has come to bring. It becomes very clear that the crowd is thinking in earthly terms. They are not searching for some ethereal salvation, they are not thinking about how they are being occupied by sin, they are thinking about the real, physical forces that they see each day occupying their land.

Along with shouting their Hosannas, the crowd shouts a selection from Psalm 118, the psalm we read this morning and one they would have been reading as part of their festival celebrations. If you recall our psalm read: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. We bless you from the house of the Lord.” Yet the crowd shouted something a little different: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord— the King of Israel!”

The crowd changes a familiar psalm about God’s role as creator and savior to include something new, The King of Israel. And there we have it. That is what the crowd is shouting for – the restoration of the Davidic line. That is who they see Jesus has – a revolutionary who has come to bring them their freedom. They shout “King of Israel” because that is what they want. It is not just through their words we know what they are expecting Jesus to free them from Roman rule.

We call today Palm Sunday because according to John’s Gospel the crowd ran out to greet Jesus with palms. Palms aren’t just pretty plants that someone thought would look good when waved. Palms were a symbol of revolution. About one hundred and fifty years earlier, a hero by the name of Simon Maccabaeus, delivered Jerusalem from a Hellenistic ruler who tried to ban the Jewish religion and defiled the temple. When Simon freed Jerusalem, the people celebrated by praise and palm branches. Since this time – which was the last period of independence the Jewish people knew – palms had become a symbol of Jewish desire for deliverance. This is the symbol the crowd is waving at Jesus.

There can’t be any doubt - this crowd is saying it wants a revolution. And they see Jesus as the one who can bring it to them. That is their expectation as they rush out to meet Christ on his entry into Jerusalem; as they follow him throughout the week, listening to him teach; as they watch stunned as their revolutionary leader is arrested, beaten, brought down low by the government he was suppose to free them from. No one understood – not even the disciples – when Christ told them throughout this week that it would be all right. All they could understand was that the man they had welcomed as a savior, as the King of Israel, was not coming through as they expected.

The crowd expected a revolution and when they didn’t get it, they turned on Jesus. They turned from shouts of Hosanna to shouts of hate. Even the disciples proved less than faithful when the one they followed was arrested and sentenced to death. Those who had followed Christ for some time, believed in him passionately, when their expectations were not met they felt angry, heartbroken, betrayed.

While we might be tempted to sit back and judge those who turned on Christ, we should resist such a temptation. For when our own expectations are not met, do we not feel the same? When people let us down, when we let ourselves down, are we not hurt, do we not feel anger? How much more would we feel the pain and betrayal of unmet expectations if the one to disappoint us was the same one who had shown us what wondrous signs he could perform? When the one who disappoints us is God?

The crowd that ran out to meet Christ expected something from him and they are not alone in that. Whether or not we are fully aware of them, each of us has expectations for our Christ, our God. Some of us may expect that God will not let serious harm befall us – that tragedy may visit others, but it will not us. Some of us may expect that God will always be clear in is expected of us – that the path God desires for us will be clearly marked. Some of us may expect that if we really would take the time to seek out God, we would easily feel God’s presence and quickly find peace. When the expectations that we have, consciously or unconsciously, are not met, when we are dealt a hand we never imagined God would allow, it is perfectly understandable that we would be angry, that we would be hurt, that we would want answers from God. In that pain and confusion, we might find ourselves like the crowd in Jerusalem so many years ago. We might turn on the one we had looked to for so much.

When we are disappointed by God, it will be a challenge to not let ourselves turn on God, to not abandon our God or our faith. We may struggle with finding a way to be anger, hurt, heartbroken and still be able to say, even in the quietest of voices, “Hosanna.”

This is quite a challenge. The crowd that met Christ with such joy and exuberance couldn’t do it. Even the disciples couldn’t all find watch as their expectations were dashed and still offer Christ “Hosanna.” But we have an advantage over the disciples and the others who followed Christ. Unlike this great crowd – and in fact, thanks to this crowd – we know that when expectations are not met, all is not lost, rather, something greater may be on the horizon. The people who rushed out to meet Christ expected deliverance from Rome and instead they got something so much better, something not even those closest to Christ could even conceive until it had come to pass. Instead of an earthy, temporary salvation, Christ offers eternal salvation.

The crowd didn’t understand, couldn’t see beyond their expectations, and so they did lash out, their Hosannas did turn to hate. But their story can inspire us to look beyond our own expectations. When we are disappointed in our journey of faith, this story can bring us hope that Christ again will offer us something greater than we could imagine or even fully comprehend. The people of Israel had the story of the Passover, recited it throughout the years, celebrated it with such hope for the future. This was the story that reminded them of what God would do. We have the story of Holy Week, a story of expectations celebrated, dashed and replaced by something so much better. This is the story that reminds us what God can do. This is the story that will not let us give up hope even when all seems lost. This is the story that can help us think beyond what we know and what we understand. This is the story we celebrate not just this week, but every week, day, minute of our lives. This is the story that keeps Hosannas in our hearts.

All praise, honor, and glory to the one who offers us such possibilities, who reaches beyond our expectations, who gives us more than we even know to want, who blesses us with such a story. Amen.

Games, Glorious Games!

I love studying the Bible (most of you should know that by now!) but sometimes it's just nice to take a break and play. Tonight we took a break from our regularly scheduled Kerygma and had a game night instead. Thanks to Steve H and Nancy D, we also had wonderful balloon animals and lovely painted faces (which, sadly, I didn't get to).

I had a great time tonight playing Jenga, watching those braver than I try their hand at "Killer Bunnies," and listening to all the giggling (from kids and adults!). It reminded me of when my family would get together every Sunday night and just play. Sometimes we'd play cards, sometimes Monopoly, a few occasions we tried to make Mousetrap work. Those are some of my favorite memories, gathering as a family and playing. It was just so wonderful tonight, after supper, to gather around tables and play a variety of games, to join together as a family in Christ. We worship together, serve together, eat together - it was nice to play together. Let's do it again sometime soon!

Road to Joy

Texts: Jeremiah 17:5-13
Mark 8:31-38

The idea that life can change quickly, shockingly, should be no surprise to any of us. During the last decade we have witnessed disasters, natural and human wrought, that have either ended life or forced those caught up in destruction’s path to face a life radically different from what they had known before. Katrina, the tsunami, September 11, Columbine. These events have become a litany that flow off the tongue more readily than any call to worship we might recite here. Though we are all one in Christ, there are certainly other life altering events your neighbor would have in her litany that you would not in yours. Only certain events affect us all on similar levels. I doubt many of you would include November 26th, 2005 in your litany. That day, the lives of four men, all our brothers in Christ, were radically changed.

Norman Kember, a 72 year old retired professor of medicine from London, James Loney, a 41 year old Canadian mediator, Harmeet Singh Sooden, a 32 year old Canadian engineer studying to be a teacher, and Tom Fox, a 54 year old father of two, musician, Virginian, were serving in Iraq as members of the Christian Peacemaking Team. Formed by Mennonites, Brethern, and Quakers over twenty years ago, this organization seeks to devote themselves fully to the cause of nonviolent peacemaking. These men entered the hottest zones in Iraq, unarmed, to help rebuild homes and lives destroyed by war, to speak out for those who had no voice. Working along side Muslim peacemaking groups, the four men earned the respect of many who found it hard to trust those from the West.

On November 26, 2005, these men who went to Iraq to serve the Iraqi people, were taken hostage by a group calling themselves the Swords of Righteousness Brigade. This group threatened to kill the four Christian peacemakers unless all prisoners in US and Iraqi-run detention facilities were released. Deadlines have come and gone and until recently, no one has been sure of what has happened or was going to happen.

For the family of Tom Fox, March 9, 2006 will undoubtedly be added to their list of life changing days. This Thursday, Tom’s body was found after he had been conspicuously absent from a video showing the other three peacemakers that aired Tuesday. We don’t know when he was killed, we don’t know – though I’m sure we could all speculate – why Tom was killed and not the other 3. It’s frustrating – this not knowing – because there is a lot we don’t know and may never know. But we do know one thing – we know why Tom and his fellow peacemakers were in Iraq in the first place.

The world of Iraq is not safe – anyone who has loved ones who have been or are still over there know this too well. Why do people go to such a dangerous place? Some people go over because they have been required to by their government; some go over because the opportunities for financial improvement are so much greater than can be found here; some go because they believe good work can and must be done and they want to be a part of it. The four members of the Christian Peacemaking Team were among those who went to Iraqi because of their belief there was good to be done. But it wasn’t just “good work,” it was God’s work.

The day before the four men were taken, Tom, a Quaker who went to Iraq believing that there is that of God in every person, wrote an article that spoke to the very question – why are we here? This is how he answers: “If I understand the message of God, his response to that question is that we are to take part in the creation of the Peaceable Realm of God. Again, if I understand the message of God, how we take part in the creation of this realm is to love God with all our heart, our mind and our strength and to love our neighbors and enemies as we love God and ourselves.”

Tom Fox and his fellow Christian Peacemakers found themselves in harms way, found themselves more vulnerable to life altering events like the one they experienced on November 26th, because they believed the message of God is to take part in the creation of God’s kingdom here on earth. These men left safety behind, left their self-orientated interest behind, in order to come take part in God’s work in Iraq.

Tom, Norman, James, and Harmeet are not alone in this journey – others, in Iraq here and now and in other places in other times, have left behind security and the interests of the self for the sake of the gospel.

One of the very first to take up his cross and follow Christ is the same one who rebukes Christ. Just after Peter confesses Jesus as the Christ, as the Messiah for the first time, and just before he witnesses the transfiguration and hears God proclaim Christ the beloved, he has – a moment. Jesus predicts what lays in store for him – rejection, death, resurrection – for the first time. Peter, hearing that the man he has just acknowledged as Messiah speaking of his rejection by the powerful and his subsequent death, does not react well. He takes his Teacher aside and rebukes him as one might a child. The writer of Mark does not tell us what Peter may have said but the writer of Matthew does. In Matthew’s account of this story, Peter tells Jesus that these things cannot happen to him. Peter cannot believe that the Anointed One – the one who is supposed to be all powerful - will be rejected and killed – the resurrection part of Christ’s prediction doesn’t seem to register.

Jesus, who is normally quite calm when one of his disciples questions him, even speaks down to him, reacts quite strongly. He refers to Peter by the name of the Tempter, the Prince of Lies. We don’t know what about Peter’s words illicit such harsh rebuke – is it that Jesus would be tempted to become Peter’s Messiah – a Messiah who conquers, not suffers – and therefore is lashing out at his temptation and tempter? Is it that Peter, who just announced Jesus as the Messiah is, with his rebuke, lying to himself and his fellow disciples about what being a follower of this Messiah has in store? Is it perhaps a little bit of both? Peter’s mind is set on human things, not divine, and Jesus is setting him – and perhaps himself – straight.

Jesus, after dealing with Peter harshly, moves to his more traditional response to a disciple’s misunderstanding and questioning – he uses to the incident to teach, to offer further insight into the Son of Man and what it means to be his follower. To be Christ’s follower, one must deny oneself, take up the cross and follow him.

Jesus’ words here have been a cornerstone in our understanding of what it means to be a disciple. Unfortunately, that understanding has often been as misguided as Peter’s. This passage has been used to justify not self-denial, but self-abuse. People over the centuries have taken up their crosses with such fervor that suffering isn’t something that they endure, it’s something they seek out. They more they suffer, the more they are closer to Christ – at least that’s what some thought. Self-flagellation, hair shirts, refusing to eat anything you might enjoy – disciplines like these were practiced by men and women of faith for years – in some communities they still are. They are practiced because some have understood denying yourself to mean deny any joy, any pleasure, any happiness you might experience in this world. Whatever burdens may come your way, take them on. Do not seek to better your life, do not seek to live out what you want if others want you to do or be something else.

This understanding, it’s all wrong. Plain and simple. Following Christ is not about causing yourself pain or giving to others to the point that you have no sense of self left. It is what Peter did not do – setting your mind on divine and not human things. To deny yourself, take the cross, and follow Christ, is to no longer be guided by self interests but by Godly interests. It is putting your trust not in mere flesh, even your own flesh, but in the Lord. Those who deny themselves and take up the cross are those who participate in God’s work on earth. Those who risk suffering, rejection, and yes, even death, for the sake of the gospel. Those who live out, no matter where it might take them, the message of loving God with all our heart, our mind and our strength and to love our neighbors and enemies as we love God and ourselves.

It took him awhile, but Peter finally understood what it meant to be a follower of Christ. Though before the resurrection he questioned Christ, rebuked Christ, and even denied Christ, after Peter witnessed the truth of Jesus’ passion prediction, after he came to understand that in Christ human death is not the end, he truly became a follower of the one who had called to him so long ago. Tradition tells us that Peter, the one who balked at the thought of Jesus dying, the one who denied him at his death, was killed living and preaching the gospel.

Peter followed Christ. Tom Fox followed Christ. You and I are here because we want to follow Christ.

Does this mean that we as followers may, like Peter and Tom, give our very lives for the sake of the gospel? Maybe. That answer frightens but we cannot escape it. Christ says that those who lose their life for his sake will save it. Followers of Christ throughout the centuries have given their lives for his sake. Though we have a comfortable existence, we might find our faith leading us to places or situations in which we risk our safety, our lives. We might.

Discipleship is not an easy undertaking. But the cross we are called to take up does not necessarily equal physical death. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a man whose life was ended because of the path he followed out of his faith, believed the cross was not the terrible end to an otherwise god-fearing and happy life – it, instead, meets believers at the beginning of their communion with Christ. “When Christ calls a person,” he says “he bids come and die.”

All of us can add another day to our litany of life altering moments – the day or moment we first responded to God’s grace already at work within us, the moment we consciously decided or when we realized we had unconsciously decided some time ago to follow Christ. Because on that day, we did die. We died as a person oriented in self and rose to new life as person who puts full trust in God. Our old life of doing what we wanted when we wanted, or for some of us, doing what others wanted of us when they wanted, is gone. Our new life, of doing God’s will when God wills it, is here. In our new life we trust that even if we follow God into a place where we lose our physical life, we have not lost our life in Christ. And that is truly the cornerstone of our faith, of being a disciple. It is trusting in God, God’s work in and through you, that even the threat of death does not keep you from following.

Do not let the fates of believers such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Tom Fox, or Peter deter you from following the Lord. Let them inspire you. These men, like other women and men throughout history, had such strength and courage of belief that they did not see death as final. Their journey with Jesus was not a journey filled with abuse, the cross was not a burden. The road they were on did not lead them to despair – it led them to joy. It led them to the joy we all may share in the resurrection of the Lord. Amen.

for the love of Lent

Everyone seems to have a favorite season. Some love Fall – the colors, the back-to-back holidays. Some love Spring – the flowers, the warming air. My favorite season? Lent. That old saying – it’s not the destination but the journey that matters – that’s how I appreciate Lent.

We enter into Lent dusting ourselves with ashes, acknowledging in worship and in ritual that we are mortal. Because of our mortality, we cannot hope to overcome death. Because of our depravity, we cannot hope to overcome sin. And so as we begin Lent, we turn to the one who can and has overcome both sin and death. We turn to Christ and we follow him – as best we can – on his journey to the cross.

We follow with sacrifices of our own – giving up that favorite dessert or perhaps that habit of ours which we have long wanted to let go. We follow by taking up new practices – daily prayer journaling or working at the soup kitchen once a week. We follow, keeping Christ’s sacrifice on the forefront of our minds by what we have given or taken up, trying to participate in Christ’s journey as best we can.

We go through this journey, year after year, because it is only by walking this path that we might truly appreciate Easter. If we are to celebrate Christ’s resurrection and the hope of eternal life we have through him, we must first observe Christ’s journey to the cross. In this long and oft challenging season of Lent, we have sacred space in which we might come to appreciate what Christ gave to us, what Christ sacrificed for us.

I love Easter but I know I could not shout with true joy “Christ is risen!” had I not spent the six weeks of Lent looking toward the cross.

When She Believes

Text: John 4:1-29,v39-42


It’s a shame we don’t have more wells around town. Wells are interesting places – the perfect locale to meet your friends who are drawing water too and share the day’s gossip. And heads up all you single ladies, a well is a great site to meet new and interesting visitors who may later turn into something more. A woman named Zipporah met her future husband, a nice Egyptian fellow named Moses, for the first time at a well. And if we’re talking about wells, we can’t forget that sweet Rachel meets her future husband (and future brother-in-law) Jacob at the wellside.

A well is a great place to make such connections because it is teaming with life. At least during the morning and the evening. The well at noon, however, when the sun is at its highest and hottest, is clear of any of the gossiping crowds. The well in our story this morning is free of any gossiping gaggles – but it is not an empty scene. As we sit beside the well with Jesus, a woman approaches both the well and the man sitting by it – a woman who has chosen to fill her jugs of water during the worst time of the day.

Even before we hear her speak, we know there is something different about this woman. A woman who comes to the well at noon, when she is almost assured of meeting no one else, very likely has a reason for taking such pains to avoid making connections with those she might find at the well.

Just as the woman’s presence at the well is a little surprising, so too is Jesus’ – though it has nothing to do with the time of day. That Jesus would be in Samaria at all would have been more than enough to raise the eyebrows of those pious Pharisees he left behind. As John mentioned a few weeks ago when speaking about the Good Samaritan – Jews and Samaritans did not mix. Though descendants of Abraham, the Samaritans intermarried with the foreigners and began worshiping God (and sometimes other gods) on a mountain temple other than Solomon’s temple in Jerusalem. These offenses were enough for the Jews to despise the Samaritans as heretics.

Into a land filled with these heretics comes Jesus. Our text tells us that on his way from Judea to Galilee, to continue his ministry among the Jews, he has to pass through Samaria. Jesus’ “had to pass through” wasn’t about getting from point A to point B – like we may have heard before. Geographically, he had other options for going from Judea to Galilee, options that didn’t include Samaria. Jesus “had to” pass through because of whom he would meet, what he would do, while in Samaria. He had to pass through because of the people he would encounter and the lives he would change. The first person he meets is this woman who has come to draw water.

“Give me a drink of water” – are his first words to her. Though Jesus’ request for water is a perfectly reasonable one – such basic hospitality was an acceptable expectation – the woman immediately questions him, given their hostile heritage – “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” Jesus, oh Jesus loves a good question like this. Give him a slight crack of the door, and he’ll burst it wide open. And he has a way of not actually answering the question asked. Here Jesus doesn’t speak of some sort of ethnic equality, rather, he speaks of living water – something which this poor woman takes rather literally, not unlike the Pharisee Nicodemus whom Jesus encountered in Judea just before he met her. Also not unlike his encounter with Nicodemus, Jesus does not let this woman’s concrete thinking stop him from talking about this living water that will quench every thirst and gushes up into eternal life.

Now while the woman may not fully understand what Jesus is speaking of, she is still thinking in earthly terms, she is not a fool – she knows she wants this living water. In the face of her request, Jesus doesn’t reach down deep into the well and offer her baptism (as we might have expected given that his ministry in Judea had revolved around that act). Instead, he reaches deep into her, revealing to us why she wanted to avoid the people of her village, revealing to her that he is more than a man that can speak poetically about water.

This woman – as it turns out – may have found more than enough success at meeting men at wells for she has had five husbands. Five. Now, we don’t know how much Samaritan laws differed from Jewish laws, but we do know that at this time, 3 husbands in your lifetime was the limit for a Jewish woman. To a Jewish man, as Jesus was, this woman was two husbands past decency. To top it off, the man she is with now is not even her husband. No wonder this woman avoided those gossiping groups – they were very likely gossiping about her.

The man she meets at the well this day, does not gossip about her. He tells her what he knows of her, not in derision, not in contempt, but in care – Jesus is showing her how much he knows her and as he continues to speak to her, he helps to develop a bond between them by letting her know him. When asked, he tells her he is this Messiah she has heard about. We read in our text that Jesus responds – I am he – but the Greek reads only “I am.” As an awed Moses once heard those words from a burning bush, this Samaritan woman hears Jesus claim not only his position as Messiah, but as the one who is known only as “I am” – YHWH.

Though it is different than Zipporah and Moses’, or Rachel and Jacob’s, the Samaritan woman and Jesus share a deep and meaningful connection. They know things about one another that two strangers meeting by a wellside never would. It is this connection that stirs this woman to action. Though she still may not be clear about living water or about salvation, she believes in this connection. And her belief prompts her to no longer avoid her fellow Samaritans, rather to actively seek them out. When she meets with her fellow Samaritans, she does not timidly offer witness to what she has experienced – she boldly speaks up, commanding the people to “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

She does not say “come and see a man who speaks of living water… or a man who tells of worshiping in truth and spirit,” rather “come and see a man who knows me.” And though she still wonders if he could really be the Messiah, she believes in what she has experienced with him and she speaks to all those around her of that experience.

In this story where Christ engages a shamed woman in serious conversation, there are many things we might learn from our Savior. We might glean information about eternal life, about how to worship, about not condemning those who have fallen from our moral standards. We could learn much from Jesus, but on this day as we celebrate the gifts of women, it is the Samaritan woman and her bold, brave speech that perhaps should inform and inspire.

As you may have noticed by looking through your bulletin, this year, 2006, is a big year in terms women and the life of the church. It’s the 100th anniversary of women being ordained as deacons and it’s the 50th anniversary of women being ordained as Ministers of Word and Sacrament. As wonderful as those celebrations are, there’s another anniversary that bears notice.

In 1916, 90 years ago, Katherine Bennet, the president of the Women’s Home Board, made a report to the General Assembly, the national governing body of the Presbyterian Church. This report marked the first time a woman was allowed to speak at a General Assembly. This report was the first indication that the previous attitude toward women speaking was going to change. Women not being permitted to speak in church had been the standard. In fact, just 25 years prior to Bennet speaking before this body of the church, the General Assembly had this to say – “It is the settled doctrine of our church that women are excluded from licensure and ordination by the plain teaching of the Scriptures and, therefore, cannot be admitted to our pulpits as authorized preachers of the Word; and, also, that they are prohibited from speaking by way of exhortation, or leading in prayer, or discussing any question publicly in the meetings of the church or congregation as a mixed assembly.”

Women who a particular connection to Christ and wanted to share what they knew of him, had to work hard for the right to speak, to overcome such views. And they did work. Sometimes they went further than the church allowed – several women were ordained by sympathetic presbyteries only to find that ordination later revoked. Sometimes they waited for the church to approve before they spoke in public assemblies, yet worked hard to get that approval.

Women like Margaret Towner who was the first woman ordained in our Presbyterian church, or Louisa Wooley who was the first woman ordained by the Cumberland Presbyterian Church (a sister to our own denomination), these women struggled to be heard and yet they did not give up and they did not keep quiet.

These women followed in the footsteps of our Samaritan woman. Today as we celebrate gifts of women in the church – it is this gift, this particular gift of speech, we all can celebrate. Each of us, male or female, has been given the gift of examples like Margaret and Louisa, of the Samaritan woman who spoke out so long ago. And in these examples, we have exciting hope and a certain challenge for our own life in Christ.

As believers in the faith, we are each called to be a witness, to proclaim what we have seen and known of Christ. Each of us, whether or not we have been called to ordained ministry, has been called to speak. Our speech doesn’t have to be grand statements before governing bodies, or sermons before congregations. We speak when we feel that tug on our hearts to share our experience of Christ. When Jesus commanded his disciples to be his witnesses, he did not only mean those who stood before him in that time and place. We have been called to be witnesses to Christ in deed and in word.

Like the women who were the first to speak in our church, we may comes across that which may try to keep us from speaking. People may dissuade us from speech because of who we are – because our gender, our age, education, class, any myriad of classifications others might feel should prevent us from speaking. Our own insecurities may push us to keep quiet – I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not eloquent enough. We may doubt that others would want to hear what we might say, doubt that they would listen when we spoke of our faith, our experience, doubt that the Spirit could speak through us.

But no matter what others may say, not matter what insecurities we may feel, not matter what doubts may plague us, we must believe. Believe in our own connection with Christ, even those connections that leave room for confusion. Believe that even if some may not show it, all are longing to know and be known by Christ. Believe that Christ may indeed speak through us.

We must believe like the Samaritan woman believed because when we do, God’s power and glory can shine so brightly. The Samaritan woman believed in the moment she had with Christ, believed in the feelings it stirred up in her, and look what happened when she believed. She did not let her fear of judgment stop her from seeking those she once avoided, she spoke what she knew, even though she still had questions, and through her testimony, the Spirit sparked a desire to search in those she met. After hearing her, other Samaritans sought Christ and came to believe for themselves.

The Samaritan woman believed, women like Margaret and Louisa believed, and now you and I are called to believe. Believe and speak of the one who inspires such belief. Though you may not stir a whole people to search out Jesus with your speech, though you may not find yourself as the first to break down barriers, your speech, your witness to the Christ whom you know and who knows you is precious. It is a gift, one that, be you man or woman, we celebrate this day. Amen.

Celebrating

This next Sunday is Celebration of Gifts of Women Sunday in the life of our church. This year the celebration is particularly exciting as 2006 marks the 100th anniversary of women being ordained as deacons and the 50th anniversary of women being ordained as ministers of the Word and Sacrament. In 1906, the United Presbyterian Church of North America - one of the forerunners to our PC(USA) – began admitting women as ordained deacons. In 1956, Margaret Towner was ordained as a minister by the northern Presbyterian Church. Ordination was not one given to women. Those who understood that they had been called by God to be a deacon, elder or minister, had to work long and hard for years to be recognized as full partners in ministry. Change was resisted at each step. Studies were asked for, committees appointed, not just on the issues of should women be ordained but also on such controversial topics as should women even be allowed to speak in church.

As a female minister who never had anyone in the Presbyterian Church question her calling because of her gender, I am in awe of those who came before me. I am in awe of women like Margaret Towner, and Katie Cannon who was the first African-American woman to be ordained in 1974, and Rebecca Reyes who was the first ordained Hispanic woman in 1979, and Holly Haile Smith who was the first Native American woman to be ordained in 1987. I am in awe of women who did not grow up in a church that had people who looked like them standing in the pulpit or serving on session. I am in awe of women who did not have the examples I did and yet still knew that they were called.

As this year of celebration progresses, I invite you to think about women in ministry you have know. Who was the first woman minister you knew? Who was the first elder? Deacon? Who were these firsts for our church?