Lost and Found

Luke 15:1-7

When my children were young and we had a full house, I felt like I was always counting. If we went out together, literally counting heads to make sure everyone was there, no one was lost. At home, whether cooking, doing laundry, reading a book, or watching TV, I would at random moments make a count in my head. One is upstairs in her room, one is sitting at the computer, one is right here with me, and one is at the neighbor’s house. So, I understand the sheep owner, counting his sheep. You won’t just naturally notice that one out of 100 is missing. You would have to count.

When my children were young I also had the horrible experience of losing one of them. In the mall, to my recollection. More than once. So many things to look at, so many places to hide or wander off to. Yes, I was the reason the mall went on lockdown more than once.

Losing someone is a very distressing feeling. And, if Jesus is actually talking about humans in this parable of a lost sheep, then I get the urgency of the matter. When someone gets lost, especially someone vulnerable, there is a sense of urgency about finding them. 

We don’t forget a loved one who is lost to us.  Whether it is a soldier who goes missing in action, a teenager who runs away, or someone who gets picked up one day by the authorities and whisked away, “disappeared,” not to be seen again.  Each one is somebody’s beloved, and they do not forget them.

No price can be placed on a human life; no statute of limitations can be applied to the effort to bring justice or reconciliation.  So if this is what he’s talking about, the search for a lost child of God, I get the seriousness of it.  At the same time, though, I have a problem with this parable.

The nature of a parable is to pull the listener in to the story.  It’s a powerful teaching tool because it doesn’t just tell you something – it allows you to experience something.  Draw the listeners in with some familiar scenario, something they know. 

This is why Jesus’ parables so often used tales of farmers or shepherds – these were the things his listeners knew best.  So this is what he gave them, and they would think, “Ah, yes!  Sheep.  Vineyards.  Planting and harvesting.”  They can see it, feel it, smell it, hear it.  They know it so well they can even anticipate what will happen next.  Give them some content that they can really engage with, something they are sure to have an opinion about, and then throw a curve.  Give them a surprise, something new to chew on – this is how the parable works as a teaching tool.

So in this story, Jesus uses the old “which one of you” technique.  Who among you would not do this?  The subtext is this: you all are responsible, intelligent men and women.  Which one of you would not do such a simple and obvious thing as this?  And if you would do this, then how much more would your Father in heaven do?  

He uses this approach in other places, too, such as the “who among you would give your child a stone if he asked for bread?  If you know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven do for you.”  It’s logical.  It makes sense.  It gets the message across.

But imagine how it might work in this case.  Speaking to people who understand shepherding even if they are not shepherds, Jesus proposes to them, “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the 99 and go in search of the one that has gone missing?”  

The bait here is the phrase “which one of you.”  It says of course, it goes without saying, that you would do this thing, that this is the right thing.  “Which one of you would not!”  But then you hear this: “which one of you would not leave the 99 and go in search of the one.”  Who, indeed, would do that?

What will happen if you leave the 99?  You put them at risk.  You abandon them to the wolves.  Who, indeed, would do that?  The very idea!

So, there you are, listening to Jesus’ story.  You’re nodding along as he speaks.  Then suddenly you stop nodding, and you’re thinking.  Would I do that?  Should I do that?  

Jesus has left me feeling a little off balance.  There is now a tension between what I have always known to be the right thing and what I hear Jesus suggesting to be the right thing.  I am feeling less sure of my convictions now – and that might be okay.  But I am also left with the uneasy feeling that I am perhaps unable to be the person Jesus seems to expect me to be.

Because I have tried to be that shepherd who goes after the one sheep who wandered away.  I have tried.  I have tried to be the savior who flies out over the landscape and seeks the lost and swoops them up, carrying them back to safety.  I have tried launching rescues boats, standing at the helm, back turned to the remaining 99, who are left to feel abandoned, hurt, unloved and neglected.  

I have been the one who believes against all the evidence that she can make that one wandering sheep change against their will; that the sheer force of my will, my love, my good intentions, can override the wandering sheep’s will.

I have tried to be the shepherd.  But I am not that Shepherd.  There is only one Good Shepherd.  

It turns out that no matter where I am sitting, I am one of those sinners. One of the lost, actually. If I am a Pharisee or Scribe standing in judgment of others, if I am a tax collector taking advantage of others, or if I am just one of the generic, garden-variety sinners, I find that I am lost here. 

Sometimes, especially when I am least able to acknowledge my own need, I am lost.

And in those moments, I need Jesus to notice that. I need him to drop everything and pull out all the stops and come find me, bring me home. 

Perhaps the message of this parable is not that we are good and God is better, but that God alone is good. And we are sinners – sometimes lost, sometimes found, always in need of repentance.

All of us are among the lost at times. Yet all of us are the ones who need to be looking out for the lost. How can we keep alert, to see who among us is overlooked, who is at risk of becoming truly and irreparably lost? And how can we be the hands and feet of Jesus, doing what we can to bring them home?

Deb Rossi, who is the director of HOPE, told me recently about her new project. She has recently received funding to help men and women who are being released from incarceration to re-enter society. She shared with me the simulation she recently participated in to demonstrate just how challenging it is for someone returning home after prison. She was given an identity, which looked pretty strong on paper. Someone who had more resources than many who are coming out of prison. But I was surprised to hear that she was defeated by the challenges of re-entry. Given four chances to do it successfully in the simulation, every time she ended up back behind bars. 

These ones who are among the lost need as much help as we can give them, for a chance to feel redeemed. Found. 

The power of finding and saving the lost is not ours.  But seeing them, welcoming them somewhere in the midst of the extremes; enfolding them in the love and care of community actually is in our power.  

And when we do that well, we are a little less lost, a little more found, too.

Picture: Lost & Found by Lisle Gwynn Garrity, A Sanctified Art, LLC

Rest & Growth

 

Luke 13:6-9

When I was installed as pastor at Wicomico Presbyterian Church I received a gift from the Korean congregation next door. They sent me a beautiful orchid plant, which I received with awe and a bit of trepidation. My past experience with orchids had not been that successful. But everyone kept telling me they were pretty simple. Find a good spot for it – light but not too much direct sunlight – and feed it three ice cubes a week. 

So I did. And after a time the blossoms all fell off, as they do. But it looked healthy otherwise, and I kept feeding it three ice cubes every Sunday, without fail. And waited for it to bloom again. 

I waited five years. 260 Sundays. 780 ice cubes. Which is longer than this vineyard owner did.

This man apparently planted the tree expecting results. He wanted this tree to be productive for him. But the tree has not been productive in the way this man wanted and expected, and he has an attitude about it. In fact, he seems personally offended. He orders his gardener to cut it down, get it out of his sight, out of his vineyard so it shouldn’t waste one more speck of soil.

To the landowner it is a commodity. If it is not producing for him, then it is worthless to him. But the gardener sees things differently, possibly because he is more immersed in the life of the soil and the plants that live there. He has a better understanding of growth, and all that is needed to support growth.

It is, admittedly, a confusing little parable. We don’t know what this fig tree is doing in the vineyard to begin with. We don’t know why the landowner himself planted it when he has a gardener. And you know what else? We are really unsure about who to side with in this parable.

Is the gardener right in his argument? Should the fig tree be given another year’s chance? He is probably a lot more familiar with the plants, the soil conditions, and other variables, so he might have some good reasons for believing that this tree ought to be given another year to prove itself. And, it might occur to you, it’s possible it hasn’t been very well cared for up until now. Whose responsibility was it? the man who planted it in the vineyard? Or the gardener who tends the vineyard? 

And then there is the poor little fig tree. Perhaps your sympathies lie there. If this tree is healthy in every way except that it isn’t producing fruit, is it fair to kill it now? 

Who is this landowner who orders the tree to be cut down, anyway? Is he justified in his decision? You might argue he is. From what I have read, it seems that you ought to be able to expect some fruit from your fig tree by the third year, if not before. And if a fig tree is for getting figs, then this tree is not living up to its purpose. Is this a fair argument, or is it too simplistic? It’s possible the tree had other purposes. Sometimes a fig tree is planted in a vineyard for the ways that it can help the grapevines stay healthy.

The little story has many facets, and every time I turn it I see other possibilities. Kind of like real life. But today I invite you to consider something that is not even mentioned in the parable: rest.

Last week when the grandkids were at our house Kim took them over to the measuring wall. Maybe you have had one of these in your house, a place where the children can stand against the wall and you mark their height and the date. And periodically, you go back and measure again, to see how much they have grown. I think we have had one of these everywhere we have lived. And we have left many of them behind for the new homeowners to find. 

The kids always love it. They feel so proud of themselves when they see how much they have grown. But this time Kim was surprised to see that Lena hadn’t grown at all since the last measure. Lena seemed kind of puzzled by it too. She’s been doing everything right. She eats, she sleeps. What more can a kid do?

I said to her, “Lena, growing is hard work. Sometimes a body needs to take a rest from growing.” That seemed reasonable to her. She was willing to accept a period of rest until her body was ready to start growing again. 

No living thing is made to be productive all the time. However, this is a struggle for us because the world demands productivity. We take pride in being able to talk about how busy we are. We might boast about how many hours a week we are working. Our identity and sense of worth gets all tied up in being able to quantify our output. Which is something that can become extremely painful to us when we reach a season of life when we no longer feel like productive, high-contributing citizens.

I read this week about a woman who established what she calls the nap ministry. Kind of like a church, but instead of hard pews there are soft mats and pillows for people to lie down and rest. Then she speaks to them in calm, tender tones and lets them fall asleep if they want to sleep. Her point is that human beings are starved for rest. And the more starved we are the more dysfunctional we become. As Jesus said, “Come to me all you who are weary, and I will give you rest,” she embodies this value in her ministry.

Rest is essential because, even though it doesn’t look like it, rest time is productive time too. It gives the body the opportunity to rebuild and repair and reset. For a tree, there is lots of work going on underground during the seasons of rest. Roots grow, searching out nutrients and other plant life down there that can create mutually beneficial relationships. 

For a human being, rest can provide the time for a lot of inner soul work – for listening, for seeing all that God is inviting us to take in.

Who is this landowner who would cut down the trees during their season of underground work? Who would cut off you and me from the things that give life?

There is a time for rest, and then there is a time for fruitfulness. Even the early Christian hermits, who withdrew from society to live in the desert, returned eventually. They came back to be a useful part of the community, sharing the fruits of their contemplation. People sought them out for their wisdom. 

The truth of the matter is that we need both rest and growth. We need both rest and productivity, fruitfulness. 

Although it doesn’t speak to this matter directly, we might infer this from the parable of the fig tree. We don’t find the landowner to be all wrong, nor do we find the gardener to be all wrong. Life consists of both rest and growth. 

But who is this landowner anyway? 

Of all the characters in this parable – the gardener, the tree and the landowner – I wonder about the landowner. I can identify with the tree, because I have seasons when I am not as productive as I would hope. I disappoint myself at times and surely disappoint people around me. I am like the pathetic little fig tree.

And I appreciate the gardener, who has so much empathy for the tree. The gardener gives care and nurture and really wants to help along the plants of the vineyard to be the best they can be. The gardener is who I would want to emulate.

But what about the landowner? At any time, the landowner could represent different forces in society, but right now I think the landowner is the department of government efficiency, as they maniacally rush around breathing threats, cutting, slashing, and burning random positions and departments. They say to us, “It’s time to let go of your low-productivity government job and find yourself a high-productivity private sector job.” 

But I have questions about that. I want to know about these low-productivity jobs. 

Are they the ones that help senior citizens get their social security? The ones who make sure the checks go out on time every month, so people have money to buy food and pay rent? 

Are they the ones who work on USAID contracts at a maternity clinic in South Sudan who prevent women from bleeding to death in childbirth? A clinic that is now closed.

Are they the ones who provide mental health care to our military veterans who are struggling day to day?  The ones who intervene and prevent suicides? 

These are some of the casualties when we’re destructive merely for the sake of being destructive. Moving fast. Breaking things.

Of course, anytime you try to pin down the characters in a parable it will be an imperfect comparison – Jesus did not speak about our current situation in this country. Still, the parables are always applicable. They always have light to shed for us, something to say to us. And this parable of the fig tree seems to have a little something to say about the conflict between the self-interested and often destructive values of the world and the life-giving, hopeful, and caring values of God’s realm. 

You want to know another thing about this parable? It has no ending. I wonder what happened. Did the landowner relent and let the gardener try another year to help the tree along? Or did he insist that it be cut down that same day? We don’t know. All we have is what we would like to see, what we hope for.

Just like in real life.

It is my hope that the gardener persisted in making his case to the landowner. It is my hope that the gardener provided the care the tree needed – care that any living thing or creature needs to thrive and bear fruit. It is my hope that the landowner discovered mercy and repented.

It is my hope that you and I will find a good balance in our own lives for rest and productivity, that we will all bear fruit and do our bit in making the world a better place – in all the ways that really matter. It is my hope that we will resist the landowners who want to cut everything down in a hurry. It is my hope that we will each be like the gardener, tend the soil we live in, help one another grow and bear fruit.

That orchid I received as a gift – I tended that plant for five years, in hope. And then it bloomed.

It is my hope that we will not lose hope.

Picture: Fig Leafing by Hannah Garrity, A Sanctified Art, LLC.

Faith & Works

Luke 10:38-42

I once served a church that had a board of deacons made up entirely of women. It had been like that for a long time. And so the first year I worked with the nominating committee I strongly encouraged them to consider some men who might be called to serve as a deacon. 

Not too long after that I got a visit to my office from Doreen, the moderator of the Deacons. She was in a fit. She said, “I heard you all nominated Ty for deacon. Just tell me: what am I supposed to do with him? He can’t bake!”

I tried to argue that there was really much more to the ministry of the deacons than baking cookies, but Doreen was still doubtful. “Well, besides,” I said, “How do you know he can’t bake?” 

I had no idea at all if Ty could bake a batch of cookies, but mostly I wanted to get beyond the ideas everyone had about women’s work and men’s work. There are some pretty resistant ideas about gender roles in the church, and when people step out of bounds, you never know what might happen. 

You might be surprised that this little story about Mary and Martha and Jesus arouses as much passion as it does. In its own little domestic way, it is about as provocative as Jesus’ most shocking parables. Everybody has something to say about it.

Most people, based on my informal assessment, seem to disagree with Jesus. People feel very strongly that Mary really should have been in the kitchen with Martha. But not necessarily because they believe a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Most people seem to feel this way because they are sympathetic to Martha and the burden she is carrying.

When good church people look at Mary – let’s admit it – we think she is lazy. She should be helping her sister. 

But that is not to say that Martha doesn’t have every right to sit at Jesus’ feet, too. Sitting at Jesus’ feet to learn is a very good thing, right? It’s not just for men, right?

It’s pretty easy to get tied up in knots with this story. Most of the women’s voices I have heard speaking about this, you can tell they’re tied up in knots. They will say, yes it would have been fabulous for Martha to go sit beside her sister at Jesus’ feet. But we just have one question: is anyone going to eat? Who will prepare the food? 

I don’t know if anyone here needs to hear this, but I’ll just say it: food doesn’t cook itself. 

No one in the story seems at all concerned about what any of the male disciples were doing. Where were they? Hanging out in the yard smoking, telling stories, waiting for someone to call them in for dinner? 

Not to say the men were useless. If Martha needed a jar opened, or if she needed something from the top shelf, they would have been right there. But they’re not going to be much help stuffing the little mushroom caps or putting the toothpicks in the bacon-wrapped water chestnuts.  For that she’s going to need Mary.

A story like this pushes our buttons. Because as much as things have changed, and they really have – I always thought my father would have starved to death if there wasn’t a woman around to put a plate of food in front of him – it is still true that women do the majority of the domestic work.

But, as Jesus said to Martha, let’s not get worried and distracted by these things. Because I don’t believe this story really has anything to do with gender roles or housework. It’s about figuring out what the one thing is that’s needed. At any particular time and place, what is the most needful thing?

Churches, maybe Presbyterian churches in particular, are full of Marthas. Both male and female Marthas. Because we know, what would happen otherwise? If it weren’t for Martha, how would the coffee get made, the candles get filled, the paraments get changed to the proper color for the season? How would we have music or sound or flowers? Would we just let the light bulbs all burn out until eventually we were sitting in darkness? On communion Sunday, would we just have to imagine we are eating the bread and drinking the cup because no one bothered to prepare the elements? Would we let the bulletins sit in the office and figure that if people want one, they can just go to the office and get one? 

There are so many things that need to be done. What is this “one thing” Jesus speaks of?

I once took it upon myself to teach a small group of Presbyterians how to practice contemplative prayer. I told them this is what it is: a simple practice of sitting in a comfortable position, closing your eyes, and clearing your mind of all distracting thoughts. For about 20 minutes. 

Go ahead and clear all that stuff out of the way and wait for God to speak to you. And if, while you’re waiting, your mind starts to run off chasing some thought, gently pull it back. Okay? So we gave it a try.

After about five minutes, one of the men in the group, Steve, let out an exasperated sigh. “O man, my mind was everywhere,” he said. “I was thinking about everything I have going on at work, at home, all the things I need to do.”

His wife Connie, sitting next to him, smiled. She said, “I just imagined myself sitting at Jesus’ feet. And whenever a thought or a worry came in my mind, I imagined taking it in my hands and laying it down at his feet. And it was easy to let it go.” 

Such a showoff those Marys can be. But, really, answer me this: How is the church going to show love to our neighbors if all we ever do is sit at Jesus’ feet? 

Who is going to collect the groceries and take them over to the food pantry for the poor? Who is going to pack up the bags with food and take them to the school so kids will have something to eat over the weekend? Who is going to greet newcomers and let them know they are welcome here, they are wanted here? Who is going to teach the children and let them know that God loves them, and we love them? 

There are so many things that need to be done. What is this “one needful thing?”

I don’t think anyone seriously questions the idea that there are many things the church should be doing. There are many things Jesus told us we should be doing: feeding the hungry, healing the sick, clothing the naked and housing the homeless, comforting the afflicted and freeing the oppressed – these are not just distractions, but real ministry.

Jesus wants us to work for justice as well as for peace, to do God’s will on earth as it is in heaven. You know, not much. 

I once participated in a program that was intended to revitalize congregations. The focus was on figuring out what the congregation’s particular gifts are, then figuring out what the community’s particular needs are, and then making a plan to do something. Just do something.

The consultants who led this program were so energetic and creative and just great at coming up with heaping handfuls of ideas that would help a congregation get moving, get working. But at a certain point I had to admit to myself that I felt something lacking. There was one thing, one needful thing, that was missing for me. To sit at the feet of Jesus.

And without that I felt empty. And tired. Anxious. And maybe a little cranky.

Connie, who was in that contemplative prayer group I led – you know Connie, the one who bears a very strong resemblance to Mary? It wasn’t surprising that she felt at ease with contemplative prayer. Connie was a powerful pray-er, everyone knew it. She walked around with something almost like an aura, she radiated spirituality. 

But do you know what else Connie did? Connie ran a soup kitchen in the church every Saturday. This kitchen fed hundreds of people every week. There were dozens of volunteers. Every church in the community, and other organizations, too, contributed to the soup kitchen in some way. 

The people came to this soup kitchen to have their bodies fed with good food, and their souls fed with love and joy. There was no one, no matter how difficult, who did not get loved and fed. Connie was the heart and the energy behind this. And Connie could not have done it if she did not, regularly, spend time at Jesus’ feet. 

You know, I have been to other soup kitchens that aren’t like that. Places where you see people bustling around the kitchen, tired and short-tempered, resentful. Maybe a little bit like Martha was that day when she came storming out of the kitchen complaining. The people I see at those places, I think maybe they have forgotten why they are doing the ministry they are doing.

Because it turns out there really is just one thing that is needed: to stay close to Jesus, to listen to Jesus. 

The church very much needs all of Martha’s qualities. Martha knew her ministry of caring and feeding Jesus and the disciples. There is still so much ministry that needs doing. In these times, it is critical for the church to show the world what the gospel of Jesus has to say for them and give to them. It is a message of radical love and generosity. 

At a time when the politics and the culture are shouting things that are so very different from Jesus’ message, our voices and our actions are necessary. But the only way we can get up every day and embody the message of love is if we stay close to Jesus. Listen to Jesus, letting his wisdom and creative love pour into you and fill you up.

All good things will flow from that.

picture: Mary & Martha, by Lauren Wright Pittman, A Sanctified Art, LLC

Lent 1: Stranger & Neighbor

Luke 10:25-37

A week ago I attended a Presbytery retreat with several other members of this congregation. It was called Fearless Dialogues; with a title like that, we all knew we were about to be nudged into our discomfort zone. And we were.

We walked into a room with chairs set up in circles. Unbeknownst to us, we had each selected a sign that would indicate what group we would be sitting with, so when I walked in I sat with a group of others whom I had never met before. 

This is not the worst thing that could happen. I have been to plenty of events where I know nobody and engage with strangers – I know how to do this. But then we were asked to do something that was a bit different from anything I had ever done before. Pair up with one other person in your circle. Sit face to face with this stranger. Begin to give this stranger a long, loving look. 

Just look into this stranger’s eyes – for 90 seconds – with love. This means really seeing this person, whom I had never met before that day. Whom I hadn’t even had a real conversation with yet. For 90 seconds. 

And then switch. Be the one who receives a long, loving look.

Was this uncomfortable? Yes, of course it was uncomfortable. How often have you given a long, loving look to a complete stranger? In most circumstances I wouldn’t recommend it. There are all kinds of reasons it would probably be a bad idea.

Today on our first Sunday in Lent, we begin this series where we stand in the midst of a very divided culture; all the issues that divide us seem to charge the air between us. We stand in the positions we have chosen, where we are expected to make judgments about everything – like, “What kind of idiot believes that?” or, “Those people only want to take things from you, to hurt you.” We stand in these spaces and we hear this invitation from Jesus: step away from your corners, get out of your boxes; come join me in all the vast space in between, because that is where God is.

It is a difficult thing to do. We might have very real and legitimate concerns about safety for ourselves and our loved ones. We might feel that if we step away from our side we are abandoning our people – our cause. We might feel it is the same thing as surrendering, that we must stand in opposition to what is wrong, what is unjust. 

But what we discover in our reading of the Gospel of Luke is that Jesus inhabited that great sea of grayness in between the black and the white. While Jesus was always clear about matters of justice, always showed compassion for his people, again and again he challenged people to open their eyes to the nuances of truth, as uncomfortable as that could be.

Today we hear the parable of the Good Samaritan, a perfect example of Jesus’ teachings on expanding one’s vision, broadening one’s circle. 

He offers the parable to the expert in the law. This man who comes before Jesus in all his arrogance, to test him on matters of law and love. Jesus is not interested in being quizzed, but when the man poses the question, “Who is my neighbor,” Jesus has something to say.

He begins a story in the time-honored tradition that he and his fellow Jews knew so well – the parable. It is a very familiar format, one his listeners probably settled into hearing quite comfortably.

A man is walking down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. He is attacked by bandits who rob him and leave him there to die.

A priest comes along and sees him lying there. He crosses over to the other side and passes him by. 

Next, a Levite comes along and sees the man lying there. He, too, crosses over and passes him by.

Now, Jesus’ listeners would have disapproved of these things. The priests enjoyed high status in Judaism. Descendants of Moses’ brother Aaron, they were entrusted with all the religious rites of the temple. It was wrong of the priest to ignore a fellow man in such dire need. 

Similarly, the Levite’s actions would have been disappointing. They had fairly high expectations of the Levites as well – both these men should have been better. If this man on the road was still alive, he clearly needed help. And if he was already dead, there is no excuse for them shirking their duty to bury the corpse. These listeners knew what was right, even though many of them were certainly neither priests nor Levites. They were just common Israelites and they knew.

Priests, Levites, Israelites. These are the three categories of people in Judaism. And so, in telling the story in this way, Jesus is setting their expectation for what comes next. It’s almost like the set up for a joke: A priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into a bar. They are familiar with this type, this set-up.

The last thing they expected to see coming next was a Samaritan.

There was a complex relationship between Jews and Samaritans. We think of them as mortal enemies, but something we ought to know about the Samaritans and the Jews is that they were actually siblings, descended from Abraham. They were all at one time members of the 12 tribes of Israel, settled in the land Moses led them to. They had all lived together under the rule of King David. But sometime after that they had become estranged. And through the centuries they each developed their own customs and cultures. They had their own temple and priesthood, their own interpretation of the scriptures, and their own beliefs about the messiah. They were rivals who distrusted one another. They resented and sometimes even hated one another.

The man lying on the road is a Jewish man. If he were conscious, how would he have felt when he saw this Samaritan approaching him? Very likely, he felt afraid.

And in fact, fear is a prominent feature throughout this whole story. There was fear for anyone traveling down this road from Jerusalem to Jericho – it was a steep road, winding through the hills, with many hiding places for bandits looking to attack a traveler. There was fear for the priest and the Levite who saw the injured man – what could happen to them if they stopped? Might the bandits be lying in wait to attack them also? And there was fear of the Samaritan, for what he might be capable of doing.

Everyone had reason to be afraid. 

Everyone has reason to be afraid. You and I, we have our reasons for staying on our side, for sticking with our assumptions and judgments about others, for refusing to reach out a hand to a stranger or enemy.

Everyone has good reasons for failing to be the one to break a cycle of violence.

One thing I learned at the retreat I attended last week was just how powerful it is to look at someone and really see them. I became aware of how often I fail to do that. There is an instinct for self-protection that makes me avert my eyes when I encounter a stranger or someone I know is different from me. But if I can overcome that instinct, what might be gained? How much more love can be set loose in the world?

Here is something interesting. That little exercise we did, where we took turns giving the long, loving look to a stranger, was revealing. We discovered that it is easier to be the instigator of the long, loving look than it is to be the recipient.

I think those who were hearing Jesus that day had similar feelings. How hard it was for them to acknowledge that someone like a Samaritan could be the one to reach out in love; that a Samaritan could be more compassionate than I am.

In that vast space between strangers and neighbors, there is room for us to step in and really see one another. The secret to taking that first step is to see the real possibility that those strangers on the other side are really just like you.

Author's note: I am indebted to Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington III for their insights on the passage (The Gospel of Luke, New Cambridge Bible Commentary)

Picture Credit: "Neighbors by Steve Prince | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

Six Stone Jars: The Economy of Jesus, Week 6: More than Enough

Luke 6:27-38

Here's a test: You’re shopping online, scrolling through all the options and possibilities, thinking about what you want. You let your curser rest on one particular item, then a message pops on screen saying, “Going fast!” or “Only 2 of these left!” 

How do you react to that?

If you are like me, your immediate response is a slight feeling of alarm. The thought enters your mind, “If I want this I had better act fast or I will lose the chance. Someone else will get it.”

This happens, even if I am intellectually aware that this is a technological trick. That it’s probably not even true. That, honestly, my world will be none the worse even if I do miss out on purchasing this item. Yet, it plants this seed in my head – I might miss out.

Someone else will get it. I will miss out. This is the essence of the scarcity mindset. 

Over the past six weeks, we have been thinking about what we’re calling “The Economy of Jesus.” There are ways Jesus approaches economic matters that are radically different from what we are accustomed to, and very challenging to our own desires.

We began in January introducing something called the “Gift Economy.” Instead of approaching something with a transactional mindset, we have the option of mutual gift-giving. This means we give without strings attached. It is something that is necessary for authentic loving community to exist.

Next we listened to Jesus speak in the Synagogue as he presented his mission, or purpose. The concept of Jubilee, which is an Old Testament notion that restores others to wholeness. And if this is his purpose, then we know it is ours as well.

The next week we heard the rest of Jesus’ sermon in the synagogue, where he very pointedly told us that God is not for us and against others. In this way, we are challenged to stretch our own understanding of love.

We then considered the notion of call – something that people of faith may experience personally. In Luke’s story of how Peter, James, and John were called, we heard Jesus saying, “Go out into deeper water.” And when we do, the abundance of good things we find there will take us to a new level.

When we are listening for God’s call, we are likely to hear the call to give sacrificially – as I did. To give sacrificially is to give in trust – trust that there will be blessings galore. We are invited to lean into this blessing, even when it feels counterintuitive, because it draws us near to God and an experience of the fullness of joy therein.

And today in our reading Jesus invites us, once again, to shed our scarcity mindset and believe in God’s abundance. Because we know that God provides. We know that there really isn’t a shortage of good things in this world God created. There is abundance, which is another way of saying there is grace. Which points directly to love.

Have you ever been approached by a mother or a father who is expecting their second child, and hearing them say to you, “I am afraid I will not be able to love this child as much as I love my first child.” They are afraid they’ll come up short and there is nothing they can do about it.

At that point, if you are a parent who has been through it yourself, you might offer them assurances. You’ll say something like, “You will find that there is more love inside you than you ever imagined. You will find that love is not finite. There is an ever-expanding amount of love in you, so you will be able to love this child as much as the other.”

Most parents know this because we have been through the experience of feeling the love in us expand beyond the boundaries we thought were there. We have felt the explosion of love, the experience of feeling love in a way that we never have before. We know that love is not limited.

This is one important way that we as human beings are made in God’s image. And this truth is the foundation for everything else that matters.

Love leads to grace, which leads to generosity. And that, I will boldly declare, leads to happiness.

It’s what we are meant for, what we have been made for. You cannot really stop this abundant divine love and grace from pouring out into the world. 

There is a story about St. Francis of Assisi that illuminates this truth. Francis took these words of Jesus so seriously, he gave away everything he had and joined a monastery. In that community, he used to get in trouble for how quickly he was willing to give away his clothes to others. Francis’s abbot was aggravated about the cost of having to constantly replace Francis’s coats, so he ordered Francis to stop giving them away. But Francis found a loophole around his vow of obedience. When he met someone who needed a coat, he’d say, “I can’t give you my coat, but you could take it from me…”

The Abbott would have had to imprison Francis in his cell to stop his generosity. Which would have killed him, sooner or later. A spirit of love is meant to thrive and grow. A spirit of grace is meant to spread to infinity and beyond.

A spirit of generosity is what we are called to, my friends. Today you are invited to pledge your generosity for the coming year. We have asked you to wonder about the people and circumstances in your life that have taught you the meaning of generosity. We have asked you to examine your own giving patterns with the question, “Is there room for me to give a little more?” We have asked you to consider the very real possibility that giving sacrificially, giving in trust, will increase your joy. 

Yet, it bears repeating that no one is ever asked to give more than they can. Each of us is asked to give as we are able to – not one bit more. Today, it is my prayer that you have found the sweet spot, that level of commitment that meets all your needs.

As we bring our pledge cards to the communion table today, may you know this blessing:

A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.

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Six Stone Jars: The Economy of Jesus, Week 5: Leaning into Blessing

Luke 6:17-26

Last week I had a case of vertigo that hit me like a ton of bricks. So I spent the week mostly in bed, unable to focus my eyes very well. The vertigo has gradually improved but I have still been left with little to do but rest my eyes and … think.

And I have been thinking about the text for the week. About blessing and woe. About the economy of Jesus, about fullness and emptiness. About giving and receiving.

There is no question in my mind that I am among the blessed – by almost any definition of the word. But when I think of the specific biblical meaning, and the unique angle Jesus presents in his sermon on the plain, this is the meaning of blessed that matters the most to me.

To talk about this, I want to go back to my childhood. I offer you today a kind of testimony. Normally when I prepare a sermon I spend time studying, reading a lot, taking things in. But this week I could not read, so I can only give you what is already inside me.

I was brought up in the Lutheran church, a place that was important in our family life. Like many of you, church was the water I swam in as a child, the air I breathed. Nothing to be questioned, only to be learned. 

And in the church, thankfully, I learned that I am loved. I learned that I am a sinner, absolutely. But unlike the experiences I know some others have had, it was not taught to me that I am a bad person. I sin because I can do no other on my own. But I am loved as a child of God and therefore forgiven. This was the most important thing I learned in my childhood, I think – that I am incurably prone to sin, but that I am nonetheless loved. Thus, I can confess my sins every day without fear, because God is always ready to forgive. Like the prodigal son, whose father will run out to embrace him when he turns his face toward home, I am forgiven.

I believe this is as solid a foundation as I could have wanted in life. Not everything was peachy keen in my world, but because my parents raised me in church, I have been blessed.

Yet, when I became an adult, I can see now that there was something lacking. I did not seem to feel that I needed to do anything in this relationship. I took what I needed, but I gave little.

It was a set of circumstances in my life in my early 30’s that changed that. When Kim and I moved from Iowa to Pennsylvania, I was unable to find a Lutheran church that felt like a good fit for me. There were three in town, I tried them all, but each time felt the answer was no. Someone suggested I try the Presbyterian Church which was only a five-minute walk from our home. And so I did.

The first time I walked in there I had a clear sense I was in the right place. I sensed that God was opening the door and welcoming me in.

It was in joining this church that I began to have a clear sense that God was doing a little more than loving and forgiving me. God was asking something of me as well. I was asked to serve on session and I knew my answer was yes immediately because I had already felt that call in my soul. I was asked to serve in other ways and the answer was always yes.

I said to you last week that the call comes in many ways and at many times during a person’s life. My first year on session, when it came to stewardship time, I discovered the call to give sacrificially. 

I know that word – sacrifice, sacrificial – is loaded with baggage, can be triggering for some of us. But it helps to deepen our understanding of the concept. Someone once told me the definition of sacrifice is to give up something good for the sake of something better. 

But doing this always requires trust. 

Sacrificial giving to me means giving in trust – But I had never done this before. 

Honestly, I had never felt like the church needed my money. There were a lot of other people, and a lot of them had more money than I did. But what I had not considered was my need to give to the church. 

Yes, it is my need as much as the church’s need. I am not fully who God intends me to be if I do not give the first fruits of my labor.

And I have to admit to you that it is always a struggle between the angel on one shoulder and the demon on the other. The demon, which will work to convince me that I just need to pamper myself a little more, that I deserve all the comforts, security, and status I can get my hands on. And the angel who will never let me hide from what I know to be true.

I chose as my title “Leaning into Blessing” because that is the choice I believe one makes. Jesus stood before the people of Israel and told them, “This is what it is to be blessed: to be hungry, to be poor, to weep. Even at times to be hated and denigrated.” Because when you seek to walk close to Jesus, there will always be those who oppose you. 

We can see that pretty clearly now as so many of Jesus’ teachings are being reviled by people with power. The recent attack against the Lutheran Church, calling them criminals and money-launderers for the work they do around the world to relieve hunger and save lives – this is something that comes to mind. “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven,” Jesus says to the church at such moments.

We are invited to lean into this kind of blessing, not because it “hurts so good” or any such nonsense, but simply because it draws us nearer to God. 

It draws us nearer to God and brings God’s kingdom closer to earth. 

Because when we give more, then there is less need. 

When we share love, then there is less hate. 

When we offer kindness, then there is less meanness. It’s the most basic kind of arithmetic.

The word blessed (makarios) can mean a lot of different things to us. We use it in many different ways, so it is easy to get confused about the words of this passage. The things Jesus is talking about hardly sound like blessing to us. Sometimes we see the word “happy” used in its stead, but I have to say that “happy” hardly does justice to its meaning. 

It is most fundamentally about one’s relationship with God. In these words of Jesus, it would seem to say that God draws those who are in need close to Godself. So, in my mind, this is where the trust comes from. When we give, we may do so trusting that God will draw us near, that God will make a way. 

In fact, if you are choosing to give freely then God has already drawn you near. 

May we each find our way to leaning into this blessing. May we remove any obstacles that are keeping us distant from our God who loves us. May we lean in and know the fullness and the joy that await us.

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Six Stone Jars: The Economy of Jesus, Week 4: Yearning for Meaning

Luke 5:1-11

Every living human being somehow needs to find meaning in their lives, it’s what holds us together. Why get up in the morning if there is no meaning in it? Perhaps you have experienced days of depression, when meaning was absent, and any sense of purpose was lost. Perhaps you know how that feels. Meaning is essential to our well-being.

For the fishermen, Simon Peter, James and John, it is possible that the primary meaning in their lives was providing a living for themselves and their families. Maybe they loved their work. Hopefully they took pride in it – it was hard. Sometimes you worked all night and came up empty. 

They weren’t wealthy men. As Jews in an occupied land, they were enduring the hardships of the Roman rule, which taxed them heavily and took much of the product of their labors to be sent elsewhere. There were cities nearby that were predominantly Roman cities, full of comparatively wealthy Romans. These people wanted fish, they wanted the best of the catch. The fishermen and their families, even though they did the work, were at the bottom of the food chain.

Life was hard. Sickness could rob a family of a loved one overnight. Truly, there was not much of their lives that was under their control. But something that occurred earlier in Simon Peter’s life, which Luke shares in Chapter 4, is relevant to this story. 

While in Capernaum, Jesus was invited to visit Simon Peter’s house. From the time he had arrived in Capernaum, Jesus had been in the synagogue teaching. While he was there, a man who is described as having an unclean spirit became disruptive, challenging Jesus. Jesus then commanded the spirit to come out of him and, to all appearances, that is what happened. 

Perhaps Simon Peter was there, in the synagogue, witnessing all this. If not, he probably heard about what happened as the story went around, and so he asked Jesus to come visit his house.

There was a reason Simon Peter might have wanted to bring Jesus into his home. His mother-in-law was quite ill. She was running a high fever. The others in the house asked Jesus about her – can anything be done? What do you think? Jesus healed her in a manner much like the way he had ordered out the unclean spirit from the man on the synagogue – after which he was implored by many others to do the same for them and their loved ones.

Some time later, Jesus was at the lakeshore – Lake Gennesaret, which is another name for Lake Galilee. He was trying to find some space – away from the crowds of people who kept coming after him, beseeching him to help, to heal, to give them the miracle they so badly needed in their lives. 

But the crowds followed him, pressing in on him. The more they drew near, the closer Jesus inched to the water’s edge. They left him nowhere to go. Then he saw these fishermen. They had just come ashore and were cleaning their nets. It had been a long night of fishing for them. It was one of those nights where they came up empty.

Jesus climbed into one of the boats – it was Simon Peter’s boat. Simon remembered him. This was the rabbi who had healed his mother-in-law, thanks be to God. She might have died, but for Jesus. Simon Peter was grateful, indeed, to this man.

Jesus asked Simon to put out a little way from the shore, giving him some breathing space, and Simon complied. The boat became Jesus’ stage as he continued teaching the crowds who stood on the shore.

When he was finished speaking, he turned to Simon Peter again and said, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon might have smiled, slightly, at that. He respected this man very much, but Jesus was not a fisherman. He answered him respectfully, kindly, telling him that he thought it was pointless, but he would do as Jesus asked. Why wouldn’t he, after what Jesus had done for him, for so many in his community?

As tired as he was, as many other chores as he had to do, Simon Peter took his boat out into the deep water. He let down his nets – so many fish were drawn in, the catch threatened to break the nets. 

This was nothing Simon Peter had ever seen before. Those who were in the boat with Jesus and Simon quickly called the others still at shore to come out and help them with this enormous catch. The men worked quickly, frantically, to hold onto all of it – this would more than make up for the night before. There would be fish for their families and fish to sell – lots and lots of fish to sell.

But Simon Peter is paralyzed. He has fallen to his knees. Everything that has happened. The healings…the teachings…the revival of his mother-in-law…now this. Now this.

Simon Peter is trembling, tears flow down his face. He is overcome with amazement and gratitude, awe and fear. Fear. Simon sees what is happening. In all of this, Jesus is drawing Simon into his circle – just as he drew the fish into Simon’s nets, now he draws Simon into himself. 

There will be no going home to his family. There would be no selling this abundance of fish, pulling in a handsome profit. Nothing would be as it was before. How could he possibly bear it? Suddenly, everything inside of Simon rebels. “No! Go away from me Lord; I am a sinful man!”

I am a sinful man. I am not able to be what you want of me. I am not strong enough. I am not worthy. 

Yet Jesus goes straight to the thing – the one thing that is holding Simon back. “Do not be afraid.”

Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid of loss or upheaval of your life, the gain is all yours, Simon. Do not be afraid of your weakness or of my power, they are one and the same. Do not be afraid to step away from this life and into a new life with me. From now on, Simon Peter, you will fish for people.

And so they did.

Well, it sometimes goes like that – but not always. There are as many ways of responding to the call as there are people who hear the call. And, to be honest, a call is never done – we will find ourselves being called by Jesus again and again and again, to follow him into new and different circumstances, to respond in new and different ways. On any given day, he might call you to go out into deeper water.

And most likely, we are right there with Simon Peter when we hear the call, on our knees, in tears, begging the Lord to leave us be. What? Again, Lord? What do you want of me?

Hearing the call is always hard. And frightening. We don’t know what we are being called into. We fear the risks, we hate the change, as we are wrenched away from what is familiar and comfortable. We like our life as it is. Even if we complain, it doesn’t mean we want to change.

Hearing the call is always hard. But answering the call brings surprising blessings and joy.

Every living human being somehow needs to find meaning. And so we do – we make meaning out of the small happenings of our lives. We find purpose – anything from putting a meal on the table for our loved ones to cheering on our favorite football team – or maybe cheering against our most hated team. We might find meaning and purpose in giving encouragement to someone you like, or in causing someone you dislike to feel embarrassment. There are countless ways to make meaning.

But if you are sometimes wondering if there is more…if you sometimes feel that sense of yearning, a hunger and you can’t quite figure out what you need to fill it. And so you try to feed it, to fill it…with something. But, still, there is that yearning that never seems to get satisfied. If you feel that yearning…then listen. Listen. You might hear Jesus calling you to go out into deeper water.

Do not be afraid.