Time to Heal

 

Luke 13:10-17

There is a story by Alice Hoffman called Seventh Heaven. It’s about a suburban community in Long Island, near Levittown. It’s the kind of community that popped up all over America after World War II, like Levittown. Tract homes, affordable for first-time homeowners. Streets that never go straight, winding around in loops to make sure you won’t drive too fast. Sidewalks everywhere for strollers and tricycles, to keep the kids safe. All the houses look alike, so newcomers driving into the neighborhood get confused about where they are. Neighbors can walk into each other’s homes and know just where everything is, because it is exactly the same as their own house.

The story takes place at the end of 1959 and the beginning of 1960, a time when the world is on the verge of change. And the people in this community are beginning to feel a little confused.

They are confused because they have always followed the rules. They have done what they are supposed to do. They got married, had two or three kids. The men work hard at their jobs and the women work hard at home. The children watch TV, but not too much TV. The men drink an occasional beer together, but not too much beer. The women chat together during the day over coffee – about the kids, about PTA business, about recipes. And they don’t bother each other once their husbands get home from work. Everyone does their part.

But problems start to come to the neighborhood and they can’t figure out why, because they have always followed the rules. Now they think they are being punished for something, but they just can’t figure out what, because they have always done what they are supposed to do. What could they have done wrong?

In the neighborhood, there is a woman named Donna. She has a husband and three kids. She does everything she is supposed to do, just as she has for the eight years of her marriage. Her family always has clean and mended clothes, nutritious and tasty meals. Everything has a place in her house, and she makes sure everything is in its place. She goes about her work quietly, so quietly that no one really sees her anymore. Her kids, her husband, even her friends. They don’t see her. Which is interesting, in a way, because somewhere along the line Donna started eating for comfort. Emotional eating. She has been doing it for a number of years, and she has grown quite large. But she keeps her head down and she tends to her work.

One day the washing machine breaks down and she calls a repairman. Something extraordinary happens. This stranger, the repairman, he sees her. He has no inappropriate intentions, but he looks at Donna and says, “I can tell you work hard. You’re somebody who really cares.” And Donna cannot remain the same after this, because she knows she has been seen. And because now, for the first time, she realizes that no one else sees her.

And slowly, quietly, Donna begins to break the rules. She can no longer live within the confines of these rules because she sees now that it is slowly killing her spirit.

It was Donna I thought of when I read the story about the crippled woman in the synagogue. Because I wonder what that woman had been thinking for 18 long years. Had she always assumed, without question, that being bent over, unable to stand up straight, was just her place in the world? Had she learned through experience that her bent posture was the role she was born to play? Did everyone in her community expect this of her?

For 18 years she had been bent low by this spirit. 18 years, during which 6 out of 7 days are not the sabbath. However, no one offered her release on any of those days. No one really saw this woman. For 18 years she has been invisible.

She has, perhaps, filled some role, just like Donna filled the role she had been given, keeping groceries in the Frigidaire, meals on the table, clean laundry in the dresser drawers. Perhaps there were certain expectations of this woman in the synagogue, and as long as she met them she remained virtually invisible.

No one saw her. until Jesus saw her.

When he called her over to him, I wonder how she felt. She might have felt afraid; after all, the religious authorities were all around, watching everything. It was already abundantly clear that they disapproved of Jesus. What would it mean to them if she walked over to him? What would happen to her if she publicly associated with a renegade?

She might be risking the community’s scorn, if she walks across the room, forcing everyone to see her affliction.

But sometimes breaking the rules is important. To make the world look at something they don’t want to look at. And sometimes faith means being willing to break the rules.

Jesus breaks the rules now, as he has done before, and calls her over, bringing attention to this woman’s pain. He places his hands on her and says, “Woman, you are set free.” Or in the familiar words of the King James, woman thou art loosed. And at that moment she stands up straight, giving thanks and praise to God.

And we know that, once again, Jesus has done something dangerous.

The act of freeing this woman is a dangerous act, and we need to understand that it doesn’t really matter what you call this affliction she suffered. It doesn’t matter if it is a physical disease of the bones or if it is a kind of spiritual or psychological affliction. It doesn’t matter, because we need to understand that when the scriptures speak of Jesus’ healing, it is speaking of every kind of affliction. We need to know that in Jesus, by the power of God, we may be made well. Period.

The act of freeing this woman in the synagogue is dangerous, as every healing act he performs is dangerous, because it threatens to free all God’s children, from the chains that have held them in their appointed roles. The woman bent over, the slave in shackles, the immigrant in the shadows. The addict bound in addiction, the abused and battered bound in abuse, the poor in poverty. How many ways might we keep people bound by afflictions, because we are uncomfortable seeing them – really seeing them? How many ways might we neglect people bound by afflictions because it is inconvenient to see them?

Jesus frees this woman of the affliction and in the same instant he lets loose the forces of opposition. The leader of the synagogue shouts to the crowds that it is not the day for healing. It is the sabbath day. He cries out to them, “If you came here for healing, then leave now. Come back another day, for today is not the day for healing.”

But if this day, the sabbath day, is not the day for healing then no day is the day for healing. And, yes, that does appear to be the unspoken message. The authorities of this place do not approve of healing, of freeing people from the afflictions that bind them.

But let us not look so critically at the first century religious authorities that we avoid looking at ourselves. Because isn’t it true of 21^st century religion as well, that we are uncomfortable looking at our own and others’ afflictions? Isn’t it true that we are a little afraid of admitting that there are all kinds of pain sitting in our sanctuary, that we might ease a little bit just by seeing one another with compassion? That there are all kinds of afflictions that might be loosed a bit?

The writer of the book of Hebrews says, “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Things not seen in the ordinary course of this world, but faith gives us eyes to see as God sees.

When faith sees people suffering, faith must stand with the suffering, no matter what it means – even in the face of opposition. And there will be opposition. As people of faith, let us affirm that in faith, and by the power given to us by God through the Holy Spirit, we will use this power the ways that God intends for it to be used. We must affirm that, as the church we will stand where the Lord stands, in the words of the Confession of Belhar. The church must stand where God stands, and that is with the afflicted, the downtrodden, the vulnerable stranger in our midst. The church must stand with the suffering, with the weak, the lonely, the hurting. Which is all of us.

When Jesus called that woman to him, he showed us where the church is meant to stand. Right there in that spot where he was standing. And the woman, when she walked over and stood before him, showed us the courage each of us is called to have. To stand with Jesus, to offer up our wounds to be healed, our chains to be loosed, our spirits to be freed.

In faith, we know that the time for healing is not some other day. The time for healing is always now.

Reading the Signs

Luke 12:49-56

In the beloved story by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince falls from his home planet to earth, where he is a stranger in a strange place. In his wandering, he encounters a fox. The prince tries to pet the animal, but the fox warns him to be careful. “I’m not tame,” he says.

Something Jesus might say as well. “I’m not tame. I won’t play nice for the sake of your comfort. I may even shock you and disorient you for the sake of the truth.” He won’t bite like the fox, but his words sometimes have a bite.

This is our third consecutive week in Luke’s chapter 12, and perhaps you are ready to move on. There is a growing dis-ease to the tone of it, a growing sense of urgency Jesus brings to his words. They serve to bring our attention to the same urgency, the same dis-ease, that exists in our world right now – all around us.

He says he came to bring not peace, but division, which will create tension among people. These words might make you do a double take. Isn’t it true, back in Luke’s Chapter 2 the angels sang out, “Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace among those he favors.” But we have to acknowledge, anyone who is going to bring the kingdom of God crashing into this world is undoubtedly going to create some tension along the way.

And that is just what Jesus is doing – creating tension. He is urgent. He is disruptive. He challenges many of the things we hold dear. And so we can be sure – without a doubt – he will get some pushback.

The word of God always gets pushback. And Jesus anticipated that.

He said, Read the signs, people. You know how to do that. Open your eyes; read the signs and you’ll see. 

This is true for us as well. Jesus invites us to open our eyes. Read the signs. 

Read the signs Jesus, himself, provides – his words and his actions recorded in the gospel. We know what they say. We know from the gospel that Jesus lived his life close to the margins. Born far away from home, his parents displaced for the interests of the emperor. And when the emperor became insanely violent, Jesus became a refugee, carried by his parents into Egypt for safety. 

As an adult he was itinerant, walking from one place to another, depending on others, often strangers, for food and shelter. 

He said once, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” He was homeless. Read the signs.

Now read the signs in our world. Notice the suffering, the need. The many people who live in fear for what might happen to them.

Read the signs. And when we do, what do we see? Do we see any tension? Any pushback?

We see plenty of that, don’t we? This week in our nation’s capital we have seen the federal government used to push back the ones who are homeless. Wednesday night signs were posted around a homeless encampment announcing that everything was to be removed immediately. Some of the people living there, with help from many volunteers, began to pack up their few possessions in shopping carts or whatever they had, and then go in search of another place to live. Our government said they would provide places for them to live, but no one seemed to have any answers about what alternatives the government was offering. 

Thursday morning, 12 hours after the signs went up, they began to forcefully remove those who were still there. Crews came in with heavy equipment to tear down all remaining tents and personal belongings and dispose of them. One person who was watching all this was a 67-year-old man named David, who had been living at the encampment for several months. He told a news reporter that it made him think of a Bible verse, something Jesus once said: “Whatsoever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”

It wasn’t clear what would happen to this man. Vague promises of shelters or treatment. Clear threats of jail. In any case, we know from our own experience here in Salisbury the challenges of meeting the needs. There are not enough shelter beds for all who need them. There is not enough effective addiction treatment available for all who need it. There are not enough affordable housing units available for all who need them. I’ve been told that in our county there is a three-year waiting list for subsidized housing. 

We know from our experience here at this church that the need is always present. There are volunteers who prepare and serve meals out of our kitchen on Tuesdays and Thursdays for HOPE clients, and also prepare sandwiches to be served on Wednesdays when HOPE is open for limited services. I go to the kitchen some afternoons to check in with them, see how they’re doing. They are always doing. They are energetic, kind, creative with their resources, and busy. No one who volunteers to help in the kitchen will find there is not enough for them to do. 

The need is significant and it is steady – it can become overwhelming. And we wish it weren’t so. We might wish, as our president did, that we did not have to see these signs – signs of homelessness, signs of suffering and need. I get that. I have walked on city sidewalks where I had to watch every step so I wouldn’t trip over a homeless person. I have been where the encampments are under the overpass, right in the middle of town, so full of people that they are verging on spilling into the roadway. And I wished they weren’t there. 

But herding them up and pushing them out of sight doesn’t solve the problem. It only serves to pretend that the problem doesn’t exist.

We are pretty good at not seeing things we don’t want to see. But Jesus is telling us to read the signs. See what we don’t want to see.

He laments. “I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what constraint I am under until it is completed!” A baptism of fire. The suffering he will undergo in his body. The humiliation of his spirit. The end of his life. 

Perhaps his followers couldn’t see that cross at the end of Jesus’ road – not yet. But could they see the signs that were clear around them? 

Can we?

The better question is, are we willing to read the signs? Will we reject the lies, or accept them because they seem to make our lives easier? Will we try to live into the kingdom Jesus speaks of, bringing it closer to this world, or will we just be a part of the problem because we don’t know how to interpret the present time? 

Because we fail to read the signs.

It is not a happy subject. This is not a particularly happy moment in Jesus’ life. But the reason we can look at these hard things is because we have hope.

Even in his darkest moments, Jesus gives his followers signs of hope. It was only a moment ago he said to his followers, “It is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom of heaven.” In the midst of the tension and division, the suffering and the cruelty, we are called to keep our eyes open and read the signs – including both signs of warning and signs of hope. 

Look for the signs of hope, like the news that the Hands and Hearts cold weather shelter received the funding they need to open this winter. 

or the beautiful vegetable garden growing at Anne Street Village, a transitional housing community here in Salisbury, providing delicious and nutritious food for the residents.

or every time I see a new face volunteering with HOPE, in the kitchen or in their offices. My heart is lifted in joy when I see that a member of this congregation has heard the call and said yes.

When we open our eyes and read the signs, we will see the unmistakable need, and we will also see the ones rising up to respond. We will ask ourselves how we can also help, and then we will see opportunities opening up before us. 

And while we hold on to the hope that there will come a day when there is the political and cultural will to make a change, and there is enough affordable housing for the need, in the meantime we are invited to continue the work we have begun, faithfully, encouraging one another on the way. Feeding, caring, and seeking to make our community – our nation – better. 

Open your eyes. Read the signs. But do not lose hope. Do not be afraid. For this is the way to the kingdom.

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Lasting Things

Luke 12:32-40

Let’s try a little experiment. Close your eyes and conjure a picture of Jesus. What does he look like?

For many of us the first image that will come to mind is the famous Warner Sallman painting of Jesus, the one that has hung in homes and Sunday school classrooms for close to a century. You know the one: Jesus has wavy light brown hair, smooth skin, very white-European features. It’s called The Head of Christ.

This image has influenced so many of us, as well as many other artists who have created their own version of it. We see blond-haired, blue-eyed Jesuses galore – images that appeal to many Americans. But, of course, it is very unlikely that Jesus looked anything like that. Jesus was a Middle Eastern man, who certainly would have looked like other Middle Eastern men.

But this is only one way that people have, over the course of two millennia, modified the image of Christ. Jesus has been subjected to a lot of makeovers.

There is Christ the Victorious, who wears a suit of armor and crushes a snake with his foot. This was a popular image in the early church to emphasize the belief that, through Christ, God has defeated evil.

Then there is Gentle Jesus, cradling a lamb or sometimes surrounded by children. This is a man you can trust. There has also been Calling Jesus, the man who knocks on your door with a hopeful look on his face, like a Fuller Brush salesman.

There is Laughing Jesus, one that was pretty popular for a while. This one bothered a lot of people who weren’t sure Jesus ever laughed, and it seemed, possibly, sacrilegious. 

But sometimes Gentle Jesus seems too gentle. Sometimes the guy who politely waits at your door doesn’t seem forceful enough. Sometimes the Jesus who laughs doesn’t feel serious enough for all the problems we have in this world.  So we also have Ripped Jesus, who looks like he’s taken all the steroids and he’s ready to get into the ring with the heavyweight champion of the world. And the expression on his face is mean. 

There are a lot of different Jesuses. We have a tendency to look for the Jesus we think we need, at any given time.

I am sure there isn’t one single image of Jesus that fully captures who he is, just like there is probably not one single image of you that would tell us everything there is to know about you. Jesus is, like us, fully three dimensional, a complex human being – and even more when you factor in his divine nature. So it is appropriate that we have many different images of Jesus. 

Perhaps the challenge for us is to discern which are true images and which are not. By “true” I don’t mean to suggest there are any that look just like him. Because, of course, we don’t know that. What I mean is that there are some images that reflect his true nature, while there are others that do not. 

And the gospel is our best guide for discerning this.

In this chapter of Luke’s gospel we hear Jesus talking to us about treasure. What are the things that hold real value, and what are just passing things, worthless things? 

In last week’s reading, Jesus told his listeners, “Your life does not consist in the abundance of your possessions.” And sometimes we need to get out from under the mountain of our possessions to begin to know that. 

He told them a parable about a man who was living his life, trying to manage his stuff, and then out of the blue was told he was a fool for doing that. “Your life is being demanded of you this very night.” There is a message of urgency here, the urgency of setting our priorities straight, adjusting our vision appropriately. 

And as he was speaking, maybe Jesus looked into the faces of the people who were listening to him and saw fear. Because they recognized themselves in that man – the “rich” man. Maybe they, themselves, were not rich, but it is what they were striving for: to have enough. Always, in this world, it is about having enough. 

Maybe Jesus saw the fear in their eyes and he felt compassion for them. I say this because his next words are, “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.” There is comfort in his words now. 

He asks them, can you not see how much God values you? But perhaps they could not see that. Perhaps their expressions still held uncertainty. Confusion. Fear.

Fear. Because every day of our lives we know that we might lose what we have. Every day, when we look around we see scarcity. We see threat.

If we are employed, we could lose our job. And if we lose our job we probably lose our health insurance. So we could also lose our health. 

If we are self-employed, so many things could happen: an accident, a lawsuit, a downturn in business, tariffs, a supply chain problem. There are so many hazards.

Inflation causes us to worry about making our dollars stretch far enough and worry about how much worse it might get. Bad days on the stock market cause us to worry about the size of our savings and whether we have enough. 

We can lose anything and everything, including our life, and so we take measures to protect ourselves, like the man who built bigger barns to store all his grain. But, still, we know nothing is guaranteed, don’t we? And so we worry. We worry about being caught short, just as the ones who stood listening to Jesus that day worried.

As he saw their worry, he softened his tone a bit more. “Do not be afraid, little flock. For it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” He wants them to really believe this, to shed their fear and know how much God cares, and so he does the thing Jesus does best: he tells them another parable.

“Be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks… (the master) will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the middle of the night or near dawn and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.” 

This is where we see the importance of recognizing Jesus. Of all the images of Jesus we might have seen in our lives, which one do we see now? 

He stands at the door and knocks. When he enters the room, we see that he has brought the banquet with him – a feast of rich foods and well-aged wines, as the prophet Isaiah described it. Then he hoists up his banquet robes, cinches his belt to hold them so they won’t get in the way of his work. Because this master is going to kneel before us and serve us. 

This is the image of himself that Jesus provides for us. Blessed are those who are alert to see him and receive him. You see?

If the one you are looking for is the guy with bulging muscles who busts down the door with fury, you might not recognize Jesus when he comes to you.

Because Jesus does not conform to the world’s values. Jesus is an alternative to the world’s values. I think we all know this; it’s just that we forget it sometimes.

Remember all the times he said things that seem to turn our world upside down. Remember the times he said, “the first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “Let the little ones come to me, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” “Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will not enter it.” and “Whatever you did for the least of these you have done for me.”

The question for us is will we recognize this Jesus when we see him?

It is an urgent question that we must consider. Because, as Jesus goes on to say, there is a thief who would come and break in the house. A thief who would steal everything of value, destroy the Master’s house.

You and I know that the Master’s house is this place: the church. And there is a thief who wants to take it.

The church has always had enemies, there is no question about that. From the earliest days when the followers of Jesus were thought to be dangerous to the Empire, because they would not worship the emperor as they were expected to, to the days of the German church in Hitler’s Reich, where those who would not bend the knee to the fuhrer were persecuted, and those who wanted to avoid persecution were forced to get behind Hitler’s programs. And, to tell the truth, there were certainly some in the church who liked Hitler’s programs, and didn’t need to be forced. But even so, we must know this: Jesus has always stood against the destructive powers of this world.

This is an urgent message for the church, when there is a thief lurking around the house. It is essential for us to be able to recognize the thief, just as it is essential that we know who Jesus is, always has been, and always will be. 

We know who he is:

He is the one who feeds people simply because they are hungry.

He is the one who heals people of their illnesses even if they don’t have health insurance or a job.

He is the one who welcomes the strangers, even if they look like immigrants, even if they don’t have papers.

He is the one who cares for the prisoners; the one who says, ‘love your enemies, not only your friends.’ That’s one that seems to get harder and harder for us all the time.

The followers of Jesus must know who he is. And we must not ever confuse the law of the land with the law of God. We must take care not to let the thief in the house and turn it into something else, something that no longer resembles Jesus. The church must, when necessary, reject the priorities of this world and stand up for the Jesus we know and love.

 

There have always been lots of different ways of envisioning Jesus. Some are wild distortions of the man from Galilee, and they should pass away like the grass that withers. Look for the ones that are real. Look for the ones that will last.

Passing Things

 

Luke 12:13-21

There is a story about a man who had a great talent for making money. He was just very good at it. He instinctively knew how to build a business that was very successful and profitable. And then he invested his profits, and it turned out he had an uncanny ability to play the stock market. Always knowing what to buy, when to sell. And his wealth kept growing.

Like the rich farmer in the parable, this man had a green thumb – of a different variety.

He seemed to be able to do anything he set his mind to, and it was pleasurable. He enjoyed watching his net worth grow. He enjoyed seeing the way his wealth gave him power. He enjoyed the fact that he was never forced to waste his time because whenever he started to feel impatient or bored some underling could take over the task for him.

Life was pretty good.

And one day his daughter died. She was working in her office in the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001. The plane hit the building and she was gone. Suddenly, life was not so pleasurable any more.

Something seemed to be missing. Weird, because he was still just as wealthy as before, he was still just as good at making money as he was before, still as powerful as he was before. But, somehow, it just wasn’t as fulfilling as it was before.

It was almost as if God had come to him and said, “This very day your life is being demanded of you. All these investments and buildings and homes and toys – what are they for?”

What’s it all for?

It was like he suddenly saw everything differently, through a new lens. And through this lens he saw that there was something else, something different that he wanted now – never before knew he wanted.

Like the rich farmer, who relaxes amidst his possessions, eating and drinking and making merry, reveling in the pleasure of all he has, and the security it brings him – and then he hears the voice of God: You’re a fool.

What are you doing? You’re a fool.

We don’t know what the rich farmer will do about all this, because Jesus doesn’t say. But I can tell you about the rich businessman.

This wealthy businessman made a very big decision. He was going to give away all his wealth. He would set up a foundation, hire some talented people who knew about these things to help him put his money to work in new ways. Now his power was going to be about all the good things he could do for others. Now people will talk about him and write about him for all the amazing ways he is helping the world.

And, of course, this feels like an improvement – doesn’t it?

He’s searching for meaning. He’s finding meaning for himself, in the context of this world in which we live.

But as he is doing this new work in the big-money world of philanthropy, he can’t kick his old habit of playing around in the stock market. You know, just to amuse himself. It turns out he is still really good at making money and, wouldn’t you know, he makes another fortune. Right in the middle of trying to give away his first fortune, he goes and makes himself another one.

Will he have to make this decision again, to give everything away? Will he need to make this decision every day of his life? To give it all away?

Isn’t that a bit much to ask of anyone?

In this story about the rich farmer – or the rich fool, as he is often called – God calls to him, saying, “Your life is being demanded of you.”

We often hear these words as a sort of a veiled threat. Your life is being demanded of you as a way of saying your life is going to be taken from you. You are going to die this very night. And all these things you have built – whose will they be? All the riches you have stored up – do you think you get to take them with you?

There is a saying: the one who dies with the most toys wins, and one could say this parable wants to tell us that is precisely wrong! That there is no winning in stockpiling stuff. That there is no glory in dying amidst a pile of green – whether it be crops or cash. In the end, it is all for nothing. Many times this story has been preached in just this way – and it is true.

But, of course, there is another way to hear this.

When Jesus began his ministry in Galilee he said, “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God, for I was sent for this purpose.” And so he went all throughout the region of Galilee doing just that. And he traveled through the land of Samaria and to Jerusalem, all to proclaim this kingdom. He proclaimed it with his words and his actions; with his stories and his blessings, his healings and his commandments, he shared his vision – his hope – that we would learn to see this kingdom.

When he says, “This very night, your life is being demanded of you,” we may hear ourselves being called too – called to see the kingdom of God in our very midst.

Called to see everything in this world through a different lens. To see the upside-down way God loves and asks us to love as well. To see the precious value in people and things that appear worthless, and to see the worthlessness in so many things that appear, in this world, to be of value. To look at others and really see them; to be a friend to others in the way Jesus is a friend to us. To willingly surrender the power and prestige we might have worked hard to achieve, understanding, finally, that everything we have belongs to God. Everything in the world is a gift.

What a difference that makes, to see the world through a different lens. To see that all these things you’ve been storing up are only passing things, but the things of God are the real, lasting things.

To turn your life toward this realm – the kingdom of God. It’s right here. It always has been right here.

To freely give your life to this kingdom, which is close enough to touch, this is what we are each being asked. It is a decision the rich fool needs to make. It is a decision that the rich businessman needs to make. It is a decision each one of us needs to make, every day.

Every single day.

Photo: ChurchArt.Com