Someone Cue the Baritone

I am not preaching this Sunday – The choir is offering Vivaldi’s Gloria, and we are building the rest of worship around that.

I am singing with them, but have only rehearsed with them in bits and pieces…And I haven’t even heard all of the pieces yet.

So, I was surprised, and quite honestly disappointed, when I saw the bulletin yesterday and noticed that our cantor does not have a solo (actually, there are no male solos in the Gloria. You probably already knew that. I didn’t.).

Jan (boy-Jan), our cantor, is an incredible musician…a very accomplished pianist and organist and an outstanding choir director. He also happens to have been the Baritone soloist for Opera Carolina as well as for the Charlotte Oratorio singers for a period of time. And, oh my word, I cannot describe how it is to hear him sing. In fact, I am holding my breath for the next couple weeks, until he sings “Some Children See Him” for the children’s Christmas Eve Service.

Anyhow – so I was quite disappointed when I realized that he wasn’t/isn’t singing a solo on Sunday…BUT I will get to hear him on Saturday. He will sing the Lord’s Prayer (Malotte’s version) at a wedding for which I am presiding and he is music-ing. When he gets to “…for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glo-ry…for-ever” someone will just have to pick me up off of the floor; because it is usually at that point (in whatever service I am blessed to hear him), that I come face to face with the reality that I haven’t been worshiping very well, at all – and have got all caught up in the choreography and “what not” of making the service “work.” But, when he sings – I have not one thing to do but listen. And, listening, my ears that had been “stopped” by the busy-ness of “running” the service, suddenly are un-stopped and I can hear. And oh my word, what a blessing as waves of beauty and comfort and peace wash over me.

 

Like I said, I am not preaching on Sunday – so, I haven’t done a lot of studying on the Isaiah text for this week (Isaiah 35.1-10). But, it talks about a remarkable home-coming, where the people who had been in exile (and, let’s be honest – that is an easy one to preach to folks today, right? I mean, we all are experiencing, or have experienced exile from time to time…Periods of disconnection – real or imagined, and hopelessness, barrenness and futility, anger and fear, and desperation, and too much choreography…All those things that keep our eyes blind and ears stopped-up)…And here, Isaiah talks about how the exiled-ones now rejoice and parade home strengthened and full of shalom-peace; that is, not just the absence of violence, but the presence of fullness and plenty and beauty and gentleness and comfort for ALL (kind of a Mandela-esque vision of peace). The kind of shalom-peace-parade where we are confronted with the ways that we stop our own ears from hearing the music that surrounds us – and then almost celebrate the confrontation, as our ears are un-stopped (sometimes by a tragedy…and sometimes by something so overwhelmingly beautiful that we cannot ignore it any longer, like the baritone soloist – as it were singing - “for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever”) and we are washed in the beauty of the sounds and sights and shalom of those parading near us…Make sense?

 

An interesting thing – the wedding that Jan and I are music-ing and presiding for this weekend, is for a deaf couple. A first for me…But one of the most enjoyable pre-marital counseling journeys that I have ever had as a pastor…Truth is, they have so much helped me hear better…Their physically “stopped” ears have helped open my perfectly good ears (“perfectly good” according to the audiologist, anyhow).

 

May we each be blessed with those moments when we can stop worrying about the busy-ness of the choreography, those times that we have absolutely not one thing to do but listen (with our perfectly good ears, or with the ears of our hearts)…And listening, may we be washed in shalom-peace, our ears un-stopped and our eyes opened as we peace-parade our way, side by side, through the world.

Death, Lock-downs, and Fuzzy Blankets

For, perhaps,only the second time in my entire life, I, this afternoon, went into a fabric store and purchased some fabric and thread. I was driven to this endeavor by my daughter, Lucy, who could not stand to see and hear her brother crying so mournfully last night. His loss, admittedly minimal in the grand scheme of things, was the third and final "tragedy" of the day...and the only one that I had any power to address. 

At bedtime last night, the reality became clear...Henry's "blankie" was gone, lost, probably thrown away by whomever likely found it (and, understandably,  mistook it for a rag) in the parking lot of Harris Teeter.

To a seven year-old, a tragedy is a tragedy. And for Henry, this was tragic (He has never slept without it, since his birth...and has been carrying it, concealed, in his is backpack to school ever since he's gone to school)...and it was the third tragedy of the day.

On Wednesday of last week (the day before Thanksgiving) we received word that Grier, a boy in Lucy's third grade class, had died after a 7-year battle with neuroblastoma. Giving her that news was hard. 

Even though he had only come to school a few times this year, Lucy came immediately to love and care for him. We cried and hugged, and she told my husband and I that she was sure that Grier is the champion at fighting cancer. 

Over the next few days of the Thanksgiving break, she would bring Grier up in conversation from time to time, but life took up its more usual rhythm...until Sunday night, when the thought of returning to school knowing that Grier was dead overtook her. 

Her biggest concern was for her teacher (Mrs. McDonald), whom, Lucy was sure, would cry as she talked about Grier (Lucy is a natural "comfort giver," and this was a little too big for her). She got to sleep and headed out to school Monday morning full of resolve and courage. 

That was yesterday's first tragedy.

Then, last night, I didn't answer my cell phone when it rang during a Personnel Committee meeting...but did notice that the call was from the kids' school. After the meeting, I listened to the automated message from the principal. 

He was calling to let the parents know that the school had gone into "lock-down" during the day...and it was not a drill. A "strange man" had been reported on campus. He assured parents, in his is message, that within minutes the school was completely locked-down and the CMPD was quick to arrive. 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I started shaking and getting angry, having come face to face with the reality that such "real" lock-downs are part of my children's lives (It ended up that it was just an electrician working behind the school, who had failed to sign in at the office when he arrived.). 

When I got home, Cliff had received the same message on his phone. We asked the kids about it. "Yeah...I got over in the corner, on the floor like this. Then there were too many of us in one place, so we crawled with Mrs. McDonald to another corner and kept our heads covered (poor teacher, a death and then a threat to her students...this is not why she went into teaching.). 

That was the second tragedy.

So, when it came time for the kids to go to bed last night, and blankie was nowhere to be found (the third tragedy), we were all just stunned. Yes, Henry is old enough to not carry his blanket everywhere...but, why, on this day, with all of the other hard things, did he have to lose it?! 

Too much reality in one day. Too many endings.

So, last night, just before she closed her eyes Lucy (the comfort-giver) came up with a plan...If I would go buy some fabric today, she'll make Henry a new blankie. And right now, even as I type, dear reader, the baby blue fuzzy fabric and backing are spinning in the washing machine, soon to be moved to the dryer, so that it will be ready to be cut out and sewn together when the rest of the Ilderton brood return home from karate. 

It will not be a pretty blanket...I assure you. 

But it will be beautiful, and will return some sense of control to the reality that such control is only an illusion. 

Someday, the level of comfort will be beyond Lucy's ability to give it...but not today.

For the Sundays of Advent, I'm preaching on the assigned passages from Isaiah. This coming Sunday's (Isaiah 11:1-10), is about life springing up in surprising places (like from an old dead tree stump). 

Don't get me wrong. I do not live under the illusion that a homemade blanket will bring life where there is none...but following the death of a classmate and the reality of elementary school lock-downs, a fuzzy love blanket, is pretty life-bringing. 

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Would Somebody Please Put Me Back Together?!

“Then [the thief] said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’”

 

Jesus, remember me.

 

“Remember language” always makes me think of the story of Noah and the flood – more precisely, God’s words regarding the rainbow (Genesis 9:13-17). Whenever God sees the bow in the clouds, God remembers the covenant…More precisely, God re-members it…Whenever God sees the bow, God puts the covenant back together; even though we continue to tear it apart.

 

Jesus, re-member me.

 

Jesus, put me back together.

 

It’s interesting to me that on this Christ the King Sunday – the last Sunday in the church year, we get this story of Jesus hanging on the cross, promising to put this thief back together (Luke 23.40-43: “Then the other [thief said…] ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus replied, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’”). Another equally valid translation of that last part is, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in God’s garden.” It’s an end-time vision of new creation. I think that is what Paradise is about. I think it’s about creation – or, Creation…And I think it necessitates re-membering. Because we have been dis-membered. We have been torn apart.

 

This is what I’m trying to get at. The biblical witness is very clear that we have been created in the image of God (Gen.2)…the VERY IMAGE of God! But that image has been torn and marred and beaten and buried under mounds and mounds of hurt and anger and fear and self-doubt and greed and war on and on and on.

 

The very image of God is one of creation and peace, not destruction and war. The image of God is love and compassion and forgiveness, not hate and indifference and grudges. The image of God is plenty and inclusion and grace, not poverty and exclusion and pay-back.

 

The image of God in us has been dis-membered, and we can feel it. To be re-membered is to be all that God created us to be. Does that make sense?

 

The second lesson assigned for Sunday is from the book of  Colossians. The author has this to say, that I think is instructive (Colossians 1.16-18): “…for in [Jesus] all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and for him…and in him all things hold together (I suppose one could say, “In him all things are ‘membered.’” – but that’s playing pretty “loose” with the text.). Instructive, because it is painfully obvious that thrones and dominions and rulers all around us do not behave (in any apparent way) as though they were created for this Jesus, the very image of God (Col. 1.15) – who, as we just agreed is about creation and peace and love and compassion and forgiveness and plenty and inclusion and grace.

 

I think the thief’s dis-memberment (and mine too, for that matter) has precisely to do with the fact that the kingdom of this world (which – now I’m just being redundant – was created for and through the God of love) has lost its way (My friend Hutch, who makes up an excuse to drop by my office every 3-5 weeks – he has the heart and training of a Spiritual Director – and I suspect, that he shows up when he can feel that my spirit needs a little boost – Anyhow, he  just left my office. He says that we are living in Exile from our true selves…in exile from the Paradise God intends for us.).

 

I get asked fairly often, “if God is all-powerful, then why can’t God make us behave?”

The question of God’s all-powerfulness aside (which is a question which necessitates a glass of wine – or, at least, a cup of coffee), I believe that to force someone – or a whole creation’s-worth of “someones” to behave a certain way is a form of abuse. And God refuses to be abusive…Therefore God allows us to make really lousy choices; as evidenced by our lost-ness and the exilic nature of the kingdom of this world as opposed to the Kingdom of Jesus – where even thieves are re-membered and made whole to live and love and be what and who God created them (Us??? Me???) to be.

 

Jesus, re-member me – that I may glimpse Paradise now, and show it to others, as we move toward creation and peace and love and compassion and forgiveness and plenty and inclusion and grace.

 

Stand Up and Raise Your Heads

Part of the gospel lesson assigned for Sunday, November 17, (Luke 21.5-19) has this to say: “…there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues, and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.” Then a few verses after the assigned reading concludes there is this (21.25-28): “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

 

I cannot read that without thinking about our sisters and brothers in the Philippines…signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and confusion caused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.

 

And I cannot read the first part of the lesson (21.5-6) where Jesus talks about the great and seeming permanence of things (in this case the temple in Jerusalem) being revealed as an illusion, without seeing images of the buildings in that island nation lying in ruins: homes and churches and shops destroyed by the confusion of the roaring sea.

 

Then I read this: “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (21.28), and I think of the faces of those I see on the evening news coverage…Faces of people standing up, with heads raised, in the midst of the disaster. And I am left wondering just what it is they are looking at. Or maybe, they are not looking at anything – they are rather (perhaps)  looking for. For what? Signs of life, to be sure…signs which may promise food, help, clothing, water…signs of sanity in a world rocked by confusion and chaos? I imagine them (if by any chance they are familiar with this particular bit of scripture), shaking their fists at God, flailing their arms toward heaven and demanding to know “Where is the promised redemption that is supposedly drawing near?! Because this looks only like hell!”

 

A pastor friend of mine, here in Charlotte, serves a congregation whose membership is made up of quite a number of Montagnard refuges from Vietnam. Two grown men in her congregation, brothers, came to Charlotte just before their father was arrested and imprisoned (about three years ago) for refusing to bow down to an image of the president and instead professing his allegiance to Jesus. No trial, no term of sentence no specified length of imprisonment.

No one had heard from him in quite a while.

Several weeks ago, the brothers were contacted by their sister, still living in Vietnam.

Out of the blue, their father had called her from the prison.

Speaking Vietnamese, he told her that he was “doing fine and will be okay.”

She hung up the phone, thinking it odd that he did not speak the language of his Montagnard tribe.

She concluded that her father must have been forced to call and speak the language that the prison guards could understand.

Just as she came to this conclusion, the phone rang again. This time one of the guards spoke, telling her that her father had just died.

Most likely he was killed for refusing, still, to bow to another’s image.

 

It is hard for me to wrap my mind around the kind of suffering I hear about. “Confusion caused by the roaring seas and waves.”

“Being hated or put to death because of the name of Jesus” (21.16-17).

It is hard for me to fully appreciate how it is that folks keep on standing up, over and over again, despite the complete lack of evidence that any redemption is drawing near.

 

The closest I can come to grasping it, is when I am paying close enough attention to notice that the arms that flail, flail toward heaven…despite all evidence to the contrary, calling out – as if by instinct – to something bigger than this pain, before they slump to the flailer’s side and absent-mindedly clasp the hand of the child beside them, urging them on...helping that smaller one to stand nonetheless.

 

The closest I can come to grasping it, is when I see the eyes of my pastor friend fill with tears of frustration – shaking her head and saying among the safety of other pastor friends – “I swear that I’m going to smack the next person who comes up to me and complains that American Christians are persecuted for their faith!” just as she asks if any of us can serve at the soup kitchen in her congregation’s fellowship hall.

 

These are models of faith, whose model most will never see nor know about…

Those who hold hands and not only continue to stand up – but who reach out to others to help them stand as well…And who, standing, embody the reality of the coming redemption, in their presence that is persistent even in the face of death.

 

 

I Can't Breathe!

Is it just me, or does anybody else feel like they are having a hard time breathing these days? 

Maybe it's the change in the weather. Maybe it's allergies. Maybe it's the time-change. Maybe it's the fact that we just finished with Halloween, and already the Christmas decorations are up. 

I don't know what to attribute it to, but I know that literally, physically, and psychically, I'm having a hard time breathing, and Benadryl doesn't seem to be helping. Add to that, the seemingly daily reporting of gun-violence, the wavering economy, the increase in pettiness, politicians smoking crack, clergy-people, who claim to follow the same Jesus I follow, who at the same time are justifying their building of million-dollar homes, and I just cannot breathe! 

So...maybe it's just me.

In any case, you have been warned, dear reader, that I am not taking full, deep breaths as I approach the scripture readings for the upcoming Sunday!

I am cynical and frustrated by what looks like pettiness in the extreme in the gospel lesson (Luke 20.27-38...You should really read it first, otherwise nothing I say here will make any sense.). Not surprisingly, the Sadducees come to Jesus and challenge him. I'm pretty sure that there is nowhere  in scripture when the Sadducees approach Jesus with anything other than a challenge...but this time, Jesus looks like he gets drawn into the prettiness! Bad form Jesus (I warned you that I am grumpy!)! 

They get into this long discussion about leverite marriage, a method that, while it is presented as a means to ensure that women are not left destitute when/if their husbands die, it really seems that it is (also) a process that keeps women in the position of being nothing more than chattel to be traded from one man to the next (please don't feel the need to correct me on this...I know the basis of leverite marriage...still feels like horse trading to me!). And they are using the whole argument to discuss (debate) the reality/validity of the resurrection...which is already a confusing enough topic...let alone when you try to couch the discussion in terms of marriage, etc. What, in Sweet Betty's name, does this have to do with the resurrection?!

I can imaging my sister telling me, at this point in my rant, that I need to spray some saline in my nose, take three deep cleansing breaths, try to find my "happy place...," and then look again.  Okay, say it with me: "Clear blue ocean. Clear blue ocean." 

My sister is so smart!

Here's what I really think this is all about...the Sadducees don't really give a flip about the resurrection they just want to make Jesus look like a fool...and Jesus uses their own argument against them, which he does on a fairly regular basis (so, if I offended you by saying"bad form, Jesus," I apologize).

This is what I think he is saying, "Really, Sadducees? Can't you think any bigger than that? Don't try to draw me into a discussion about resurrection, then limit resurrection to your silly legalisms! Don't you get it?! 

Resurrection is NOT just a continuation of the way things are! 

It is not the status quo forever!

It isn't even a going back to the "good ol' days" when women were traded about among the brothers...neither is it a reality where there would need to be care for the welfare of women. Think bigger! 

Think totally different! 

Think something COMPLETELY NEW!

Think relationships. 

Think wholeness and happiness and joy and plenty and welcome!" 

Now, I'm fairly certain that that is not what the Sadducees wanted to hear (In fact it is, most likely, just that very type of thinking/visioning/talking/hoping/etc. that had them wanting to humiliate Jesus in the first place.)...But, while it may not be what they wanted to hear...it is definitely what I want to hear...because if the resurrection comes with all off those things (wholeness and happiness and joy and plenty and welcome, then it probably also comes with clear sinuses and easy breaths - which, I guess, is really pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things.)!

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No Girls Allowed!

So, this coming Sunday is Lutheran Men in Mission Sunday at the congregation I serve.

 

Truth be told, I’m not 100% sure just what that means…but I am 100% sure that I have no idea what to expect (except that there are “no girls allowed.” How fun to serve in a congregation where the absence of female leadership in worship is unusual!)!

 

I met with the two gentlemen who will be the primary leaders for worship on Sunday, and I was reminded of something that I was told in seminary. It was something like: “Remember, you do this pastoral thing all day, almost every day…Not everybody else does. It will become natural to you…It won’t be for everyone.”

 

At their request, I met with these two remarkable, and very accomplished, men for about an hour…looking at the bulletin; figuring out what to take out and what to leave in; deciding who was going to stand or sit where, and when; what lesson(s) to preach about; what hymns to sing; etc., etc., etc. It was, in all actuality, very humbling for me. I don’t remember what Earl has retired from – something to do with TWA (someone who is reading this may be able to help me on that), but Ralph retired from an executive position with Estee Lauder – both of them are world-travelers. These are strong and wise men, who reminded me that what I do is sacred…holy…different, and not to be entered into lightly.

 

Their concern over doing the absolute best they can do for God and for the people of God, caught me up short – and convicted me of being (at least occasionally) unaware of the impact worship has on folks’ lives.

 

It also reminded me that I do not do nearly as good a job as I like to think I do of reminding folks that my ministry (or calling) as a pastor is no higher or better than anyone else’s…just different. That, in fact, their//your life-ministries (I think I just created that hyphenated word…I like it) stand a far better chance of impacting “un-churched” folks than mine does. After all, they//you spend more time “out there” than I do. It reminded me that I need to do a better job of helping folks worship with every breath they have…doing their absolute best for God and for the people of God in every moment they have.

 

I think that Ralph has decided to preach on a different gospel lesson than the one assigned – I told him that I thought it would probably still “take,” even if it is not the one assigned for this week in the lectionary.

 

But the assigned gospel reading (if anyone’s interested) is from Luke, the 18^th chapter. I didn’t really get any farther than the first verse. It says, “Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Lord knows that we are living in times that threaten to make us loose heart…How wonderful to be reminded, by this unlikely duo of men, that God hears the prayers of all people: seminary trained and drop-outs, young and old and world-travelers and homebodies and executives and those who speak in front of people easily and those who struggle to put words together and those leading worship and those who will never set foot in a church. And how wonderful to have lips other than mine speak those prayers and model lives of intentional worship.

 

I am looking forward to being able to sit with my family in worship this coming Sunday…And I thank the Lutheran Men in Mission men for that blessing.

 

And I am eager to see how God will use these men, with and through their wisdom and their nervous concern and their determination…how God will use them to change me and to change the world.

 

No Girls Allowed!

So, this coming Sunday is Lutheran Men in Mission Sunday at the congregation I serve.

 

Truth be told, I’m not 100% sure just what that means…but I am 100% sure that I have no idea what to expect (except that there are “no girls allowed.” How fun to serve in a congregation where the absence of female leadership in worship is unusual!)!

 

I met with the two gentlemen who will be the primary leaders for worship on Sunday, and I was reminded of something that I was told in seminary. It was something like: “Remember, you do this pastoral thing all day, almost every day…Not everybody else does. It will become natural to you…It won’t be for everyone.”

 

At their request, I met with these two remarkable, and very accomplished, men for about an hour…looking at the bulletin; figuring out what to take out and what to leave in; deciding who was going to stand or sit where, and when; what lesson(s) to preach about; what hymns to sing; etc., etc., etc. It was, in all actuality, very humbling for me. I don’t remember what Earl has retired from – something to do with TWA (someone who is reading this may be able to help me on that), but Ralph retired from an executive position with Estee Lauder – both of them are world-travelers. These are strong and wise men, who reminded me that what I do is sacred…holy…different, and not to be entered into lightly.

 

Their concern over doing the absolute best they can do for God and for the people of God, caught me up short – and convicted me of being (at least occasionally) unaware of the impact worship has on folks’ lives.

 

It also reminded me that I do not do nearly as good a job as I like to think I do of reminding folks that my ministry (or calling) as a pastor is no higher or better than anyone else’s…just different. That, in fact, their//your life-ministries (I think I just created that hyphenated word…I like it) stand a far better chance of impacting “un-churched” folks than mine does. After all, they//you spend more time “out there” than I do. It reminded me that I need to do a better job of helping folks worship with every breath they have…doing their absolute best for God and for the people of God in every moment they have.

 

I think that Ralph has decided to preach on a different gospel lesson than the one assigned – I told him that I thought it would probably still “take,” even if it is not the one assigned for this week in the lectionary.

 

But the assigned gospel reading (if anyone’s interested) is from Luke, the 18^th chapter. I didn’t really get any farther than the first verse. It says, “Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Lord knows that we are living in times that threaten to make us loose heart…How wonderful to be reminded, by this unlikely duo of men, that God hears the prayers of all people: seminary trained and drop-outs, young and old and world-travelers and homebodies and executives and those who speak in front of people easily and those who struggle to put words together and those leading worship and those who will never set foot in a church. And how wonderful to have lips other than mine speak those prayers and model lives of intentional worship.

 

I am looking forward to being able to sit with my family in worship this coming Sunday…And I thank the Lutheran Men in Mission men for that blessing.

 

And I am eager to see how God will use these men, with and through their wisdom and their nervous concern and their determination…how God will use them to change me and to change the world.

Thankfulness, awareness, and being "made whole"

My parents are here! My parents are here! Thanks be to God, my parents are here!!!!

 

Last week, they moved here from Tennessee.

It has been a move, long in process (or, it felt long in process to me)…full of mixed emotions for them and for all of us, at various levels (the high school I went to was in that small town, as was the church that was so foundational to my understanding of faith/Jesus/pastor-ing); but also, so welcomed.

They got here a week ago today (or tonight).

 

My brother and his wife; my nephew (my brother’s son) and his wife; my sister; and my own family were all awaiting their arrival.

Cliff (my husband and the household chef) had prepared a wonderful pot roast for dinner. It started cooking at noon. The house smelled WONDERFUL (I can’t think of a better “family together” meal!). We had hoped to gather at 6:00 or 6:30 for dinner either at our place or theirs (we were ready to pack up and head to their “temporary” apartment at a moment’s notice…whatever would be easiest for them!).

 

My sister was traveling with them from Tennessee – following in her car. She had been with them for the final couple weeks of packing, house-closing, and “good-bye-ing.”

We called her at about 4:30 or 5:00 to check on their progress. “We are stuck on I-40. There was apparently a terrible accident. We’re looking at a couple hours delay – at least.”

 

The accident ended up being the one in which 8 people were killed – most of them members of Front Street Baptist Church. Many of them my parents’ age. I think we knew details of the accident before my parents and sister did.

My father and sister took two different detours and got separated.

Leslie, my sister, got to our house first.

When she got there, we called to check on Mom and Dad. My father had taken a detour that put him on two-lane roads (he was driving his truck and towing another car). He sounded so exhausted and stressed.

We all just looked around at each other. It would probably be more like 8:30 or 9:00 or 9:30 before they arrived.

Their coming to our house was “off the table.”

 

We determined that we would go meet them at their new place. “No.”

“Okay…Then let’s…hmmm….let’s…hmmm…what should we do?”

“Okay…let’s time it so that Ken (my brother) can meet them at the gate, so that he can help Dad get the car off of the towing thing. Donna (Ken’s wife) can take them some food. The rest of us will wait till tomorrow to see them.”

“I don’t know…it will look kind of creepy if Donna and Ken just sit outside the gate in their  truck and wait for them!”

 

We ended up letting Dad be Dad – we asked him…So wise, so good, so loving and compassionate. So focused on “first things”…what is best for mom. That night…Rest...No company.

 

So there we were – a houseful of siblings waiting for our mission to start – nothing to do…our plans all shot.

So, we sat around and talked about Mom and Dad and how blessed we are.

We sat and cried and laughed and told stories about each other and lessons learned and life and models of love and courage and faithfulness.

Don’t get me wrong…we have, in our family, known death and divorce and tragedy.

Inevitably we have said things we wish we could take back. And not been as patient with each other as times sometimes called for.

We don’t all agree on politics or even religion.

But, we have learned to recognize blessings when we see them!

 

Last year at Christmas, we were – almost all of us – grandkids, too – at my folks’ house in Tennessee (the one they just sold)…We were all sitting on top of each other watching a football game or something, when Mom came in and told us that “she had some things to say…And who knew whether or not she’d be around for another year to tell us (she, right now…today, is on the “outer limit” of her prognosed (?) length of survival for the type of cancer she has…Apparently, no one has told her, though!)”. She proceeded to tell us how thankful and blessed she has been with the love that has surrounded her, that each of us is a gift to her life, and that what we do and who we are matters, and that she is proud of us.

We were all silent and tear-filled in our throats and eyes. She put into words what none of the rest of us could – but which we all wanted to.

 

It was one of the most “whole” moments of my life. I see them everywhere now. Whole moments.

 

It used to drive my sister and me crazy…We’d be traveling somewhere (just about anywhere) and Mom would say, “Make this a memory!” And then she’d start singing (which is a HOOT) the old Seals & Crofts song “We may never pass this way again.” I doubt that she knew that she was doing so – but she taught us to see blessings…To notice…To be aware.

 

I saw them that night, a week ago, as we (all of us minus Mom and Dad) put into words the blessings of love and life and lessons learned.

 

The gospel lesson for this week (Luke 17:11-19) is the story of the 10 lepers.

They are all “made clean” or healed (17:14, 17) – it’s the same word in Greek. But only one of the lepers is “made well” or “made whole” (vs. 19) – which is an entirely different word from the one used for being healed or made clean (it’s the word for “saved,” “liberated,” “freed.” And that makes all the difference!

 

Mom’s cancer has been “in check” for a while (more than a year!). But there are so many other things going on physically with her right now.

Hard to tell whether the cancer is getting “squirrely” and causing problems, or if the new things are entirely different.

In any case, she most likely will not finally be “healed,” but already she is living in wholeness. And so am I – because even as death comes (for her or the folks from Front Street Baptist Church or any of us) we (or I) will walk into it in wholeness, having been “made well” - aware of how blessed I am and so, doubly blessed in gratitude and praise.

 

Thank you all for the way you bless me – I want you to know I appreciate you and thank God for you every day!

Faith, Mustard Seeds, and Barbara Eden

Some clergy girlfriends and I got together yesterday to talk about this coming Sunday's sermon (we do this just about every week. It's not intentionally all women. In fact, there is one fearlessly faithful man who is usually present - although he was absent this week...God love him. Hang in there Gus!).

 

Anyhow, we were looking at this upcoming Sunday's gospel lesson (Luke 17.5-10). It's the one that says, "If you had faith the size of of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey."

 

It's a verse that has always sounded like not-such-good-news to me. In fact, I usually leave it feeling convicted of not even having that much faith! OUCH!

 

This is just one of the many reasons that scripture is best opened when we "talk it out" with others. My sister pastors really helped me out.

 

First of all, they pointed out that there isn't anyone in our congregations, who is paying any attention (including all of us who were in the room), who doesn't also wish they had more faith...So maybe we can give ourselves a little break.

 

Then, they pointed out that Jesus never says that "if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can waive a magic wand (or blink your eyes ala Barbara Eden in "I Dream of Jeannie"), and the tree will instantly uproot itself and be thrown into the sea"!

 

Now, maybe you never read it that way...but I always did.

 

What Jesus says is that if the disciples have faith the size of a mustard seed, they can uproot and move the tree (which is totally passive in this verse)...which probably is going to take some sweat and swearing and maybe some tears (depending on how old or deeply rooted that tree is). And Lord knows, we all have "trees" in our lives that could stand to be uprooted and thrown into the sea and drowned. Again...maybe that's just me. But I doubt it!

 

And then, my sisters pointed out that Jesus says this to the apostleS (plural)...Right?! Sometimes it takes all of us working together to move that old tree! Remember the friends who carry the paralytic into the presence of Jesus (took four guys doing a lot of carrying and digging to get that "old tree" moved to where it needed to be!) And Jesus commends them on their collective faith! That's in the 2nd chapter of Mark, if you want to read it for yourself.

 

Here's the thing...Faith has to do with showing up and doing what needs to be done.

For example, a member of the congregation I serve drove up a little bit ago and had a big box of gifts to leave for the Drop In Center (our ministry to the mentally ill). "Faithful," is Archie (and whoever he ended up grabbing to help him) going out to help her unload it. Thing is...Archie wouldn't use the language of faith to describe what he did. 

 

Which, I think, points to an underlying problem we have. We tend to limit "faith talk" to great-super-human acts...feats, almost. You know (like a tree uprooting itself at my command!)?

 

We forget that faith is simple and every day. And we need to do something about that. We need to call faith "faith." We need to point out that being a good and honest friend, or working at jobs to keep food on the table or keep the world running, or paying your taxes and voting for people who spend those taxes well, or holding hands with someone as they go through grief and transition, or doing any number of ordinary, every day things is being faithful!

 

This is faith - heading out the door each day, looking for opportunities to be a co-worker with God in the world (whether that looks like sharing a prayer with someone or solving a conflict at work or writing a letter to your congressman or being a patient parent or carrying a heavy box for someone).

 

On the surface, it may not look like much...But added together and together and together, and then blessed by God - it is all quite extraordinary.

 

Thank you for your faithfulness.

 

 

 

Chasms great and small...Do you see them?

Peter is as faithful a participant in the congregation I serve as anyone else...More faithful than many.

Peter is a non-medicated 50 year-old schizophrenic.

Oh...and he's Jewish.

 

I inherited Peter.

 

He found St. Luke's many years ago, as a guest in our Drop In Center (a ministry in which we open our doors one Saturday/month to the mentally ill in the area. They come and spend the day and eat and have bible study and get some take-home food from Loaves & Fishes and clothes from the clothes closet and play games and are - if only for a few hours - not defined by their diagnosis). It is a remarkable ministry and a huge reason why I accepted the call here.

 

Anyhow, Peter came to us through the Drop In Center...and he just stayed. He comes to use our phone, to worship, to bible study, and he even receives communion (I haven't told the bishop this yet...but I think he'd be okay with it. He's pretty cool. And besides, you will look in vain to find anyone in scripture with whom Jesus refused to eat!).

 

Over the past several weeks, Peter has been in a more agitated state than normal.

Because he is also a hoarder (and did not get his place cleaned up within the agreed upon time frame), Peter was going to be evicted from his second apartment in as many years (He lives independently...not enough group homes or mental health facilities - Thanks NC Legislature!!).

 

If he were able to "process" in any "normal" way, I would resort to "tough love" and just make him deal with it. (Also, thanks to the NC Legislature, our already desperately overworked social workers and case managers cannot care adequately for the most vulnerable in our community, who are literally unable to care for themselves)!

 

Eviction, with all of his personal belongings "raked up" and thrown in the trash, would kill Peter (probably literally).

 

I prayed and sought counsel and asked for guidance from wise people and faithful friends (breaking every confidentiality rule, I'm sure)...

What is my faithful response to Peter?

Do I let him store his things here at the church (meaning an apartment full of furniture and all of the "highly valuable" trash), so he can go to a shelter (A shelter would kill him, too. But that is not really a concern, as there are far too few shelters in Charlotte for homeless people, and a non-medicated schizophrenic would never be aloud to enter one)?

Do I just let him sleep on the sofa in my office?

Do I rent a storage unit for him from my discretionary fund?

If I do that for Peter, who else will ask me to do it for them. (Even though he is the only non-medicated mentally ill person in the congregation - to my knowledge - he is not the only person on the verge of eviction.).

 

A week ago tonight, Peter came to the church for dinner and worship.

Afterwards, he was waiting for me to give him a blessing (He will take buses and lite-rail trains just to get here, just so that I can give him a blessing...after which he will "cross" himself! which I find doubly endearing, since he's Jewish.). I got caught in the "gauntlet" of conversations that follows me and every pastor I know. By the time I got back to where Peter was, my husband (Cliff) had his arm around him saying, "I don't know...but we'll figure something out." I left again for a moment. When I returned the next time, Cliff was holding Peter in a big bear hug and Peter was crying.

 

He had gone back to his apartment earlier that day, and found his door padlocked...His time was up.

 

Peter slept on the couch in my office that night.

And my friend Mike (who is a police captain), and who had been part of this conversation from the beginning, rented him a storage unit for one month. The next day, Ethan (our youth & family minister - neither of which Peter is!) and Mike moved Peter out of his apartment. Put all of his furniture into the storage unit and moved Peter and his "traveling bags" (the half-dozen bags that Peter carries with him EVERYWHERE) into a "boarding house" that his case manager found for him.

 

The only reason I tell this long story, is because this coming Sunday's gospel lesson talks about a "Great Chasm" that separates people (Luke 16:19-31).

What it implies is that we never even see (truly see) the chasms in our lives until it is too late.

Peter (at least this past week) has helped me see chasms more clearly between people I notice and those I overlook...or by whom I am inconvenienced, and so choose not to notice.

The encounter has changed my life.

 

Chasms are everywhere...Chasms between rich and poor; educated and non-educated; staff and faculty; janitor and CEO; mentally ill and mentally healthy; grieving and rejoicing; black and white; gay and straight; mine and yours; what I project and how I really am.

 

The gospel lesson ends by referencing "someone rising from the dead," and suggests that if someone were to rise from the dead, then MAYBE we may notice the chasm(s) and bridge it (them) and maybe walk across it.

 

Well, as Christians, we claim to follow someone who has defeated death and been raised from the dead (which would be considered the ultimate chasm).

 

I am asking for your help this week (you who look with "resurrection-eyes")...

Share with me (either in comments at the bottom of this blog or on Facebook) where it is that you see chasms in your own life, in the community, in the congregation, in the world.

 

THEN, share with me when it is that you have seen someone "bridge" a chasm...Or when you have "bridged it" yourself. Make sense?

 

Thanks for your help!

 

Choosing Life

Sunday's assigned Old Testament reading was Deuteronomy 30:15-20. My daughter was the reader for the 8:30 service. How wonderful to hear her read: "I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live" (30:19). For some reason, it is one of my favorite verses of scripture. In large measure, I imagine that is because I am convinced that "choosing life" means much more than choosing to keep a heart beat going. Know what I mean? It means more than not dying.

 

After all, we all know lots of people (or at least a couple) who are among the "walking (or living) dead." People who, for any number of reasons, are not truly living - instead are simply surviving. People who are victims of violence or abuse or addiction. People controlled by fear or hate or prejudice. People who do not have joy or have never known love. People who spend time living with regret or shame. People who spend their lives holding a grudge and waiting for someone to apologize, rather than just giving forgiveness and getting on with living.

 

I have been among those people from time to time, and I suspect you have been, too.

 

When asked what surprises him most about humanity, the Dalai Lama replied “Man (sic) surprises me most about humanity. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”

 

It is important…I believe that it is vitally important to remember that this word that Moses speaks “choose life, so that you and your descendants may live,” is spoken not to an individual – but to the whole community of people who are gathered and are awaiting new life in the Promised Land.

 

What that means, is that life…real life (Promised Land life)…cannot be had in isolation. This is a harsh word for our consumeristic culture which functions with the mindset, “as long as I am happy eating milk and honey – I do not care whether or not you have enough.” That is not life.

 

Life…real life…cannot be had for one when there is suffering of another (as though I do not have responsibility for you…all that matters is my own satisfaction).

 

Life…real life…cannot be had for any when others live in fear, or know violence, or war. Life means relationship and concern and compassion and “plenty” for all.

Life…real life…means joy and peace and dancing and rough places plain and the end of hate, and it can only be had, when it is had by all.

 

“I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life.”

Confessions of a really confused high schooler who graduated a LONG time ago

The summer before I began high school, my family moved from the only home I'd known in South Florida to, what felt like, a very small town in Tennessee. As the youngest of three children, I'd always kind of been the "star of the show." My sister will concur that I was stereotypically spoiled and always believed to be "in the right" in any dispute with her (Those of you who know my sister, whom I now totally and sincerely adore, will believe me when I say that I actually was most often in the right! But, that is beside the point.).

 

The move to Tennessee, though, changed everything. My brother (the oldest of the three) had left for college several years earlier, and Leslie - who, unbeknownst to her, had always been my "cool" barometer had just begun college as soon as we moved. I was "on my own."

 

We moved at the beginning of the summer, which was actually quite helpful, because I was able to go to band camp with the rest of the band kids...That was really very important, because everyone in this town had grown up together and been best friends forever. It was a very hard community to "break into." Subsequently, I spent a whole lot of time and energy trying to fit in.

Trying to get invited to sit with the cool kids.

Praying to get invited to the party that the homecoming queen hosted.

 

I'm pretty sure that if you asked other kids, they'd probably tell you that I was one of the cool kids...but that was never really me.

I spent time laughing at jokes I should never have laughed at and walking by people I should have stopped to help and taking part in gossip when I never should have and being desperately jealous of the accomplishments of others...All because I felt threatened and would sell myself out just so I would feel accepted.

 

So, when I read Jesus' words in Luke 14 (vss. 12-14): "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you"...When I read those words, I understand...and the part I understand best are the last words, "You will be blessed because they cannot repay you." I know what an odd part to so particularly understand, right?

 

But, here's the thing I've come to know - the blessing is in being yourself. Know what I mean?

 

I spent so much time and energy trying to be someone I wasn't (just so that I could be "repaid" by praise and appreciation and acceptance) that I missed the blessing of just being me.

I spent so much time trying to compete with you and feeling threatened by you that I never really got to know you and celebrate the blessing of you being you!

And I know I'm not alone in this!

 

It took me a long time (and more than a little time with some great pastoral counselors) to learn to celebrate who God created me to be. Truth be told, I still need to be reminded every now and then...

 

That's part of the reason we come together as the church - to remind each other that each one of us has been created in the uniquely "us" image of God...who has poured love and grace and life on us in such abundance that we simply cannot repay (i.e. we are all the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind who have been invited to the banquet and who cannot repay).

 

And at those moments when we bask in the blessing of being who we truly are, we find that we are no longer exhausted but are energized. It's really pretty amazing (although not so good news for the media who try to convince us that we are not now, nor ever will be, good enough - and who drive us to exhaustion to buy, buy, buy acceptability and acclaim and "cool-ness.").

 

My daughter Lucy...I worry about her a lot - because when I say that I spent a lot of time and energy trying to fit in, I mean I spent A LOT of time and energy trying to fit in...And I so much do not want her to waste her time in that way. She's already (and only) nine years old. And she is as free and loving a spirit as God ever created. I do everything I can to surround her with people who celebrate her (because, let's face it...she will listen to others more than she will ever listen to her parents...Or, at least I did.). And I think it's working! She truly celebrates who she is...every day and with just about every breath!

 

Can you imagine how much free-er, and more honest, and more lovely, and more "real," and less competitive, and more God-like the entire world would be if every child (and every adult) had people surrounding them to celebrate them?

 

It would change everything.

 

 

Transcript of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I have a dream" Speech

Happy Dream Day!

I still have a dream...I still believe...I still have hope!

 

***************************************************************************

 

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

My Favorite Word!

I just adore my husband! He tolerates me soooo well.

And God love him, when I came home last week and said - barely able to contain myself, "Did you know that the word δεῖ is used 18 times in Luke's gospel. And the only time anyone other than Jesus (or the risen Christ or a resurrection angel) uses it, he screws it all up!?!"...when I said that, my husband simply nodded and said something like, "you don't say." Now, some of you who are reading this are probably quite impressed that I stuck a Greek word in my blog (I even managed to get the Greek script to work!), and you may even imagine that I may have a fairly deep knowledge of the Greek language - sorry...I don't. Others of you know that I just have a "thing" for this particular word - δεῖ.

 

It is translated variously as: "it is necessary;" "it must happen;" "ought;" "had to."

 

It is an important word.

It is the word used to express divine necessity. For example: In Luke 2:49, the young boy Jesus says, when his parents are looking for him throughout Jerusalem, "Why is it that you were looking for me? Did you not know that I had to be (δεῖ) in my father's house?"

And in Luke 9:22 Jesus says, "The Son of Man must (δεῖ) suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed and be raised up on the third day."

And again in Luke 24:7, "The Son of Man must (δεῖ) be delivered into sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again."

It is a word that signals the activity of God.

 

So, basically, anytime I see "should" or "ought" or "it is necessary" when I'm reading scripture - especially if it's Jesus talking - I get excited and go grab a Greek New Testament and look it up. And sure enough, it was there this week!

 

Check it out...Luke 13:10-17. This woman in the synagogue is bent over and cannot stand up straight. Jesus sees her and (without her asking) heals her.

 

            Oh...And he does it on the sabbath. You know the sabbath...the day you're not supposed to do anything. Jesus is constantly healing on the sabbath.

 

Anyhow, church leader gets all upset, saying - to the crowd - he never actually speaks to Jesus (Big time "triangulation"), "What are you all doing coming for healing on the sabbath? You know better than that! You ought (δεῖ) to come on another day." That's the one time someone other than Jesus speaks the word (and he messes up, because he is trying to use a "good news" word, in a "bad news" way!).

 

Now, I like to imagine Jesus (because I feel confident that he had a "thing" for this word, too!) saying something to the church leader like, "Oh no you di-in't! That is my word, brother! Let me tell you what ought to happen!" Then he says (13:16), "What is necessary (δεῖ), is that this woman be set free from her bondage on the sabbath!"

 

Because this is what the sabbath is about, right?? It is about freeing, and releasing, and liberating, and delivering from captivity. It is never about what we are NOT to do - but always about what we are freed to do. And the holy thing we, who claim to be "sabbath people" are to do...the divinely necessary thing, is to see and notice and address the needs of those who are bent over and enslaved in any way, and then to work to free them from that bondage because that is the basis//the foundation of sabbath (NB Deut. 5:12ff - "Observe the sabbath day and keep it holy. Remember you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD liberated you; therefore the LORD commanded you to keep the sabbath day." That is, "because you were slaves and know what it is to be liberated, you now liberate others...and the sabbath is the day to pay special attention to that.").

 

Now, some of us are bent over and enslaved by an over-developed sense of legalism (e.g. the synagogue/church leader) - and our inability to see beyond our own narrow scope of vision affects everything we do.

Some are bent over by our own insecurity (we don't think we deserve to stand up straight).

Some are bent over and quite unable to stand up straight because we are weighed down by past grudges or an inability to forgive.

Some are bent over by grief.

Some are bent over by fear or hatred.

 

Eighteen years. That's how long this woman, whom Jesus healed, was bound by her condition. I wonder if she was even aware of it anymore. Makes me wonder how many of us are aware that we are bent over and unable to stand up straight. I wonder how many of us would be surprised to have Jesus call us over and heal us of our narrow perspectives and insecurities and fears. I don't know...It's just a thought.

 

One thing I am sure of, though, is that it is necessary (δεῖ) that we be set free from those things (in fact, it is a divine necessity), so that we can stand up straight and see beyond our narrow scope of vision and free others to free others to free others...every single day - and in that way, live sabbath lives every day!