Psalm 90:1-12 Teach Us to Number Our Days

Observation: I never noticed before that Psalm 90 is introduced as "A Song of Moses, the Man of God." I don't know of any other Psalms attributed to Moses. It's poignant, as I reflect on the psalm's theme of fleeting human life compared to God's eternity, to think of Moses' long life and all the change he saw. From Egyptian prince, to shepherd, to unwilling prophet, to tribal leader, in one lifetime--no one could accuse Moses of not making the most of his life. And yet looking back, it sounds as though Moses still feels it all went by too fast. Sitting on the edge of the Promised Land, knowing he'll never go in, Moses says "teach us to number our days, that we may gain a wise heart." 

Application: I'm looking out over our back yard, where snow is falling over the autumn leaves I still haven't gotten to rake. Note to self: waiting for all the leaves to fall is not a great strategy out here. 

In the background, Daniel Tiger is singing to my youngest son. Before long, he'll grow out of that, just like his older siblings did. I want to count this late autumn day, as Moses suggested. I don't want to let this day have me, but instead I want to be fully conscious of the tiny bit of good I can do in it, knowing it will fly by like all the rest. I feel God's call to humility: to not let any grand vision or scheme of mine, no matter how noble or worthy, get in the way of the quiet work of being present to God today. I want to be ready to serve God and my neighbor in a small way today, and take joy in it. I want to count my days, to know them as short but vital stories of God's presence in this world. And I also want to make my days count, knowing they are finite, even though God is eternal. 

Prayer: God, teach me to count my days. Especially this one. Amen. 

Matthew 25:29-35 When You See All These Things

Observation: In Jerusalem during his final week before being crucified, Jesus teaches about signs of his return. Many things that are considered constant and eternal--the sun, the moon, the stars, heaven and earth--will no longer function as they once did. Jesus assures his disciples, however, that his words will remain. When the seemingly unshakable seems shaken, this is a sign--just like figs growing ripe on a fig tree--that his coming is near. 

Application: The first few generations of Christians lived in expectation of Jesus' return. Many assumed it would happen during their lifetime. Even when the world they knew seemed to be crumbling, they took solace in the idea that Jesus had already said it would, and that he was near to them in this. 

After the first couple of centuries, and certainly after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire, believers had a dilemma, because the Church had become intertwined with the very system of power that Jesus said would crumble as a sign of his coming. The more time passed, and the more connected to earthly power the Christian message became, the less sense of urgent expectation and excitement there was of a coming judgment. After all, if your life is pretty cushy now, why focus on a sudden reversal? 

There's a certain part of me that gets uncomfortable with these readings about a coming judgment, for the exact reasons I just listed. In the grand scheme, I'm pretty comfortable with my life. I have more than enough resources to get by, keep a roof over my children's head, and even have some fun on top of that. I enjoy a great number of freedoms and privileges that not everyone has. Why focus on bringing those comforts to an end? 

That's what I'm struggling with today: that Jesus' coming means losing a place of privilege. It means our human institutions and status quo will be shaken, and ultimately pass away. It means many of the things we trusted as eternal will be exposed as temporary, and to the extent that we trusted in or benefitted from those things, we'll be exposed too. Many, like me, who are used to being fairly comfortable, will be vulnerable for the first time. 

But the good news is twofold: first, we know it's coming. It will not come when and where and how we expect, but we know it will happen. And second, we can take comfort in the idea that the kingdom Jesus offers us--even to those who are the most comfortable in our current society--is so much better than what we have. When the norms and the power structures we most value seem to be going away, that's a sign that Jesus is near. Maybe not in the literal sense of an actual, physical return of Christ (although I believe that will happen someday) but much more in the sense that Jesus is near when we stop trusting in our own way of doing things and are forced to lean on him. 

Prayer: God, move what is static in me. Stir what is sleeping comfortably. Humble me when I grow proud. If I have placed my trust in any other power than you, may that power be shaken. Amen. 

1 Thessalonians 3:6-11 How Can We Thank God Enough For You?

Observation: Paul is giving thanks for his good friends in Thessaloniki (which today is in Greece) where he founded a Christian congregation, but was forced to leave by a group of his fellow Jews who took issue with his message about Jesus as Messiah. Timothy, Paul's protege, has just come back to him with another glowing report about the people's faith, which encourages Paul. Paul hopes aloud that he can see his Thessalonian friends face to face again. 

Application: Like Paul, I have moved around a fair bit in my life. Thankfully, I've never been driven out of any town before (at least not yet), but from when I was very young, my family of origin lived a somewhat nomadic life, and as an adult with kids of my own, I've kept the tradition. Of course I can't hold a candle to the military families who find themselves relocating every year or so. But still, in my relatively short life, I've lived in at least six different states, and at least a dozen communities. 

This is a double-edged sword, of course: on the one hand, I don't have too many of what I'd call "life long friends." I don't drive home to the house or neighborhood where I was raised, I don't take my kids to the schools I attended, I don't find myself running into high school teachers or kindergarten classmates at the grocery store. I sometimes envy the sense of rootedness in a place that some folks I know have. 

But on the other hand, I feel God has blessed me (and hopefully my kids as well) with a more durable sense of what "home" really is: it's where your family resides. It's where the people you care about gather together. It's even something you carry within yourself; a sense of knowing who you are and whose you are in the midst of a changing world. 

And to Paul's point, in this month of Thanksgiving, I can genuinely say I can give thanks for true friends in communities all over the place. So if I haven't said it recently, to my friends in Indianapolis, Indiana; Columbus, Ohio; Hartland, Michigan; Libby, Montana; Easton, Catonsville, Urbana, and elsewhere in Maryland; Lake Ann and Traverse City, Michigan; and to friends and family scattered across the world since last we met: please know, I'm thankful to God for you. Your lives have been a light for my journey.

Prayer: God, thank you for friends far and wide. Thank you for my family, who have been and continue to be my true home. Please be with my family this week as we celebrate the loving life of Susie Jahn, my paternal grandmother. Hold her--and us--in your arms always. Amen.    

Psalm 70: My Help and My Deliverer

Observation: Psalm 70 is one of several urgent requests for rescue from God. I kind of think of them as "911 Psalms." In it, the writer asks for God's immediate help and deliverance from an oppressive enemy. 

Application: It has been a terrifying week. A place of worship has become the latest in a long line of horrific shootings in our country. On top of that, today is the 79th anniversary of Kristallnacht, an awful attack on synagogues and Jewish businesses across Germany in 1938. These are events that hit us where we live: we realize on days like this that even holy spaces are not immune to evil and calamity. The Enemy can find a way in, and when that happens, God is our only refuge. 

As I reflect on "enemies" today, it's all too easy to think about a bitter, deranged individual, or even a bitter and deranged mob. But in the vast majority of my life, the enemy who does most to oppress and attack me is the enemy I carry within. I'm a sinner. I pass up opportunities to love my neighbor as myself seven days a week. I lash out in anger at those close to me, and I contribute to a culture of toxic masculinity and violent, divisive rage, even by remaining silent when this culture claims its victims. The evil I need deliverance from today, is the evil I know all too well.

Prayer: Lord, Deliver us. Deliver us from the dangers of violence in our world, and deliver us from the violence in our own spirits. May our enemies--especially our inner enemies--be subdued, and do us no more harm. Amen. 

Matthew 15:1-9 Hypocrites and Those Who Try

Observation: Jesus and the Pharisees are at it again. The Pharisees accuse Jesus and his disciples of being ritually impure by not washing their hands before they eat (Remember, they had no concept of germs, so this was strictly a matter of observing/not observing a religious ritual). But Jesus turns their self-righteous attitude right back on them, saying their shirking of family duties in order to become religious students is also a violation of the law: the fourth commandment, to be exact. Jesus repeats his most often leveled charge at these religious scholars: hyporcisy.

Application: The origin of the word "hypocrite" in Greek means, "actor." Actors often wore masks on stage in ancient Greece. In the same way, as Jesus points out, the outward face or actions of a hypocrite does not match their inward attitudes. 

Our culture puts a very high value on authenticity: we like people who do what they say, and say what they do. "Hypocrite" is a pretty serious charge to level at someone, just as it was in Jesus' time. We hate the idea that someone will think we're a poser, an impostor, a fraud. 

I have struggled with this a lot in my life. I want to sound smart, informed, thoughtful, astute. I want to do, say, and think the right things, and if I can't, sometimes I don't do or say anything. 

Ironically, considering how often Jesus called out hypocrisy, that seems to be a very common criticism of religious communities. "They're full of hypocrites." Maybe the perception is we say we believe in God and follow Jesus, but we don't act like it. We aren't great at welcoming strangers, turning the other cheek, selling all our possessions and feeding the hungry, like Jesus said to. So we may as well not try. Right? 

Well, here's the thing about Jesus and hypocrites: he actually hung out with a lot of them. He called tax collectors to follow him. He had mercy on a woman caught in adultery. He called Peter, who later denied him. I mean, he hung out with Judas for like, 3 years! Jesus' problem wasn't with hypocrites, per se...his frustration was with hypocrites who call out other hypocrites on their hypocrisy, without recognizing their own. The whole splinter-eye/log-eye thing. 

The fear of being inauthentic, being found to be less than what we aspire to, is paralyzing. It kills dreams and visions. It tempts us to settle for a mediocre version of ourselves that is worthy of neither criticism nor praise. It incurs no risk, and it accomplishes nothing of what God would have us do. 

If, on the other hand, we actually commit to following Jesus--to the crazy proposition that if we hang out with his people, learn from him, and practice giving of ourselves for the sake of the world, maybe our lives can look a tiny bit more like his--we will inevitably look dumb at some point. Full disclosure, if we try, we will not always succeed. Also, our progress will be indirect, halting, two-steps-forward, one-step-back. And we will be called hypocrites. And we'll feel like it sometimes. All this is true. But through all of that, we get to be with Jesus. We get glimpses--even the tiniest glimmers--of the world, and ourselves, as God would have us be. So here's to trying. 

Prayer: God, help me try today. Help me not criticize others who try, and who fall short in different ways than I do. Help me try in a way that makes others want to try this thing called Christian Discipleship for themselves. Amen.   

Lamentations 2:13-17 "That I May Comfort You"

Observation: Traditionally the book of Lamentations is attributed to the prophet Jeremiah. It is what it says: poems of lamentation, all related to the conquest and destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonian army in the 6th century BC. What really catches my eye here are the harsh words the poet uses, that Judah's prophets have told "false and deceptive visions," that God "demolishes without pity" and has "made the enemy rejoice over you." But at the same time there are glimmers of hope toward the beginning of the passage: The poet (using God's voice) asks "to what shall I liken you, that I may comfort you?" "Who can heal you?" It's clear that if comfort and healing is going to come, it will come only from God. 

Application: This text is from the Daily Lectionary. I didn't pick it. And truthfully, I probably wouldn't pick it for less than two days after another awful mass shooting, this time in a church during a worship service. It's too harsh, and it hits too close to home. But if our ears are open, maybe it's exactly what we need to hear. 

As a parent, I always have a dual impulse when one of our children hurts themselves doing something I've told them a hundred times not to do, or that I thought they had enough sense not to do without my telling them. Once I've established that they're basically okay, part of me wants to say, "See? That's why I tell you not to do that!" and part of me wants to just wash the scrapes or bruises, get a band-aid, and just sit with them and comfort them until the pain subsides. 

The thing is, they need both. Not at the same time, mind you, but eventually. It's like the Lutheran balance between Law and Gospel. We need to know where and how we messed up, but we also need to know that in God's arms we can still find healing.

Obviously, something like the destruction of Jerusalem, or the latest in a rash of horrific mass shootings, is a much more extreme situation than a child falling and scraping a knee. But in this situation, where we are hurting and confused, and not knowing where to turn, we absolutely need to be talking to God. But God will offer both Gospel and Law: both healing and challenge. 

I have seen a lot of Facebook friends recently react with complete disrespect and derision when folks (particularly policy-makers) share "thoughts and prayers" for the victims of a tragedy. This troubles me for two reasons: first, of course, it puts me on the defensive as someone who prays every day, and believes that it does in fact make a difference, even if that difference is not always what we want or what we can see. But secondly it troubles me because it's clear that so many people of faith fundamentally misunderstand what prayer actually is. 

If I can paraphrase a friend of mine, prayer is not just positive inner thoughts, it's a conversation with God. So if you are really and truly praying, that means you are really open to hearing what God has to say, both by way of comfort, but also by way of challenge. If we really are praying, then it's entirely appropriate at a time like this to ask God, "what do you think about this?" and "what do you want me to do about it?" Maybe we can even be brave enough to ask "what does loving my neighbor as myself look like in this situation?" 

God, like any good parent, is going to have plenty to say to us when we are hurting. The real question is, how much of it are we ready to hear?

Prayer: God, speak to us. Heal us. Challenge us. Comfort us. Give us compassion for our neighbors who are grieving this most recent shooting, and those who are grieving so very many others. Give us compassion, too, for those who may be grieving soon, whose tragedy is still preventable, and give us the moral courage to come together across all divisions and prevent it. Amen.  

1 John 3:1-3 What We Will Be

Observation: John writes to his community about the honor of being called God's children, and what it means for their future. Just as with the Gospel of John (probably by the same author or same community), the theme of Jesus being "revealed" and of "seeing him" is central. What's unique about this passage is the assertion that when we see Jesus as he is (at the end of our earthly lives), we will "be like him". 

Application: Last night, as the cold, dark spookiness of Halloween settled in, I watched an episode of The Twilight Zone on Netflix. It featured an old woman living alone, afraid to let anyone in, for fear that whoever it was would be Death in disguise. After being seriously wounded on the street, a police officer comes to her door (played by a much younger, and frankly man-crush-worthy Robert Redford). Reluctantly, she lets him in. After a long conversation, she befriends the officer only to realize her worst fear was in fact true--that he does, indeed, represent death--but it's not a fear anymore. Death has become a merciful friend, ready to take her into whatever is next. It wasn't scary at all. 

This All Saints' Day, I'm thinking about those who have gone before me, especially those who have put their trust in God. Their witness reminds me that death is not something to be feared: in fact, in Jesus, death is the gateway to resurrection and eternal life. I think based on the Bible, we can be a little bit humble about what we can know about it. John says "We are God's children now, what we will be has not yet been revealed." How will death feel? What will resurrection look like? We just don't know, and it would be foolish to pretend we do. Our only clue is Jesus, whom the Bible calls "the first born from the dead." And we know he told us not to be scared. 

We can give thanks for the examples of people who have lived and died before us. We can celebrate them, and know they are not afraid or in pain. We can trust God with the rest--including all the days we have left.

Prayer: God, thank you for the people who formed us, and have moved on. Thank you for the promise of your resurrection. Be with all those today who are afraid of death, or who are near death, that their hearts may be calm and open. Help us to see you as you are, and be open to the transforming work of your Spirit, who will make us like you. Amen.