Luke 1:39-50 Lifting up, Tearing Down

Observation: This song Mary sings during her visit to Elizabeth has been called the "Magnificat", for the Latin for "magnify" at the song's beginning. It's worth noting that when Mary sings this song, all she has to go on are God's promises (via the angel) and Elizabeth's faith and love. She has not yet met this Son she is carrying, seen the authority of his teaching and the power of his healing, his compassion for the poor or his challenge to the privileged. Everything she sings is in the present tense, though none of it has happened yet. Still, she sings, because this is the timeless truth of how God intervenes in history: lifting up the lowly, humbling the proud. It has happened before, and it will again.

Application: It's a lot easier to sing joyfully about being lifted up than torn down. It's more fun to think of oneself as hungry, and about to be filled by God's generosity, than to be rich and about to be sent away empty. But if I'm being honest, I'm probably in the latter category a lot of the time. I may not think of myself as "proud", but the way I react when I feel I've been disrespected may tell another story.  I may not think of myself as "powerful", but I do have a voice and vote in the most powerful democracy in history, and as a straight, white, middle class, Christian man, I occupy an privileged position even within that society. I may not be in "the 1%", but in the global population, I'm rich. 

My first step in hearing this song of Mary's is to know what side of the equation I'm on, and understand that I may well be one about to be "brought down" instead of "lifted up." That's a hard step in itself, but the second step is harder: to envision how that "bringing down," that "emptying", is in fact a blessing. And it is. To the extent that I can be "brought down" in humility, to the extent that I can really understand that I own nothing and I depend on God for everything, I can trust in God in ways that are totally unknown to me now. Even more, it's a participation in the very nature of Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, who was in the form of God, but didn't cling to power and glory, but instead willingly emptied himself and took on human form: the form of a slave. It may not feel that way, but to be brought down is a blessing. 

In my case, I don't think this "bringing down" means selling all my possessions and donating all future earnings to charity. If I did that, someone else would have to pay my rent and feed my three kids. But it is a continual humbling--over and over again--and recognizing every bit of power, privilege, and property that goes through my hands is borrowed, and intended for the use of God's reign, which always lifts up the lowly. I'm either working with and for that reign, or against it. No dollar or day I spend, vote I cast, or word I say is neutral. 

Prayer: God, bring me down. And please...help me mean that when I say it, because I struggle to mean it sometimes. Bring me down, Lord. Amen.     

Numbers 16:41-50 Struggling for the Soul of a Nation

Observation: The Israelites have just endured a rebellion. A man named Korah and his followers have just tried to turn the entire nation against Moses and Aaron. God causes the earth to swallow up the rebels, as the text describes, "taking them alive into Sheol" (the land of the dead). But the rebellion doesn't end there. The whole congregation rebels and accuses Moses and Aaron of killing "the people of the Lord". What the people don't know is:

1) ...that Moses and Aaron had nothing to do with the death of Korah and the rebels, but it was God's doing.

2) ...that Moses and Aaron have in fact saved the lives of the vast majority of the nation, because God's first reaction was to want to swallow them all up, except for Moses and Aaron, but they essentially "talked God down". 

In response to this second rebellion, God again wants to consume the people, and it is once again Moses and Aaron, by running out into the midst of the people with an offering of incense, who save hundreds of thousands of lives. Just swallowing up the rebels didn't work. Until Israel deals with the roots of its rebellion--mistrust of and impatience with God--the rebellion won't stop. 

Application: I feel that our country today is at war with the ghosts of rebels long dead. It's been a hundred and fifty two years since the signing of the peace treaty at Appomattox, and yet cities and states are still in turmoil over the removal of Confederate symbols--statues, monuments and flags--which to some simply represent history, but to many others represent the celebration of an ugly past of slavery and racism. It's been 72 years since VE day, bringing an end to the Nazi regime in Germany, and yet it was only last week that a white supremacist murdered two people on a train in Portland for the crime of standing between him and the teenaged Muslim girls he was trying to abuse. The armed conflicts ended years ago, but the ghosts of racism still haunt us. 

I believe the Gospel sheds a light on this important reality: you can kill people, but you can't kill attitudes. You can gain and lose territory, you can pass or fail to pass laws, you can set or fail to set policies, but you can not force people to love one another, and you can not reverse the core reality of human existence: that we are captive to sin, and can not free ourselves. We don't just commit sins. We are consumed by our sinfulness, and it affects our every thought, word and deed. 

First John describes sin as "lawlessness," not wanting any higher authority to constrain our actions. Luther's definition of sin is to be incurvatus in se, literally "curved in on ourselves", in a closed loop of self-preservation where the concerns of others can not enter into our thinking. Whichever definition you choose, the fact remains: no one is exempt from it. We are all affected by it, and we all willingly contribute to it. And no human victory, military, legislative,  or moral, can abrogate its effects on us or on our neighbors. 

There are ways, of course, to stand against the sin of racism. We can educate ourselves, and listen to those affected by it, not in order to debate them and defend our fragile perspective, but to really empathize and understand their experience. We can educate our children, and help them understand that racism is alive and well. We can call it out when we see it, even if that may cost us a friend or two. Hopefully only in very rare instances, as in Portland, will it cost White Americans our lives, but we need to understand that our neighbors of color feel their lives to be under threat on a much more regular basis. 

As Christians, the most important thing we can do is to shine the light of the Gospel on this sin, and show the world that on the cross, Jesus defeated it. We can radically and stubbornly live in the hope of the new community Jesus formed around himself and which his followers continued: where race, class, ethnicity and gender are not tools of hierarchy, but rather add to the diversity of our one body of Christ. 

Prayer: God, my land is haunted. May your Spirit drive out the spirits that are plaguing our society. Banish hatred and prejudice, in the name of him who was crucified by it, and who now reigns victorious at your right hand: Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

Leviticus 9:1-11, 22-24 Reflecting on Sacrifice

Observation: As Aaron becomes the high priest of Israel, God sets up a pattern of temple sacrifice. Calves, rams, goats, meeting very specific qualifications, are to be slaughtered and burnt up in very specific ways as sin offerings, burnt offerings and offerings of well-being. In short, God asks for an offering of the very best of what the Israelites have. It was an agrarian society: livestock was livelihood and life itself, and in order to rely on God absolutely, they had to first give to God. This system was in place for centuries. In Christian understanding, Jesus' own sacrifice of his body on the cross for the sins of all made further animal sacrifice unnecessary. Ultimately, it was God who gave God's very best for us.

Application: Today as I read about the system of temple sacrifice that persisted for so long, I can't help thinking of the way we use the word "sacrifice" today. Specifically, on this Memorial Day, I'm thinking of and praying with those whose loved ones made the "ultimate sacrifice" in the line of duty in our armed forces. 

Today when we hear "sacrifice" this is the kind of sacrifice that comes to mind: offering up not just our possessions but our very selves, for the benefit of others. As Abraham Lincoln suggested in his Gettysburg address, no civic ceremony can "consecrate" or inspire reverence from others. Rather, the service men and women have already done that by offering up their lives for their fellow citizens and the freedoms we enjoy. 

But today, I think it's appropriate and necessary for followers of Jesus to continually hope for a day when this type of sacrifice is unnecessary. 

To understand that being grateful for the sacrifice of those who have died means valuing the lives of those still serving, and the lives of those we would set them against, who also bear the image of God. 

To acknowledge that thinking critically about our motives for entering wars does not mean devaluing those who are faithfully doing their duty on our behalf. 

To know that, as worthy as our cause and pure as our hearts may be, we can not create a perfect society on this earth, no matter how many wars we fight. True peace will always and only come from the sacrifice of Jesus, through whom God is reconciling all things to himself.  

Though in this broken world, the cause of freedom and justice may ask us for sacrifices, our God no longer does. As I remember the fallen today, I also give thanks for that. 

Prayer: God, thank you for the courage of my fellow citizens who served in the armed forces. Help me to fully and joyfully exercise the freedoms they defended at the cost of their lives. Be with our leaders, who have the power to send troops into battle, and guide them with wisdom, compassion and justice. And remind us always that you offer a peace that no army can possibly win: a peace the world can not give. Amen. 

2 Kings 2:1-12 Becoming the Grown-Up

Observation: Elijah knows it's time for him to be taken up into the heavens, which means it's time for Elisha to become a prophet in his own right. Elisha asks for a double share of Elijah's spirit as he ascends. Elijah is right in saying this is a hard thing: for the vast majority of us, the only way to carry on the spirit of someone we respect is through years of learning at their side, trying, failing and trying once more.

Application: I can understand Elisha's grief. From watching his teacher Elisha must know how hard it is to speak God's truth to the powerful. It's a lot easier to do when you have someone to follow. Taking the initiative to lead on your own, and answer God's call in your own distinct way, is always daunting.

I'm in a rather unique spot in my life in ministry. I'm getting ready to start my fourth call (my third was a year-long interim, so it feels a bit more like 3.5). For years, I've felt a bit like Josh Baskin from "Big"--everyone looking to me as an adult, but inwardly feeling more like a kid. One look in the mirror, however, will remind me that I'm definitely not a kid anymore.

Maybe everyone feels this way sometimes, regardless of years: like we're not ready to walk the path God has for us on our own; like we just want an Elijah to follow, rather than be the one everyone is looking to for guidance.  

As I began thinking more seriously about Christian discipleship a couple of years ago, this was my biggest hang-up: not feeling ready to be an example for others. "Who am I to set myself up as a model for others to follow? I barely know what I'm doing half the time." Like Elisha, I didn't feel fully ready to be the spiritual "grown-up" for folks twice my age. But what I have learned over these last couple of years is two-fold: 

Firstly, you never really do stop being a disciple. Even those who tend to be the most experienced in their walk of faith still have people they call for advice and counsel. And of course, part of what makes them good spiritual leaders is they continually listen for God's guidance in scripture and prayer. 

And secondly, being an example for others is not a matter of being some sort of perfect, wise guru. You don't have to attain some level of spiritual perfection to start discipling others. All you have to do is invite them to walk with you on your spiritual journey, and be open about your successes and struggles. You aren't teaching anybody. It's the Holy Spirit who reveals for them the things that are worthy of imitation, or that they can find useful in their own lives.

Just a few rambling thoughts on the long, slow journey of becoming a spiritual "grown-up", which more often than not humbles me and makes me feel like a child the further I go. Maybe that's what Jesus was talking about when he called us to become like children. The more you know, the more you know you don't know.

Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank you for the road I've walked so far. Thank you for the share of the spirit you have given to me from those who have taught me by their example. Thank you for sharing my spirit with those who have learned something from me. Amen. 

Acts 1:1-11 Grounded Faith

Observation: Even to the very end, Jesus' disciples expect to be lifted up. Even after their Rabbi and Messiah saves the world by means of a cross, they still don't understand. They are still holding out hope for an earthly kingdom, like the one Jesus' ancestor David had. They still want to sit in a grand throne room, in elevated seats, making judgments on all who crossed them. As Jesus prepares to be lifted up to reign at God's right hand, he gives them a different job: not to reign, but to testify. 

Application: Each time Ascension Day rolls around, I'm brought back in my memory to a very special spot in Jerusalem I visited 18 months ago: The Mosque of the Ascension. Yes, you heard right: the traditional spot of earth venerated as the final point where Jesus' feet touched in his incarnate form (If you look hard, you can see the supposed impression of his right foot), is owned and operated by an Islamic trust, and has been in the possession of Muslims since the 11th century. It has remained open to pilgrims of all faiths for all that time. 

To some Christians, I'm sure this seems like an affront--"Muslims don't even believe Jesus was God's Son! Why on earth should they have control over this holy site?"--but frankly, I think Jesus would be deeply pleased by this turn of events, considering his final conversation with his disciples. As he is lifted up and away from them, their last hope for an earthly "land grab", and a political Messianic kingdom, goes away too. He clarifies one last time that that isn't what this all has been about. It seems very much like the logic of the Holy Spirit that Jesus' followers would not have control over that last few square feet of land that he touched. 

It is maybe the oldest and most insidious temptation that Christians face: we want to be lifted up. We want to have power over others, power to control what others say and do. We want earthly proof that our witness to Jesus is true. We don't just want to believe that Jesus reigns from heaven at God's right hand. We want to see it in the way we see other earthly regimes: with armies and palaces and policies and true believers in every hall of power.

But Jesus calls us to a different ministry. Our job is to bear witness. To tell the truth about what God has done in our lives. To tell the truth about the Jesus we know through scripture, how he lived and died, and how he calls his followers to live. To tell the truth about God's power made real not in missiles and tanks, but in weakness and suffering for the sake of others. To tell the truth whether it gains us or loses us territory, physical or cultural. To tell the truth whether it gains us or loses us earthly power and prestige. To tell the truth whether it makes us feel more secure or less secure (and by "taking up our cross", I get the feeling it usually means less). 

Telling the truth about God's reign through our crucified Lord keeps us grounded. It reminds us that it's not our ascension, or the ascension of our institution or ideology, that we celebrate today. It is the ascension of Jesus: a Jewish day-laborer who may not have had a permanent home, the one who came not to be served but to serve, who was killed by the most powerful Empire on earth and raised by God's power. To stay grounded is to not worry about gaining ground, but to consistently tell the truth about the Ground of our being. 

Prayer: Lord Jesus, direct my eyes down from the heavens, so I don't trip over those in need. Direct my eyes up from the ground, so I don't compare my own territory with that of others. Direct my eyes outward, to the eyes of my neighbor, where, for the time being, I will find your presence, for, in a great mystery, there you live and reign, and also at the right hand of God. Amen.  

  

Deuteronomy 31:1-13 "Courage"

Observation: near the end of the journey to the Promised Land, God reveals that Moses will not enter with the people. Instead, his protégé, Joshua, will lead them in this next chapter of Israel's story. Moses' advice to Joshua: "be strong and bold."

Application: I heard a quote the other day that I'd like to paraphrase. "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgement that something else is more important than your fear." Joshua would have been right to have some fear, even though Moses told him not to. The road ahead would not be easy or safe. But he had both Moses' and God's assurance that he was doing the right thing. The promised destiny of God's people was more important than any fear he may have had.

I think as a disciple of Jesus, it's hard to keep perspective. When we talk about following Jesus, we are talking of nothing less than proclaiming the reconciliation of the entire cosmos with its creator: justice, peace, healing and salvation, extending through all space and time, from the cross of Christ. In that grand scheme, the anxiety about making an unpopular decision, of leading​ folks to a slightly different place than they first pictured, down a slightly different path, traveling by a slightly different means, pales in comparison. I find that when I'm in conversation with God regularly--not just in emergencies--I am better able to keep that larger perspective, and better able to share that perspective with others. It doesn't eliminate my fear and anxiety, nor theirs. But it helps us greet the fear, and acknowledge it as a welcome byproduct of the changed life God is calling us to live together. If God didn't abandon Joshua, God won't leave us either. Acknowledge the fear, and keep going.

Prayer: God, change is scary. Thanks for going ahead of us to each place you call us to go. When we get nervous, help us remember you'll be waiting there.  Amen.

Genesis 6:5-22 Back to the Drawing Board

Observation: Only a few generations after Adam and Eve's mistake in the garden and Cain's murder of his brother Abel, the whole earth is full of violence, and God is sorry God ever made humankind. His call to Noah is to make a boat to save a select few specimens of animals of each kind, because God has resolved to flood the earth and make an end to all flesh. 

Application: Hey, I don't want to tell you how to decorate your kids' nursery, but to me, this ranks high among the most troubling stories in all of scripture. I wish I had some grace-filled spin on it, to make the grieving, angry God depicted here sound more like the God we know in and through Jesus. I just don't have much. 

I do know that this flood narrative is not only found in ancient Hebrew lore. The Epic of Gilgamesh in ancient Babylonian literature, and several other ancient tales recount a massive flood around this time. From an ancient perspective, where all events beyond human control were attributed to the divine, it is possible people were just trying to make sense of a great catastrophe, and answering as best they could, "why on earth did this happen?"

In the context of Christian faith, one possible way to approach this is to say that God learned something here: that just cutting off the relationship doesn't fix the problem. It's clear within days of Noah and his family setting foot on dry land that wickedness has not been destroyed. Who's to say that even if God had completely gone back to the drawing board with a whole new creation, that the same fall may have awaited the new creatures? 

It could well be that this was the beginning of the "new beginning": the time when God decided that the only way to truly redeem this creation was from within: taking on flesh, dwelling among us, teaching, healing, suffering and dying right here with us, in order to transform us with new life. 

When the going gets tough, it is often a temptation to go back to the drawing board and "start from scratch." every relationship is perfect at the beginning, when it's all potential and nothing has really happened. The true measure of our spiritual maturity is not doing things perfectly the first time. It's repenting, confessing, forgiving, sticking with it and asking God to redeem what we have spoiled. Everybody--even God--has had the temptation to walk off and say "[forget] it, I'm out!" (or something more or less similar to that.) I'm thankful that God's ultimate solution was to take our sin and shame into God's self, make it part of our story, and use it to make all things new.

Prayer: God, thank you for my life. Thank your for the chance after chance you give me to get things right, even though I never will. Thank your for forgiveness and grace through your Son Jesus, in whose name I pray. Amen. 

Proverbs 3:5-12 Do Not Rely On Your Own Insight

Observation: The theology of the book of Proverbs is not always easy to swallow for modern readers. The promise of physical healing and plentiful barns for those who trust in the Lord does not always seem to pan out in real life. That's why it's important for me to balance that with "do not lean on your own insight." The kind of healing and plenty that comes from trusting in God doesn't always look like the kind the world offers or the kind we want. Sometimes the reward for trusting in God is simply knowing you can survive and that God has walked with you through a hard time. 

Application: I am often tempted to "go with what I know", or only try something at which I'm likely to succeed the first time. I can only envision doing that which will bring me no pain, and consequently no growth. If I rely on my own insight, I will not take risks. I'll shut my eyes and ears to certain wavelengths of what God has in store for me. It will be invisible to me, because I can't do it myself. But then, that's the whole point of faith, isn't it? Trying the things we can't do ourselves? If we only walk down the paths of which we already know the ending, why invoke God's name at all? How do we expect our faith to grow if we live  our lives as though God has no part in them? 

Prayer: God, open my mind to the full spectrum of what you can do in my life, my family, my community, our world. Amen. 

Luke 6:12-16 Choose Wisely

Observation: A crowd of people have begun following Jesus, learning from him, witnessing al that he does. And by some inner prompting, Jesus realizes that now it's time to decide: in whom will he be investing most of his time and effort? Who will he draw in close, with the hope that their way of life will begin to reflect his, so that they can be the building blocks for a beloved community? Clearly he doesn't take this decision lightly. In fact, he spends the entire night talking with his Father before emerging and calling twelve disciples (also called "apostles," which is Greek for "the ones sent.") And after all that, he includes Judas Iscariot, whom the Gospel narrator reminds us will end up betraying him. 

An interesting question, which I don't believe any of the four Gospels really answers, is, "How much did Jesus know?" It's certainly true that Jesus is perceived as knowing more than an ordinary person would know. But do we approach these stories assuming Jesus is "omniscient," knowing everything there is to know? What makes this an interesting question as he calls the disciples, of course, is it raises the question: Did Jesus call these twelve men based on the best discernment and prayer available to him at the time as a finite human being, simply listening for his Father's voice and hoping for the best? Or...did he call Judas knowing full well how this would turn out?

Application: However we choose to speculate about the state of mind of Jesus in the first century, we know that God has called us as disciples knowing us inside and out. God knows our potential for good, should we allow the Holy Spirit to take the helm in our hearts. But God also knows our potential for catastrophic harm to our neighbors and to God's creation, should we try to take control of our own lives and respond to our world in fear and hatred. God knows. And in our baptism, God called us as disciples anyway. God called us as ambassadors for Christ, knowing full well the many ways we could mess it up, and probably would, given half a chance. And yet, God still chose to make us a part of this beloved community, trying in its very imperfect way to reflect Jesus' life for sake of the world. 

In about a month, I will celebrate my 10th anniversary of ordination. I can't say I recall having many thoughts about what type of pastor and what type of person I'd be ten years in. If I did, surely I'd have thought I'd have more figured out about how to do ministry in this ever-changing world. Instead, I'm finding myself feeling more clueless by the day about where the Holy Spirit is leading the Church. Surely I'd have pictured myself as growing in discipleship, a lot more able to forgive, more able to seek justice, more able to give sacrificially. In fact, I still struggle with all those things. I sometimes wonder if God chose wisely when God chose me to do this work. 

That's what draws me back to this song by Ani DiFranco that was kind of a de facto anthem for me when I was seeking ordination. Although on the face of it this song is about a human relationship, I still hear her voice as God's voice, saying to me exactly what she said ten years ago:

"And I've got

no illusions about you

and guess what? 

I never did.

When I say

When I say I'll take you

I mean

I mean As Is."

(Note: one naughty word. You can probably handle it.)

Prayer: God, thanks for calling me as is. 

Acts 6:8-15 What Did You Expect?

Observation: The story of the Acts of the Apostles is told in a brilliant way, so that Jesus' continued presence is made clear in the words and actions of his followers. Even though the Lord himself has ascended and is no longer walking beside his community, it's clear from the "wonders and signs", and through the care and compassion they show for one another, that Jesus is still active in that movement. Unfortunately, Jesus' presence is also quite clear in the reaction of religious authorities to the Apostles' ministry: namely, it's not well received. 

Application: History repeats itself. Sometimes I think when we try to imitate Jesus and the early church in our lives--the most basic definition of discipleship--we are shocked that the world (including professed Christians) does not welcome us with open arms. Jesus said, "the world will hate you because it hated me." 

Stephen from Acts seems like a worthy role model. He is the one to whom the apostles delegated the task of feeding and providing care for God's people while they continued the ministry of sharing their witness to Jesus with others. His role seems the least controversial: who can argue with caring and feeding, right? And yet Stephen becomes the first martyr to Jesus. It seems that even caring and feeding, when you do it in the name of a man crucified by the state at the behest of the religious authorities, can get you killed. 

Emulating Jesus in our lives comes at a price. Talking about our responsibility to care for each other comes at a price. If we want to act like Jesus, we'd better be prepared to be treated like Jesus. It's called "the way of the cross" for a reason. But the reason Jesus and Stephen walked it is because they knew something we must never forget: that there is no other way to the kind of new life our world desperately needs. If there was one, the Son of God would surely have found it. So if we are disciples, in smaller and less dramatic ways (God willing), our lives will sometimes reflect Jesus' life. In signs and wonders, but also in suffering. Rejoice in that day and be glad. Firstly, because you're going to face pain anyway, and it's an honor to be hurting for the right reason. And secondly, because this discomfort is not meaningless. It is part of the process of new life in Christ.

Prayer: Jesus, I don't ask this lightly...make my life like yours. Amen.

Psalm 100: Joyful Noise from All the Earth

Observation: What grabs me most about this Psalm is the first verse, "Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth." Throughout scripture, a recurring image of the noises of God's creation--the sea, the animals, the wind, the trees--as not just random chatter, but a song of praise to God.

Application: It's been a while since I chanted the Communion liturgy. I remember that especially in the Easter season, I would feel a special sense of anticipation as I would sing, "And so with Mary Magdalene and Peter, and all the witnesses of the Resurrection, with earth and sea and all their creatures, angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim,we praise your name and join their unending hymn..." To which the congregation immediately would respond in joyous song, "Holy Holy Holy Lord, God of power and might! Heaven and earth are full of your glory!" 

There's this beautiful sense of a group of people kind of "tuning in" to a praise song which the entire cosmos has been singing for all time: indeed, a song that exists outside time. In its own way, every creature, both those we can see, and those we can't, those we know of, and those far beyond our knowledge, is making a joyful noise to God. And though we mostly don't hear or acknowledge it, now and again we tune into it and try to sing in harmony. Hopefully, after eating this meal of forgiveness and mercy, we can walk back out into God's creation better tuned to its harmony, and make our own joyful noise through the week. 

Prayer: God, tune us to the joyful noises of your creation. Help our voices and our actions not to drown them out, but to compliment them. Amen.

Luke 15:1-7 and God's Obnoxious Mercy

Observation: The Pharisees and scribes have done everything right. They've lived clean, they've taught God's law to anybody who will listen, and they've done everything they can to help their fellow Jews take pride in themselves, Roman occupation notwithstanding. In a way, they are revolutionaries in their own right: in the Jewish diaspora, part of the point of teaching personal purity was so Jews didn't have to go to the expense and effort of walking all the way down to Jerusalem, and paying an arm and a leg to participate in temple sacrifice, in a big ornate building built by Herod, and staffed by collaborators with Rome. We can do this purity thing by ourselves!
You can imagine, then, how infuriating it would be to see a well-read and well-respected rabbi dining with tax collectors: Jews who squeezed other Jews for Roman profit, keeping for themselves whatever they collected over and above the Roman quota! How can this man show tacit approval of this messed up system? Surely there are limits???

Application: So, I'm an oldest child. I have three younger sisters.   And for anyone who grew up with siblings, I know you can relate to the constant comparisons and score-keeping. "She got this!" "He didn't have to do that!" "Why isn't she getting punished for this?"

My kids are 5 and 8, and this game is already in full swing. Today, Baltimore County Schools, in its infinite wisdom, decided that it's a teacher conference day for kindergarten and Pre-K, but not for all other grades. Which means right now, my 3rd grader is at school and my kindergartener is watching cartoons in his PJ's. You can imagine how that went down.

I'm seeing this same score-keeping on a much larger scale in our nation, as we struggle with things like what a living wage looks like, and whether basic health care is a human right for all. Too often, the conversation is about our comparative value as human beings: "I worked for this! Why should they get it for free?"

Without being drawn into a policy debate, for followers of Jesus at the outset, it's worth noting that score-keeping and comparisons of relative value are contrary to the Gospel. Jesus ministered not based in merit or worthiness, but need. And thank God that he did, because in the grand scheme, none of us are worthy of God's saving mercy on our own merits. Comparing our relative sins without seeing how far short we fall of God's glory is like an ant priding himself on being taller than another ant, and therefore closer to the moon.

I certainly don't have answers for all our problems as a society. But I do know that the Christian community reflects Jesus and his Father most closely when we rescue God's sheep not because they are worthy but because they are lost.

Prayer: Jesus, thank you for saving me, disregarding my unworthiness. Amen.

Psalm 23: Through the Valley

Observation: The metaphor of a king as the shepherd of the people goes back to the earliest biblical books. This well-worn and well-loved Psalm speaks of God as the true guide and caregiver for the author: unlike earthly kings, God looks out only for the good of the sheep: God's people.

Application: After a disturbing day in American politics yesterday, and after my first full week of being jobless, I have never needed Psalm 23 more than I do today. I've read it at easily a hundred funerals, but the fact is, those who have died have already reached the rest it promises. It's the living who need to remember God as shepherd and king. It's those of us still in the fight who need to remember that God has led us through green pastures and beside still waters before, and God will do it again. 

Prayer: Shepherd me, O God. 

1 Peter 2:9-11 As Aliens and Exiles

Observation: The author writes words of hope to the first generation of Jewish Christians, that it is not their family lineage but their shared faith that makes them a "royal priesthood". In the first century temple system, it was only a very small subset of the Jewish people--a certain family of priests and their sons--who could represent the people before God in making sacrifices. But since Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice on the cross, it is all who believe in him whom God calls as priests, even though they may feel like "aliens and exiles" in the Greco-Roman culture.

Application: Since today is "May the Fourth," of course I feel compelled to make another Star Wars connection. In the wildly diverse and colorful spacescape of "a galaxy far, far away," it seems that there are no "aliens and exiles," because differences in appearance, language and culture are assumed. If there is any group that is truly "alien," it is the Jedi, who are not defined by species but by their commitment to wield the power of the Force for the good of the galaxy. Even when their numbers have dwindled to a handful as a result of intense persecution, their power has not diminished one bit, because it isn't based on how many adherents they have or planets they rule: it comes from the wisdom of their teachings and practices. 

Similarly, Christians in the northern hemisphere may increasingly feel we are "aliens and exiles". I'm just going to say it: especially as I reflect on Jesus' teachings about feeding the hungry, caring for the sick and welcoming the stranger, I can understand how disciples of Jesus may feel like "aliens and exiles" even in our predominantly "Christian" nation. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe we should be waking up and asking how Christians ever managed to "fit in", considering the ways Jesus stood against the power structures of his day. 

Like the Jedi, Christians are committed to follow in the Way laid out for us, without regard to how it affects our numbers, our prestige, or even some preconceived notions about "success." But while the Jedi walk in the Way of the Force, our Way is Jesus' way: in fact it is Jesus himself. And while we act as his priests and envoys in this culture, we don't look to worldly measures of success: success is trusting in him. 

To quote a fictional "teacher": 

"Judge me by my size, do you?

...and well you should not. "

Prayer: God, help us to follow in the Way. Amen. 

1 Peter 2:1-3 Infants in Christ

Observation: The first letter of Peter tells its early Christian readers to go back to basics. Leave all the gossip and politics behind, and like infants, long for the "pure spiritual milk" of Jesus' teachings. Love your enemies. Forgive as God forgives you. Do justice. It's not complicated, but it does require a constant reminder that we can no more do it ourselves than a baby could dance a tango. 

Application: I think my problem is twofold. I want to "grow up" in faith, to feel I've made "progress", to be an advanced "master" of this thing called discipleship. After all, I have this funny little framed piece of parchment in a basement box somewhere that says "Master of Divinity"...maybe the most ironic name for a degree ever. 

But on the other hand, when I do face faith challenges, when I feel God is asking me to do a new and possibly difficult thing, I want to play dumb. I want to plead ignorance, go back to the Padawan stage, and have someone break out the felt Bible story board and the graham crackers and juice. When the spiritual going gets tough, I don't want to "adult" anymore. 

Maybe that's an immature instinct. Or maybe...maybe it indicates a deeper spiritual need that I should pay attention to. Above is a picture of my 14-month old, Ezra. Ezra is absolutely loving the baby experience. In fact, he loves it so much that he's in no hurry to jump into the world of solid foods. Nursing is a pretty good deal for him right now. And considering the world that awaits him as he inevitably grows up, I don't blame him a bit. His mom and I still patiently set solid foods before him thrice daily, knowing that his interest and ability will grow as time passes. But at this stage, he doesn't ever have to worry about where nourishment comes from. You can see in the photo he's doing just fine.

The irony I'm discovering is that the more God asks of us, the more we need to return to the basics of spiritual infancy. When the world is attacking and our shields are barely holding, we probably won't fall back on the latest work of theological ethics on our shelves. More likely it'll be the simple truth we learned as infants: Jesus loves me, this I know. In a way, to grow is to regress. To be wise is to know you know nothing. To be strong is to be vulnerable and weak for the sake of Christ.

Prayer: Jesus, help me remember I am a infant in your arms, that I may grow to follow where you lead. Amen.

John 14:8-14 What You See Is What You Get.

Observation: Philip has been waiting in eager expectation for a while now. When Jesus called him and his friend Nathaniel as disciples, He told Nathaniel to expect to see Heaven opened and angels ascending and descending on him. Well, now, Jesus is eating his last meal with his disciples, and while he's seen a lot of amazing stuff, Philip hasn't seen this divine spectacle quite yet. Maybe this is what's on his mind when Jesus says, "Show us the Father." But Jesus' response is perfect: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father." What you see is what you get.

Application: If you ask me, there is no finer example of a true disciple of Jesus Christ than former president Jimmy Carter. In many ways, he has done as much or more for the world since leaving office forty years ago as he did while in office in the late 1970s. Now well into his 90s, he continues to find time to build affordable housing, advocate for women in church leadership, and teach Sunday School in his local parish every Sunday. 

But you don't have to be a former president to do all those things. The more I follow Jesus, the more I realize that my faith is sustained by the quiet, tireless work of regular folks who just show up and lend a hand when it's needed. We do it on Sunday morning as acolytes, ushers, tellers, Assisting Ministers, and the unofficial "welcoming committee" who's always keen to shake a visitor's hand and show them around. But for followers of Jesus, that's the tip of the iceberg. The stories that really inspire me take place during the rest of the week--people tutoring, hosting fundraisers, sending cards, caring for family members--maybe without a second thought to the idea that "I am following Jesus by doing this", but embodying his presence all the same. 

When Jesus says "whoever has seen me has seen the Father," I believe he means that we don't need to see big miracles to believe. If we've been watching the loving way Jesus acts, we've seen heaven opened. We have seen the Father. And Jesus goes on to say we will do even "greater things" than he has done, because he is going to the Father. I'd say this takes the next logical step, to say that if we have seen our friends and neighbors doing the same loving things they saw Jesus do, we have seen the Father. There isn't much more to it. If that doesn't inspire your faith, then a heavenly ladder with angels running up and down won't either.

I say all this wistfully because I've just finished up a journey with a congregation in Urbana, Maryland. Their loving actions and discipleship have certainly boosted my faith this year. But right now, while I have some good things in the works, for the first time in a decade, I'm nobody's pastor. This will be a time for me to rest, recharge, reset priorities, and see if I can't seek God's kingdom outside the confines of a Christian congregation. I'm hoping to see what God wants me to see while I'm out there.

Prayer: God, show us the Father by showing us the works of Jesus. And when we see them, give us the discernment and strength to pitch in. Amen.