Learning the Lesson: the humiliation of the king

Since transitioning from parish ministry to hospice chaplaincy, I’ve preached several funerals but this was the first sermon I’ve delivered since leaping into the arms of God and finding a net before me.  In this sermon, my task was to step into the midst of a sermon series based on Adam Hamilton’s 24 Hours that Changed the World.  My title and text were assigned:  “The Humiliation of the King,”  Mark 15:15-23.  Frankly, I would have avoided these otherwise.  So, I knew that the Spirit would intercede in a powerful way.  Indeed, the Spirit did.

(NOTE:  While serving as a pastor and preaching at least once a week, I never claimed to be a good preacher or worship designer.  Rather, I’d tell anyone who asked that I’m a good editor and know how to make use of a range of resources.  If you choose to use parts of this sermon in your work, please contact me to provide attribution.  You’ll note that I use informal attributions, but offer them nonetheless.  I expect at least the same of you.)

 

Carrying the Cross, by He Qi, contemporary artist

INTRODUCTION: 

…This morning, as I share with you, I come out of a context of over 12 years of parish-based ministry.  One of the most challenging aspects of discipleship is being ready to say “Yes” to our God when he sends us down an unexpected or surprising path.  It’s certainly part of the itinerancy, also known as the annual switch-o-change-o of pastors.  So, in August of last year, I was able to take a risk and say “Yes” to God as I stepped out on faith to follow the path.  Now, I find myself coming to you from an extension ministry in the field of hospice chaplaincy.

Whenever someone discovers what I do, they say, “Oh, it takes a special person to do that work.”  Perhaps, so.  But it takes a special person to do every sort of work with heart-full-ness.

So, let us, in a heartful way, turn to the work of attending to the scripture and discerning God’s Spirit flowing through the Word. …I invite you to step back, to take a deep breath, and to hear the story in a different way.  Perhaps in the turn of a phrase, the Spirit of God will grab hold of you. 

 

Mark 15: 15-23 (CEV)

15Pilate wanted to please the crowd. So he set Barabbas free. Then he ordered his soldiers to beat Jesus with a whip and nail him to a cross.

Soldiers Make Fun of Jesus:  (Mt 27.27-30; Jn 19.2,3)  16The soldiers led Jesus inside the courtyard of the fortress and called together the rest of the troops. 17They put a purple robe on him, and on his head they placed a crown that they had made out of thorn branches. 18They made fun of Jesus and shouted, “Hey, you king of the Jews!” 19Then they beat him on the head with a stick. They spit on him and knelt down and pretended to worship him. 20When the soldiers had finished making fun of Jesus, they took off the purple robe. They put his own clothes back on him and led him off to be nailed to a cross. 21Simon from Cyrene happened to be coming in from a farm, and they forced him to carry Jesus’ cross. Simon was the father of Alexander and Rufus.

Jesus Is Nailed to a Cross:  (Mt 27.31-44; Lk 23.27-43; Jn 19.17-27) 22The soldiers took Jesus to Golgotha, which means “Place of a Skull.”  23There they gave him some wine mixed with a drug to ease the pain, but he refused to drink it.

[PRAYER]

A Present-day Image of Humiliation

Maybe you’ve heard of a little novel that has sneaked its way into popular consciousness.  It tells the tale of a 16-year old girl who courageously steps forward to save her younger sister from certain death. This girl narrates the story of a post-apocalyptic North America, renamed and re-divided from our present-day political labels and boundaries.

Twelve poorer Districts are ruled by a powerful, wealthy metropolis called the Capitol.  Due to an earlier rebellion, the Districts are punished annually  with a gladiatorial-like competition.  From each District there must come – by lottery selection – 1 boy and 1 girl between the ages of 12 and 18.  So it is that the heroine of The Hunger Games emerges – in place of her sister – to fight to the death. 

What’s worse is that the horrific competition is broadcast as required viewing for all residents of the Districts.  Families and neighbors watch as their children struggle to the death.  Everyone knows that each year, his or her son or daughter, brother or sister, neighbor or friend, is in equal position to be selected for a gruesome death. 

Even more terrible is that some of the children born in more advantaged Districts have access to better resources to equip them for the battle:  training and food.  For those born in the poorest Districts, death is almost inevitable.  

Plainly, such a game isn’t about competition.  It’s about control.  It’s about fear.  It’s about power on the scale of the ancient Romans as they practiced the terrors of flogging and crucifixion.

The Humiliation of God in Jesus of Nazareth

From the moment God decided to take on human flesh, God began not only humbling God’s self but also humiliating God’s self.  This might be a strange thought for those of us who have so romanticized the Teaching of the Incarnation:  A sweet, little baby boy, born to a gentle mother mild on a starry night in a far off land who came to save the whole world.  The lilting carols of Christmas-time gentle our spirits.

But in truth, the context into which Jesus was born was anything but gentle and pretty.  His mother gave birth to him in rough, smelly stable overflowing with the muck, mire, and grime of livestock in a city teeming with too many people gathered all at one time.

In truth, Jesus didn’t know the safety and comfort of a nursery readied for him with pastel colors and stuffed animals and quiet music played through an iPod docking station.

Instead, Jesus was born into a world of violence, with the anger a raging ruler who demanded his death and instead settled for the slaughter of scores and scores of male children when he was unable to locate the so-called newborn king. Jesus and his family were cast into refugee status, fleeing for the possibility of survival under the promise and protection of the angels.

The story of Jesus’ birth, infancy, and childhood foreshadow his suffering, death, and resurrection.  The Gospel of Luke tells the story of an old man by the name of Simeon who recognized the arrival of the Messiah in the person of the 8-day old Jesus and declared to his Mother Mary:

“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed— and a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Lk 2:34-35).

Jesus became just as Simeon had foretold. And so it was at the age of 33, the 24 Hours That Changed the World [Adam Hamilton, 2009] began to unfold.  Thus we find ourselves once again at the point of humiliation.  It is a full-circle moment.  Life full of glory comes into complete human-ness, in its goodness and in its humiliation.  Life full of glory knows complete suffering, shame, and sorrow, exiting in complete humiliation and despair which yields utter glory through Resurrection.

This is, at least, one of the joys for followers of the Jesus-way. Whenever we hear, or share, or sing the story, we know it doesn’t end in ruin, but in hope.

Humiliation Changes a Man

This is the role Simon the Cyrenian plays in today’s reading. For how could we study a passage and focus only on the trouble?  How could we not claim the grace present even in these dark and terrible moments?

Simon was fortunate.  He missed the flogging. Flogging was an instrument of terror. We get the sense that Pilate had sincerely wished that flogging would satisfy the blood-thirsty crowds.  After all, it was a method, that could leave a man dead. Straps with bone, glass, metal or stone embedded in the ends thrashed against the backs of its victims. This implement could not only tear open human skin, but also rip muscles and sinew, and reveal entrails to the next lash.  It is a wonder that Jesus survived it.

Simon was fortunate, indeed. He missed the mockery the Lord faced. The whole effort at dissolving Jesus’ sense of dignity, both human and divine, was intense.  A whole cohort of soldiers was present. In case you miss the scope, anywhere from 300-600 men joined in the vicious sport of tearing Jesus to pieces, not physically with a whip, but emotionally with words and taunts; nagging jears, mock clothing, a ridiculing crown. 

We wonder how they could have done it.  We can excuse it away as their obligation to authority, they were only doing their duty.  We can spiritualize it, claiming that radical evil had overtaken them. We can rationalize it, arguing that a mob can easily flow from the basic bully-drama.  We can look to history and show that its occurrence throughout human history. 

But we cannot escape the fact that it could just as easily have been us.  We could have become that crowd of torturers just as many Germans, including the German church, became a part of the Nazi-agenda; just as many South Africans, including the church of South Africa, became a part of the devastating practice of apartheid.

Yes, Simon of Cyrene was fortunate to have missed the physical and emotional torture of Jesus.  But coming into Jerusalem to observe the Passover, Simon is right on time to become a powerful witness. It’s as if the hand of God designed it.

The thing is: it doesn’t matter how good your boundaries are, if you become a primary actor in events such as these, it is impossible to remove yourself from the act of reflecting on the meaning of it all.

In the end, that’s how we know about Simon the Cyrenian. Mark mentions him not just as a factoid for evidentiary support but to make a connection with his audience. You see, Mark writes this gospel for a particular church.  Apparently, they knew Simon… or at least his sons.  How would Church of Mark know Simon?  Because he was so changed by the experience of carrying the cross and watching Jesus’ death that he would never be the same. 

How could he…. be the same?  It was a moment of transformation; a moment of total life-change.  By the evidence, we can tell Simon became a believer… a believer who influenced his sons who, in turn, became believers in Mark’s church.  Simon became a believer who could say to the world, “Indeed, it happened as they say: Jesus, died. I was there.  But he also lived again and was exalted.”

The thrust and influence of that profound experience of Jesus’ dying and death changed Simon forever.  Never again could Simon be the same man. For us, as we hear the Jesus-story in its fullness – in a mindful, heartful way – we can never be the same.

 

Learning the Lesson: Transform Humiliation

Something in Simon’s gut must have cried out:  “Such a thing can never happen again.”  Still, it has and it does and it is.  We’ve already remembered what happened under the Third Reich and in South Africa not too long ago.  Look at The Sudan for the past 20 years or so.  Today, we recognize what happens in schools, neighborhoods, workplaces, and yes, even churches.  You’ve seen it and so have I: intimidation, manipulation, and humiliation all of which seemingly get more awful every day.

         …

Regularly, I hear people theorizing that some terrible event will occur that will bring an end to the world as we know it.  Such a theory sparks at least part of author Suzanne Collin’s novel.  While neither you nor I can predict what will or won’t happen  before Christ comes again in glory, I hope and pray that we will have learned enough about his story of suffering and humiliation that we will not allow anything close to happen again.  I hope that books like The Hunger Games will be only the stuff of fiction.

So, as followers of Jesus, what are we to do? We tell the story of Jesus so that it isn’t just the stuff of a book, but that it becomes part of our identity as human-beings… so that – with depth and power – it impacts each one of us … and everyone who comes after us in order that we will not fail to remember and we will not allow anything like it to happen ever again.

How do we do this?  We stand alongside those who are being humiliated.  A dear friend of mine is active in a congregation wherein she is being bullied and harassed in a multiplicity of ways. Do you hear me?  By people who call themselves Christians – little Christs!  When her bullies discovered that they weren’t as effective as they hoped, they started in after her children.  The pastor has preached, taught, and confronted the bullies, but they are undeterred….   What will change it?

In order to stop such a force, others must stand alongside their sister in Christ, determined that they will not allow such action within the Body of Christ. 

Even more, they must decide that they will not be governed by a Spirit of Fear but by the Spirit of Love.

 …

If we choose to lay down the practice of humiliating others, with what shall we replace it? (There is, after all, a void when we remove something that will be filled by something else.  Humiliation can slip back into that void unless we intentionally replace it with something else life-giving.  So with what shall we fill the void?)  I’m convinced there are two answers:  the first applies to humans, the second the Divine.

To end humiliation, we must seek the dignity of the other.  (Think “They’ll Know We Are Christians by Our Love,” that old spiritual song from the 1960s [Peter Scholtes] wherein we are charged to “guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.”)  We must protect the well-being of other people.  We stand alongside even those who are different from us. The ways are myriad and blessed. This is the Teaching of Incarnation Made Real and Present.  This is “God With Us.”  This is “Emmanuel.”

In the case of Jesus – the Divine One in our midst – the remedy to humiliation is glorification.  [While I wish this notion of glorification had been original to me, it isn’t.  My classmate and friend FS Cutshaw shared this kernel of wisdom.] We see evidence of glory:  from a man whipped and stripped, mocked and murdered,  to the Holy One who triumphed over death, who stepped out of an Empty Tomb and went on to reveal the Power of the Living God in manifold miracles and in the Exaltation as he was lifted up on the Day of Ascension.  He did not stop revealing his glory there but went on to fulfill the promises he’d made before he died:  he sent the Spirit of God to abide with us, to transform us, to empower us, to reveal the unending glory of God.

        And so it is.

        And so it shall be.

        For lo, he is with us even until the end of the age.

four little words

Two minutes early, I slid into the waiting room chair at the beauty parlor where my mother, sisters, and I all have our locks trimmed.  Two minutes early and within five seconds of my bottom touching the vinyl seat, I hear those four little words that follow me seemingly wherever I go.  Regardless of community, geography, age, race, gender, socio-economic realities, education level, employment status, sexual orientation, or marital status, those four little words echo across the globe, or at least this great nation of ours.  “I don’t like change.” 

Curiosity stirs.  I wonder who first uttered these four humble words (or those of equal sentiment).  Let’s go back to the United States of America.  One of the key reasons we came into existence was a hunger for change.  For 12ish years, my most consistent context has been the local church which I pastored in various forms, sizes, and locales.  Each one had bastions built to resist change as if the next World War were ready to erupt.  Yet, the Protestant Church came into reality out of a passionate need for change. 

“I don’t like change,” said the woman with the ultra-dark, black-dyed bouffant.  Really?  Whilst you’ve tried to pretend that it’s still the 1960s, your body shows signs that change is all around you:   your wrinkles, your dye job, your posture, osteoporitic as it is.  Still more than physical realities remain, dear one:  your wisdom, your knowledge, your awareness of current events.  You have such beauty, courage, and honor that has helped you to make it thus far.  Would a continuing education event really hurt you that much?

Change came for me.  Perhaps those three or four of you who are my consistent audience were already aware.  My last post here was in May 2011.  My aunt died.  That death released a new level of awareness in me about where I was and who I was and who I was going to become if I didn’t change some key things.  Sure, there is always diet and exercise, but my food intake is not very extravagant and most would consider it quite healthy.  I’m talking about core issues that kept stirring over and over.  God grabbed a hold of me and wouldn’t let go this time.  No more backing down.   Change with grace must happen.

So in August, I snapped-to like Jacob’s hip when the angel pulled it out of socket.  After a foot/ankle injury, I’d already been limping all summer.  I decided that I might as well complete the total picture.  As God grabbed hold of me, I grabbed hold of God.  “I won’t let you go ‘til you bless me” (Gen 32: 26).   And I didn’t.  So God did.  As Jacob saw the face of God, he was ready to cross the Jabbok River (Gen. 32: 30).  Likewise, I was ready to cross the New and head back to the land of my home, the land of the Holston.  This time with a new/old name, a new/old approach, a new way of living out the same realities of whom I had always been.  

Today, I write from that new context:  hospice chaplaincy.  Who could have thought that those who are dying are the ones most ready to live honestly, fully, and well?  One doesn’t get a second chance at dying, so let us make the very best of it.  Let us learn and grow as much as we possibly can as we are being born into the mystery of life-without-end.

Regularly, I count my blessings — growing and striving to learn more about myself;  perceiving and enacting my purpose in the kingdom-coming and kingdom-present; pushing myself at the raw edges; amazing loved ones and the opportunity to be with them; the opportunity to be instead of do; the ability to re-engage a spirituality of creativity — all of these things are deeply meaningful to me.  Helpful as it is to hear others honor the courage out of which I’ve lived, I would have done it even without that recognition.  I suppose I’ve learned I’m nothing if not resilient.

Still, as one might imagine, the past 9 months have been painful.  But then, every pregnancy and birthing includes its fair share of pain.  Gestationally, it has been fruitful.  Rest and freedom and hope and companionship and authenticity and no more obscuring truth because it is too dangerous or difficult for others to handle.  Still, I cannot try to hide that the grief of leaving the womb is an ever-present reality.  I wonder if it will fade.  In no way would I be willing to return to that pre-birth state, but I do miss elements of its known-ness and safety.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so critical of those who don’t like change… or still hold on desperately to that mile-high bouffant.  After all, when I googled the hairstyle, there appeared several photos of present-day celebrities whose up-dos look hauntingly like what I imagine mine does when I twist it up on the back of my head.  Four little words.  Four little words.

readings for the end of a life

 It’s my experience that contemplative folk gather papers and objects to help them reflect.  Some use holy texts.  Others seek creation as the first testament to God’s grace, much as the Hebrews did before ever a text was penned.  Still others gather scraps of things they find over a lifetime.

 

My loved one has done this.  At the desk by the laptop, there lay a file.  Within it’s creamy folds were newspaper clippings, printed emails, and hand-scrawled notes.  Here my loved one shared readings most important to her.  It’s clear to me that she left a message of the core thoughts that helped her make passage from this life to the next.

 

When we gathered with her dear friends three months ago, we celebrated Holy Communion.  It was her last time of taking the Body and Blood.  We shared the message of James’ Letter, wherein we call the elders, lay on hands, and pray for the Spirit’s anointing and healing.  I’ve often told parishioners that healing might come in the next life.  That is true for her.So, in addition to James, here are her readings that prepared her for eternal peace.

 

The Choice by Max Lucado

IT’S QUIET. It’s early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is still asleep. The day is coming.

In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of  the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met.

For the next twelve hours I will be exposed to the day’s demands. It is now that I must make a choice. Because of Calvary, I’m free to choose. And so I choose.

I choose love . . . No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness. I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.I choose joy . . . I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance. I will refuse the temptation to be cynical . . . the tool of the lazy thinker. I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God. I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.

I choose peace . . . I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.

I choose patience . . . I will overlook the inconveniences of the world. Instead of cursing the one who takes my place, I’ll invite him to do so. Rather than complain that the wait is too long, I will thank God for a moment to pray. Instead of clinching my fist at new assignments, I will face them with joy and courage.

I choose kindness . . . I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone. Kind to the rich, for they are afraid. And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.

I choose goodness . . . I will go without a dollar before I take a dishonest one. I will be overlooked before I will boast. I will confess before I will accuse. I choose goodness.

I choose faithfulness . . . Today I will keep my promises. My debtors will not regret their trust. My associates will not question my word. My wife will not question my love. And my children will never fear that their father will not come home.I choose gentleness . . . Nothing is won by force.

I choose to be gentle. If I raise my voice may it be only in praise. If I clench my fist, may it be only in prayer. If I make a demand, may it be only of myself.I choose self-control . . . I am a spiritual being. After this body is dead, my spirit will soar. I refuse to let what will rot, rule the eternal.

I choose self-control. I will be drunk only by joy. I will be impassioned only by my faith. I will be influenced only by God. I will be taught only by Christ. I choose self-control.

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. To these I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I fail, I will seek his grace. And then, when this day is done, I will place my head on my pillow and rest.

From When God Whispers Your Name, Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1999) Max Lucado

 May I Go? – By Susan Jackson

May I Go? Do you think the time is right? May I say goodbye to pain filled days and endless lonely nights?I’ve lived my life and done my best, an example tried to be. So can I take that step beyond, and set my spirit free?I didn’t want to go at first, I fought with all my might. But something seems to draw me now to a warm and living light.I want to go, I really do; it’s difficult to stay. But I will try as best I can to live just one more day. To give you time to care for me and share your love and fears. I know you’re sad and afraid, because I see your tears. I’ll not be far, I promise that, and hope you’ll always know, That my spirit will be close to you wherever you may go. Thank you so for loving me. You know I love you too, And that’s why it’s hard to say goodbye and end this life with you.So hold me now just one more time and let me hear you say, Because you care so much for me, you’ll let me go today.

 Elizabeth Kubler-Ross:  

 “Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.”

 Prayer for the World – Rabbi Harold Kushner  (2003)

Let the rain come and wash away the ancient grudges, the bitter hatreds held and nurtured over generations. Let the rain wash away the memory of the hurt, the neglect.Then let the sun come out and fill the sky with rainbows. Let the warmth of the sun heal us wherever we are broken.Let it burn away the fog so that we can see each other clearly.So that we can see beyond labels,beyond accents, gender or skin color.Let the warmth and brightness of the sun melt our selfishness.So that we can share the joys and feel the sorrows of our neighbors.And let the light of the sun be so strong that we will see all people as our neighbors. Let the earth, nourished by rain, bring forth flowers to surround us with beauty.  And let the mountains teach our hearts to reach upward to heaven.Amen.

  Prayer for Balance — Lynn Andrews  

Oh, Great Mother, As I look our across the desert,Green from rain,And the mountains in the distance,I ask that you give me guidance along my path of heart,I ask that you help me to understand my powers of creativity.As the clouds above me cast shadows on the desert floor,I know that I have often lost my way,And when the shadow aspects of myself diminish my life,I become afraid.Oh, Great Mother, Take my hand,Help me to see the trail So that I may find my way home.I am often tired these days,I think sometimes that I will be bereft of Balance forever,That there is no one to help me.But as I look at the great mountains in the distance,As their silhouette is etched against the sky With such clarity,I know that somewhere in my heart I have known such clarity before, And that you are there for me.It is only me that sometimes refuses to see you.And I will open my eyes now, And I will see your face,Just as the sunlight bursting through the clouds Illuminates the flowers all around me.I will begin to shine as they do.I am flowering for you, Great Mother,I am lending my beauty to the universe for a short time.And I realize that this life is a process Of seed and stalk and growth and flowering,And then death.But death is only a rebirth back into spirit, a rebirth back into life. And you may call me anytime, Great Spirit,Back into your arms. So I am here for you, Great Mother,I am here for you, Great Spirit, I am like a hollow log With your love and your energy flowing through me Forever.Help me to walk in beauty and power All the days of my life.Ho.

© Lynn V. Andrews, Woman at the Edge of Two Worlds 

Get ready

Morning on the River by blueridgeblog

My grandmother died when I was eight.    A beloved first grade teacher gave me and my sister a book about the death of a pet canary to help us deal with our grief.  All I really remember was being freaked out by the strictness of the nurses when we were urged to go quiet as bedmice to her bedside.   We were not to squeak.  The whirring and buzzing terrified me.  She was in a — COMA — and I knew nothing more than that a — COMA — was a terrible thing.

Years later, training for ministry as student teachers prepare for their own classrooms, I had to face those fears of antiseptic green tile walls and strange machinery, intimidating physicians and nurses who seemed to growl from their eye sockets.  In the process, I got ready to help others deal with the overwhelming assault of the dying process.  But, it doesn’t have to be so overwhelming. 

Death can be beautiful, gentle, liberating.  It can be healing, cleansing, renewing.  Yes, surely tears flow and hearts are run-over.  But death can be much more than loss.

My family has experienced a death.  We have before, many times.  We will again, many times.  This was a death we anticipated, but somehow it has overwhelmed us.  Maybe we expected more time.  Maybe we expected promises to come true, instead of ringing hollow.  Maybe.  But what we didn’t do was facilitate the process for getting ready.

By the deathbed, we said goodbye.  This time around, I kept vigil overnight while the whirring and alarms and challenged breathing kept me company through the hours.  Our loved one didn’t sense my presence, thankfully dulled out by the relief of pain medication.  We said, “It’s okay to let go.”  The little ones whom the patient hoped to see came and giggled and cried in the space.  The sounds of life-full-circle graced us … and this beloved one so near the next phase of life.

Nurses, chaplains, patient advocates were agents of grace and healing.  Friends surrounded this one:  expressing gratitude, laughing, praying, supporting one another even to the last breaths.

But we still are overwhelmed.  In the hours and days after this loss, we have not yet begun to grieve.  Why?  None of us were ready.  You’ve heard a phrase about getting one’s “affairs in order.”    Nothing is in order.  This is chaos and chaos is painful.  Chaos is a place no one wishes to be.  But chaos is a birthing place.  What’s true here is that as this beloved one hastens to the next phase of life, we are being birthed into new creatures.

Artful metaphors cannot describe the urgency with which I write when I say, organize your end.  It is the greatest gift you can give to those whom you will leave broken-hearted.  Line out not only to whom and to what the particularities of this mortal existence will go, but declare for all the world who represents you and how.  Consider the little details.  Make it official.  Equip and inform those closest to you.  Breathe peace upon them for a time when they will not remember what  peace means.  Pave the way so that they will know well how to make this journey and join you when the time comes. 

Get ready.

laugh at the devil in the pale moonlight

I’ll be the first to own that I’m not always so good at delivering punch lines.  But, I can see humor and draw attention to it.  I’ve written about it previously  here and have studied for a few years ago since a colleague and former Dean lead me to Holy Humor Sunday.

Since my first writing, I’ve proposed the idea for 2012 to the Worship Committee.  ‘Twill be interesting to see if they latch hold of the idea as humor in response to the defeat of the devil by the victory of Jesus over death.  I’ve even got a sermon idea cooking and notes for such. It involves the devil and a game of chess…

As I’m compiling the file, I’m stumbling across things I hope to use, like this video of Beaker and the Ode to Joy.

Laugh on and praise God!

***Okay, so I can’t get the link to embed as a video clip.  Will attempt again later.  For now, here it is.

You go, Girl! Tell it. Tell it like it is!

Mary Magdalene Copyright Sally K. Green

Not too long ago, a friend and colleague of mine wrote to share a challenging article.  It’s interesting to me that I saw all sorts of reflections on Rob Bell’s Love Wins, particularly on the part of the conservative theological blogosphere and tweeting public.  But I saw very little responding to this critique.

In his lines, the author shares these observations, perhaps meant to convict the heart but also to provoke the spirit, and maybe some anger:

The results from a recent poll published by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life  reveal what social scientists have known for a long time: White Evangelical Christians are the group least likely to support politicians or policies that reflect the actual teachings of Jesus. It is perhaps one of the strangest, most dumb-founding ironies in contemporary American culture. Evangelical Christians, who most fiercely proclaim to have a personal relationship with Christ, who most confidently declare their belief that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, who go to church on a regular basis, pray daily, listen to Christian music, and place God and His Only Begotten Son at the center of their lives, are simultaneously the very people most likely to reject his teachings and despise his radical message.

One of the ironies I face on a daily basis relates to my gender and the response I make to the very personal call that Christ issues me.  If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to answer questions about being a woman in full-time Christian ministry, particularly parish ministry as a lead pastor, I’d be an independently wealthy woman.

So the irony.  Why is it that many who profess to love and serve Jesus seem not to pay attention to what he said and did in relation to women?   Despite the predominant historical perspective, Jesus said and did quite a lot in relation to women.   And it was quite progressive.   Both in his earthly ministry and in his Resurrection revelations.

My thoughts on these matters are stirred by two recent happenings.  First, a blog article posted by the Rev. Dave Buerstetta called “He Said These Things to Her.”  Second, a 6th grader in my congregation shared his personal experience of women in ministry.

I’ve long relied upon the very arguments Rev. Buerstetta uses in his blog.  Mary was the first one charged with sharing the gospel message in John 20: 1-18.  At the bare minimum, she preached the gospel.  If we’re the slightest bit generous, we can think of her as an evangelist.  But then, I think many closed-minded folk would prefer to relegate the Magdalene’s spiritual gifts to that of compassion (Romans 12: 6-8) and hospitality, which, of course, was expected of everyone (Romans 12:13).   Tradition has tried to relegate her to the role of demon-possessed prostitute in order to keep her quiet.

But, let’s not stop with the Gospel of John.  Shall we also look to Matthew 28.

⁵ The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. ⁶ He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. ⁷ Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.” (CEV)

First Jesus in John’s gospel and an angel in Matthew’s gospel.  Both urge Mary Magdalene to go and quickly tell.  Matthew’s telling makes it clear:  not only the Magdalene, but the other Mary, as well.  What of Luke’s account?  In this case, the women are not urged to tell, but they share nonetheless.

^9-10Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and some other women were the ones who had gone to the tomb. When they returned, they told the eleven apostles and the others what had happened. ¹¹The apostles thought it was all nonsense, and they would not believe.  (CEV)

See how even the gospel with the most supportive accounts of Jesus’ ministry with women silences them?  That’s because Luke is all to aware how men in those days considered a woman’s viewpoint.  It was nonsense.  They refused to believe.  But the worst picture of women’s role in the Resurrection revelation comes in Mark’s gospel.  With the original ending at verse 8, the women are struck with fear.

 ⁸ Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid. (CEV)

How often we women allow ourselves to be silenced by fear!  So it is that even today, men and women who intend to be “good” continue their attempts to silence others who strive to answer God’s call on their lives.  I’ll share that I’ve yet to face an argument wherein my critic uses Jesus’ words and deeds to stymie me.

There is, of course, much more in the biblical record to address the matter of women’s work for the sake of God’s kingdom.  Perhaps the best biblical study addressing women in ministry was written a few years ago by William Carter.  If you’re asking questions about women in ministry, go read “How Far Does Grace Go?”  It is well thought out and fairly handled.

Let’s return to the young man in my congregation.  His story brings me both joy and sorrow.  For it is one thing for me to face attacks of those who position themselves as my enemy.  It is quite another for an 11 year old, or a man laboring in a factory ridiculed by his co-workers, or an 80 year-old woman picked at by a fussy niece.  I’ve been schooled in my answers.  No one schooled them.

He Qi, Mary Magdalene

Last Sunday, as we sat down to lunch, he proudly told me that he told someone about his Pastor, calling my name.  The man scowled and began, as the boy put it, “fussing and telling me I was wrong to listen to you.”  He continued, “But I told him, ‘She loves Jesus and she loves me.  If women have the right to vote, and to work, and to do all the things they can do now, I don’t know why she can’t serve the Lord.”  Well, how do you like that?  I told him that some people will not agree with women in ministry, but that Mary Magdalene was the first person to proclaim Jesus was alive.

That led to conversations with men sitting at the same table.  I was surprised to hear them relate their dismay that they ” don’t know why there are still people out there who think that women shouldn’t be pastors.”    I shared that when I’m out in public, I’m careful in how much I share about my professional life.  I have to ask myself how willing I am to get into a big debate with a stranger.  Such is the hazard of the job while living in the buckle of the Bible Belt.    The fine gentlemen with whom I dined were shocked that I even had to consider such a thing.

I’m joyful to serve among a people who are so supportive.  Perhaps they’ve seen the fruits of my ministry and that of my predecessor.  But, oddly enough, while there are very strong women here, there is an even larger contingent of strong, faithful men.  That’s different from previous communities where the lay leadership predominantly consisted of women.  Many a researcher has noted that without the women, the church would have crumbled long ago.

resurrection as self-care

On Easter Eve, I find myself gathering the energies necessary to accomplish the task before me.   Through the week, I’ve practiced strategies of self-discipline:  eating well, going to bed on time, exercising, drinking plenty of water, singing and praising, quiet reflection, study and steady prayer.  In a previous blog post, I’d referenced self-care as other care.  I’m convinced it is true.  Because, as I am well, so am I able to help others on their journey of wholeness.  As I am strong, so am I able to equip others to walk with those among us who suffer.  If I’m a wreck, crashed on the rocks, then I am no good to others.

Likewise, I’ve learned a great deal about letting things go.  The same way a bride can cause her wedding to be a miserable experience, or a mother can ruin her household’s experience of “the holidays” by over-focusing on the details of a perfect celebration, I have learned that I can ruin Holy Week if I over-program it.  The observance will come around again next year.  We may not wash feet this year or hold a service of Tenebrae, but we certainly can next year.  And if the Lord comes between now and then, all the better.

While St. Paul was willing to go to the great lengths — (“by all means”) — of doing whatever he could to win some, I’m going with the CEV translation of what Paul said he’d do.  I’ll look at the needs of the people among whom I’m serving and address those matters in the time and context in which we are serving.

²²When I am with people whose faith is weak, I live as they do to win them. I do everything I can to win everyone I possibly can. (1 Corinthians 9: 22)

But I’ve also learned that “letting go” may mean a willingness to accept some solid failures.  If we attempt to truly be everything to everyone at all times, then we will exhaust ourselves.  Just because we’ve always done it, or just because another church has had success with a particular ministry, or just because we think a new step in ministry would be great fun doesn’t mean we should do it.  My concept of pacing ourselves is straight from the Holy One.  We should do what we do well.  Half-way attempts will yield a level of dis-spirited-ness.  With limited resources, we strive to show Resurrection to the best of our ability.  Not as much or as often or as spread thin as we possibly can.

On the edge of my eleventh Easter as a pastor in the local church, I am aware of all that I have learned about how to pace myself to win the race, rather that to simply to accomplish a sprint.  For Paul continues in his first letter to the Corinthian church by saying:

²³I do all this for the good news, because I want to share in its blessings.   ²⁴You know that many runners enter a race, and only one of them wins the prize. So run to win! ²⁵Athletes work hard to win a crown that cannot last, but we do it for a crown that will last forever. (9: 23-25, CEV)

Unlike any other Holy Week prior to this one, I sense that I am at a healthier place than I ever have been.  This could be due to the fact that I have a great team of support — a wonderful collaboration of staff and lay people have made this celebration possible.   Together, we have envisioned and carried out a meaningful season of Lenten worship, service, and devotion.  Together, we have set the stage for a powerful season of Easter experiences.  This partnership is growing us and we are becoming stronger in the love of Christ Jesus.

But this team also extends to a network of friends and colleagues with whom I share mutual support.  I can’t say enough for the idea-sharing I enjoy with a few partners in ministry.  My dear friends who listen to my struggles uplift me.  A neutral ear of a pastoral counselor makes a great difference in my quality of life.

That fact that I’m feeling more whole this year could also relate to the fact that I’m serving one congregation instead of two.  Focus makes a real difference in terms of effectiveness.  Racing 3-5 miles back and forth between similar but distinct congregations can make a pastor begin to wonder about her ability to hold onto any single thought for very long.  She always wonders if she has accomplished the detail at one congregation that she just addressed with another.  Waiting for double the phone or email responses, making twice the pastoral calls, and more can wear on one’s ability to focus and follow through.

But then again, maybe my focus isn’t as clear as I thought because when I began this post, it was going to be about women-in-ministry and the story of Mary Magdalene.  But here we are.  This is where the Spririt has led.

My discovery this year is that coming out of the Tomb is about self-care.  For this humble servant, the path to Resurrection continues in the space of self-discipline.

Seasons of silence

image by Wicked Nox

Yes, it’s true.  I am  a tweeter.  And while I gave up Facebook for Lent (for many reasons which I will enumerate after Easter), I didn’t quit tweeting.  This morning, the Unvirtuous Abbey — one of those whom I “follow” on Twitter and “Like” on Facebook — has taken a vow of silence for this holy week.  It’s a good thought, and I suppose maybe be connected to some of my practical and spiritual reasons for withdrawing.

Silence can purify.  Sloughing off dead skin like a molting snake, silence shirks off the excess.  Maybe it’s silence in what we put out into the world.  For me, it’s been about what I take in.  With thousands of images and ideas, articles and attitudes infiltrating my mental and emotional space, I must step back.  I am now one of those weirdos who doesn’t watch TV.  I still have one on which I watch my happy, little Netflix DVDs, but I’m the chooser of what flows through rather than some media mogul who opts for some trashy reality series rather than a good mystery.

Silence.  I used to fill up every moment with sound.  In college, we blared our boom-boxes.  Sometimes, we aimed to drown out noisy neighbors upstairs or down the hall.  Other times, the goal was to modify the frequencies of the train roaring by.  When the years of forced loudness went away, I found myself hungering for the sounds of others.  Some sort of media always kept me company.  But over the past few years, I’ve preferred the echoes of my dog’s feet padding down the hall.  Birdsong.  Mowers of people down the street.  Yes, even the cattle lowing under my bedroom window.

I have regretted the lack of interplay with other notions and experiences happening during my quiet times.  I feel I’ve missed the magnitude of the earthquake, tsunami, and reactor’s vulnerability in Japan.  I’m a bit numbed out to the ongoing economic crisis.  For better or worse, I nearly skipped over the national budget crisis.

At some points, I think Francis Asbury was better off on horseback in the wilderness.  But then, he would have lost wonderful conversation with Madame Russell, and many others.  During this long Lent of silence, I’ve missed the easy, brief conversations with loved ones.  So it is that I subscribe with gratitude to my friend J’s blog and ponder over her words and liturgies.  Here she shares some thoughts on Holy Week with which I resonate.  I commend them to you.

As for me, the silence will end, soon.  Will it be too soon?  Time will tell.

True Companion

Springtime Companions by Mary Elise (passiflora photography)

The memory grows short as the days go by.  I find myself in places that apparently cater to people who came of age in the late 80s and early 90s.  The music churns through the space and I find myself rocked as if a time warp has carried me back into those moments so long ago.

Last weekend it was 99 Red Balloons.  Today, it is Marc Cohn’s “True Companion.”  I remember his “Walking in Memphis” rocketed him into popularity.  I owned the cassette tape.  Long before I knew anything about his lines, the music called out to me.

Baby I’ve been searching like everybody else
Can’t say nothing different about myself
Sometimes I’m an angel
And sometimes I’m cruel
And when it comes to love
I’m just another fool
Yes, I’ll climb a mountain
I’m gonna swim the sea
There ain’t no act of God girl
Could keep you safe from me
My arms are reaching out
Out across this canyon
I’m asking you to be my true companion
True companion
True companion

Cohn’s lyrics stir beautiful images of what it means for a man to have gained a woman’s heart and trust, the greatest achievement he’ll ever gain  Still, I’ve learned even more of what it means to be “companion.” 

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the notion of a companion for a while.  I’ve spoken with people over the past weeks who’ve had their trust betrayed when their partner broke bread with others.  Others tell me about rejection they’ve experienced by someone whom they thought was their true companion.  Another tells me that one has no worth without a true companion.  Of course, we hear the heart-angst in each of these.

Literally, a companion is “someone with whom you break bread.”  So our companions are those with whom we share table fellowship.  That might mean eucharist (communion).  Or it might mean a dinner date.  It could even be Manwich and Preacher Cookies after a daylong, 350 mile trip to a health specialist. 

Years ago I decided that I never wanted to be married to someone with whom I sat in silence when we went out to dinner.  Why would two people who have nothing to say to one another break bread together?  Since then, I’ve decided that  maybe sometimes, the silence is necessary.

What makes a true companion?  Who is yours?  What is that person like?

*Note:  I came upon Mary Elise (passiflora photography) who created the image above.  I think her work is wonderful.  If you click on “Springtime Companions,” it will take you to her website.

Good reads

On the Platform, reading by moriza

From time to time, I come across a book, a quote, an article that is well done, truly.  That’s the case with these articles:

• Porn and paper pastors posted at Pyromaniacs
• 10 Characteristics of People Who Make Up a Great Church by Ron Edmondson
• Two articles on Marriage at pastors.com
  • As your Ministry 
  • After Trust Is Broken

What good stuff are you reading lately?