Holy Resilience

I came across an interesting term this week: holy resilience. One of my pastor friends recorded a "Come to Jesus" meeting to remind us that these times are hard, but we can be resilient.  I'm using her term, "Come to Jesus" meeting, but it was really more of a pep talk.  

She mentioned a blog post that used the term "holy resilience"; I did a search and came across this post. It's got lots of encouraging words, lots of good ideas, lots of Bible verses that address different aspects of what it takes to get through trying times.

I'll keep meditating on that phrase in the days to come.  I also decided to sketch a bit.  Here's the first version:

Later, I added more gray.  At first I thought I'd ruined the picture, but the frenetic energy has grown on me.

I'll keep layering colors.  I'm looking forward to seeing where this sketch takes me.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for August 2, 2020:

Isaiah 55:1-5
Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22 (Psalm 145: 8-9, 14-21 NRSV)
You open wide your hand and satisfy the needs of every living creature. (Ps. 145:17)
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:13-21

The story in the Gospel lesson is familiar; indeed, a version appears in each Gospel, which may mean it’s more likely to be a factual reporting, or it may mean that each Gospel writer realized the significance and implications of the story and couldn’t bear to leave it out. Jesus preaches to the multitudes, who grow hungry. Jesus commands the disciples to feed them, and they protest that they only have five loaves and two fish. But miraculously, not only are the thousands of people fed, but the disciples gather basket after basket of leftovers.

Christian approaches to this story are varied, from share your resources to rely on Christ for what you need. But today, I'm interested in the human response to the miraculous.

Look at the behavior of the disciples. Jesus commands them to feed everyone, and they protest that they can’t, that they don’t have enough food. They’ve followed Jesus for some time and they’ve seen him perform many miracles, including making dead people come back to life. But their first response is that they can’t possibly do what Jesus expects.

This story tells us an important lesson about the human resistance to the miraculous. We limit God, and our fellow humans, by our inability to dream big visions. We assume that we’ll always have hungry people, oppressed nations, and what can we do? We only have so much and it will only stretch so far. But we forget how much is possible—how much we have already seen with our own eyes.

For example, imagine we could time travel back to the year 1985, not so very long ago. Imagine that we told the people of that time that in a few short years, the Berlin Wall would come down. Not only that, but Nelson Mandela would be released from prison and free elections would follow five years later. Not only that, the Soviet Union would soon be no more.

The people we encountered would not believe us. The people of 1985 would have been convinced that Nelson Mandela would die in his South African prison and that his nation would disintegrate into civil war. The people of 1985 would have been convinced that the Soviet Union would always be a part of the geopolitical landscape, and that there would always be a literal wall that separated east from west.

To talk about how these miracles happened would take a much larger space than I have here, but it’s important to remember that one reason is that ordinary people dreamed of something different. For example, in numerous interviews that I’ve heard, Desmond Tutu, gives credit for the fall of apartheid to the governments, institutions, and individuals who fought for divestment from a corrupt regime. And even when the call for divestment was not successful, those calls started an important conversation.

Desmond Tutu also always gives credit to the believers throughout the world who prayed for a peaceful way out of an insolvable situation. Even if you didn’t own a solid gold, South African Kruggerand, you could participate in the process of mercy and justice.

And don’t let my emphasis on political miracles keep us from remembering the other miracles that surround us: health restored, relationships repaired, the student who suddenly understands an impossible subject, the hungry fed, the homeless who come in from the inhospitable climate.

I know that for every miracle, someone has suffered the pain of loss:the cancer that didn’t go into remission, the job loss that leads to other losses or a weather catastrophe from which we cannot recover. For every South Africa, there are countless countries that collapse and can't recover.

But we are called to keep our eyes towards a different reality. The Kingdom of Heaven is not just after death, Jesus declares. It is among us, here and now. And we can be a part of that glorious creation.

The Feast Day of Saint Martha

Today is the feast day of Martha, sister of Mary and Lazarus.  Some traditions celebrate all siblings on this day.  We see Martha in two stories:  in the book of John, where Jesus raises her brother who has been dead for several days and in Luke, where she hustles and bustles with household chores and grows ever more exasperated with her sister Mary, who isn't helping.

The story in Luke is the one that upends our view of fairness for many of us. As a child first hearing this story, I expected Jesus to tell Mary to help her sister.  Or maybe Jesus would pitch in too!  Everyone could get the chores done, and then everyone could relax.

But Jesus has a different idea of priorities, and it's a message that many of us need to hear again and again.   Christ says, "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10: 41-42).

I hear those words anew this morning. I, like Martha, am worried and distracted by many things.  To me, they make sense:  this pandemic, the storm that may or may not be forming in the Atlantic, the U.S. presidential election, the ruins of the economy, all my friends with special needs children who are suffering, all my friends with children who don't have special needs who are suffering, my family members who could die at any moment leaving me all alone, . . . on and on my brain goes on this hamster wheel.

Again and again, Jesus calls us to leave those worries behind.  Again and again, Jesus reminds us that all this worry doesn't add one more minute to the days we will live, and worse--the worrying keeps us from focusing on what's important.

The story about Lazarus shows us what this kind of worry can do to us:  it drives us to try to control every aspect of life.  Jesus shows up, and Martha comes out to greet him.  You can tell she's seething with anger that Jesus didn't get there in time to save her brother from dying. She doesn't hold back.

Jesus proceeds with the miracle anyway, even as Martha worries about the smell of her dead brother.

I recognize this control freak, micromanaging Martha. I see her every day in my own behavior.  I want to micromanage the miracles. I want to direct the Divine, not be open to new directions.

I love that Jesus doesn't get angry, doesn't send her away. I love that again and again, she doesn't quite realize the huge truth of Jesus, but he's patient. He doesn't bend himself into pretzel shapes so that she'll be comfortable, but neither does he reject her.

It's interesting to me to see in her behavior and in Peter's that we see that it takes time to grow into our role as disciples. Neither Peter nor Mary understand Jesus right away, but patient Jesus continues to work to shape them.

Today, let us think about the ways that our chores interfere with the time we have to spend with Jesus.  Let us think about our ideas of proper behavior and how those ideas keep us from what's truly important.  Today, let us try to cultivate hearts that will be open to Jesus.

Preaching to the Chickens

Once a week or so, I leave work to do some errands.  So it was that I found myself in the car yesterday listening to the coverage of the coverage of the body of John Lewis arriving at the Capitol Rotunda and the service that followed.

I was listening in the car as I drove along, weeping so much that my shirt got damp. It was the good kind of tears, the kind that says I'm so grateful to live in a world shaped by these leaders. It was also the kind of cry that knows what's missing still.

I thought it was brilliant of Nancy Pelosi to play part of a commencement address that Lewis gave a few years ago.  It was wonderful to hear him tell us all to go out and make good trouble.

It was also good to have a minute of self-reflection.  When I was younger, I aspired to changing society the way that Lewis did.  He was much more relentless than I am proving to be.  I am sure that he had months or years where he, too, wondered if he was making a difference.  But I am also sure that he did more than I have done.

It's good to be reminded of the importance of trying to do good in the world, of trying to transform the world.  He told the story of asking his parents and grandparents why there were different facilities and services for whites and coloreds, and they shrugged and said, "It's just the way it's always been.  We just have to accept it."

But he didn't accept injustice.  As I listened to people reflecting on the ways that Civil Rights workers did that work, I thought about the simple act of people ignoring the law and sitting at lunch counters and riding buses.  Who would have predicted that those actions could so totally transform society before it was all over?  

And of course, it's not all over, is it?  Lewis also reminded us that the fight for a better world is never over.  In that commencement address, he talks of the evil people who want to take away the hard won rights and how we must never allow that to happen.

I thought of John Lewis as a child, preaching to the chickens on his family's farm.  I thought of what that experience taught him, and how even until the end of his life, he was preaching in all sorts of settings, to all sorts of creatures.

May we all have the courage to follow.

Communion in a Time of Pandemic

Yesterday I was in charge of drive through communion for the third time.  If you're interested in the logistics of how it works, see this blog post.  Today I want to think about what I've observed after 3 episodes.

--There's a core group of people who come every time.  They're not the same people who used to come to church every Sunday.

--We have at least one congregation member who zips over during a break from work.  She works at Publix, the local grocery store.  She wasn't able to do this during times of regular Sunday worship.

--There's a car with 2 women who weren't attending our church during pre-pandemic days, and I'm not sure how they came to find drive through communion.  They're our most faithful ones for drive through communion.  They are an elderly mother and a mid-life daughter, and the mother speaks no English, only Spanish.

--Yesterday, a car with 2 young men pulled up, both African-American with beards.  I didn't recognize them, but I give communion to anyone who comes.  Unlike some, they seemed familiar with the sacrament.  They did take a picture of the church sign that says, "Go in peace, serve the Lord" before they pulled away, which made me wonder if they're related to anyone in the congregation or if they found us on their own.

--One week, a woman on a bicycle rode up.  She stopped and looked at me expectantly.  I asked if she was here for communion, and she nodded.  As I handed her the elements, she looked confused.  I'm still not sure she was really there for communion, but she didn't speak much English that I could tell, so I wasn't sure what she wanted or needed.

--I like distributing communion, but it is a tough gig in the summer.  It doesn't seem worth it to turn on the AC for the whole sanctuary, so by the end, I'm feeling overheated and irritable.  I wish it wasn't such a sweaty endeavor for me, but at least I'm not doing any laying on of hands in this time of pandemic.

The Feast Day of Saint Anne

Today is the feast day of Saint Anne, although in the Eastern Orthodox church, her feast day was yesterday.  I'm somewhat amazed to realize that I haven't written about this feast day before.

Saint Anne was the mother of the Virgin Mary, which means she was the grandmother of Jesus.  She's not mentioned in the canonical Bible.  The apocryphal Gospel of James mentions her.  I haven't read that text, but I am sure that the details I want to know are not there--what did daily life look like?  How did Mary and Anne get along?  What did Anne think of Jesus?

Anne is the patron saint of many types of women:   unmarried women, housewives, seamstresses, women in labor or who want to be pregnant, and grandmothers.  She's also the patron saint of educators, which are still primarily women.

As I was researching her this morning, I came across this image from a 15th century Book of Hours, and it's quickly become my favorite:

I love that both Saint Anne and Mary have books in their hands.  According to many traditions, Saint Anne taught Mary to read, and she's often seen doing this.  As I look at those images, I wonder if the artists realized what a subversive image it is:  a woman teaching a girl to read.

Anne is sometimes depicted in scenes of Jesus as a baby, but so far, we have no image of her at the cross.  I suspect that's because so many of this artwork comes from centuries ago, when it would have been very unusual for grandparents to survive to see their grandchildren in adulthood.  Plus, one tradition around Saint Anne has her having Mary when she's very old--another story of the impossible coming out of improbable wombs!

So today, let us celebrate all the miracles which seem so impossible.  Let us ask Saint Anne for protection, the way that Martin Luther did in the thunderstorm that terrified him.  Let us know that all for which we yearn may yet be delivered to us.

Comet Quests and Spiritual Lessons

We have a new comet: Neowise. I've seen news articles about how it's visible, and some far-flung friends have seen it. It's most visible in the northwest sky an hour after sunset and in the northeast sky an hour before sunrise.

Although I don't hold out much hope for seeing it after sunset, I've gone outside to try. I think we just have too many trees and too much light pollution. And lately, we've had too many clouds.

I have seen some glorious sunrises, along with some lightning shows, but so far, no comet. I'm trying not to see this experience as a metaphor.

This morning, I thought I had the best chance in the past several weeks to see it--the dark skies didn't have nearly as many clouds.  Off I went to the beach where I thought I would have an unobstructed view.

I live in an area saturated with light pollution, but most times, I don't mind.  I feel safer, even as I acknowledge the risk to other species like sea turtles.  This morning, I tried to find a darker part of the beach, but it was fairly futile.

Still, I had a chance to stand on the sand and gaze at the sky--not a bad way to spend time, even if I didn't see the comet.  And as I stood there, I thought about the lessons from spiritual practices that might speak to this moment.

I reflected on how I was so focused on looking for something specific that I almost forgot to notice the other wondrous sights of the pre-dawn sky.    I thought about how often I'm looking for a specific outcome that I close myself off to other possibilities.

I thought about how I'm looking for a comet that will look at best, like a star with a smudge, but at worst, like another prick of light.  The clouds at sunrise are much more beautiful, as is the sunrise itself.  But I see those every day.  The comet won't be back in my lifetime.  I think about all the spiritual events that I want that are once in a lifetime, but the hard work of day to day is something that frustrates me.

I thought of those magi from afar who saw a change in the sky and came looking for the change portended.  I think about how often I want change and pursue it, without appreciating what I'm setting into motion.

Even as I was scanning the sky for a comet, I was thinking about how I might search differently tomorrow morning.  How difficult it is to stay in the present moment.

Of course, these spiritual lessons aren't new to me--in fact, I suspect I'll spend my whole life at this theology school.

For Every Inner Mary, in Honor of the Magdalene

For years, only valued when seen as maternal or nurturing:

For years, the maternal aspects of the Divine denied:

The first witnesses to the Resurrection painted as possessed by demons:

The work of women never completed:

The work of the Holy Spirit always ongoing:

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 26, 2020:

First Reading: 1 Kings 3:5-12

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 29:15-28

Psalm: Psalm 119:129-136

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 105:1-11, 45b

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 128 (Psalm 128 (Semi-continuous) NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:26-39

Gospel: Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Today we have a series of interesting parables which Jesus uses to explain the Kingdom of Heaven. I don't think that Jesus is explaining the afterlife, the way that many of us might assume when we hear the word "Heaven." Instead, Matthew uses that word as shorthand for a concept that's closer to "life as God intended."

Note the smallness, the almost invisibility, of the first two images (verses 31-33): mustard seeds and yeast. There are two elements which are interesting. One is that these small grains left alone will transform themselves into something bigger--and in the case of yeast, will transform the surrounding elements too. Leave flour alone, and it won't change much in terms of volume. Even if it gets buggy, the bag won't explode. But add yeast and water and a bit of sweetness and leave the bowl in a warm place for a few hours--when you return to the bowl, the dough might be overflowing. Likewise with a seed. Plant it in the earth with a bit of fertilizer, add some water each day, and leave it alone--if you're lucky, you get a shrub or a tree. If we go out looking for the kingdom to be a big, glorious thing, we might miss the Kingdom.

Many people simply don't register the presence of God because they're looking for the wrong thing. They're looking for something huge and powerful. For example, think about the Jews of Jesus' time. They didn't want spiritual salvation. When they talked about a savior, they wanted someone who would kick the Romans out of their homeland. They missed the miracle of Jesus because they looked for the wrong sign.

The next set of metaphors (verses 44-46) talks about the preciousness of the Kingdom and also a bit about the effort required to find it. The treasure/pearl doesn't just fall into the men's laps--they're out looking.

Likewise, Kingdom living requires some effort on our part. God wants to meet us, but we have to go forward towards God. We have to look for the right signs, and we have to make some effort. That effort might be regular prayer, spiritual reading, going to church, turning ourselves into caring people, giving more of our money away.  It might require turning off the constant news cycle so that we can hear God.  

Finding a Kingdom life, the life that God intends for us, will require us to do something different than what we've been doing.  But the end of the Gospel assures us that our efforts will be worth it.  The field will give its hidden treasure; the fishing nets will be full.

Staying Behind and Staying Rooted: the Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

On July 22, we celebrate the life of Mary Magdalene. Take a minute with the reading for her feast day: John 20:1-2, 11-18.

There are many approaches to Mary Magdalene. Some people focus on her notorious past, while a variety scholars remind us that she might have been painted with the brush of prostitution to discredit her.  Even to this day, she is rarely mentioned outside of the fact of her demon possession.  For some, these are the demons that bedevil many woman, both ancient and modern, the demons that come with a patriarchal culture.  Others might think that demon possession was how ancient culture understood mental illness.

Why hasn't the Church focused on her healing and subsequent steadfastness, rather than what might disqualify her from worthiness?  Whole books have been written on that.

As I've been spending time with female saints, both the kind recognized by popes and the ones far from canonization, I've been thinking about how these centuries of church history might be different if we had treated women differently.  Let's begin with Mary Magdalene as an example.

The theologian Cynthia Bourgeault wrote a book about Mary Magdalene, and she notes that Mary's presence at the resurrection is mentioned in all four gospels, either alone or in a group, but always there, always named.  Most scholars agree that when a detail is present in more than one Gospel, it demands our attention and deeper consideration.  

Mary Magdalene's presence at the resurrection is so important that all four Gospel writers include it.  Why do we so rarely consider this in our modern churches?  

Bourgeault calls our attention to this passage from Matthew 27:61: “And Mary Magdalene and the other Mary remained standing there in front of the tomb.”

She says, "How would our understanding of the Paschal Mystery change if even that one sentence [from Matthew 27:  61] was routinely included in the Good Friday and Palm Sunday Passion narratives? What if, instead of emphasizing that Jesus died alone and rejected, we reinforced that one stood by him and did not leave?—for surely this other story is as deeply and truly there in the scripture as is the first. How would this change the emotional timbre of the day? How would it affect our feelings about ourselves? About the place of women in the church? About the nature of redemptive love?" (found in this meditation)

As I have settled into midlife, I've had similar thoughts.  What if we had celebrated Mary Magdalene as the first witness to the resurrection? What if we celebrated her as the one who was first to
tell of the resurrection?

For that matter, what if instead of celebrating the evangelizing apostles who went out with very little in their pockets, we celebrated the ones who stayed to build up the communities that the apostles created?  We rarely celebrate settling deep roots into a community and staying put.  We often see those churches as stagnant and out of touch, even if they're the ones supporting the local elementary school and teaching new immigrants and running the food pantry.

Most of us can't be the kind of disciple that leaves family and commitments behind to traipse the country.  Many of us have been raised to believe that's what Christ wanted us to do--there's a Great Commission after all that tells us to go to all the lands and make disciples. We don't hear about the families that the apostles left behind.  How are they supposed to cope?

The lives of Mary Magdalene and other saints show us that there's more than one way to make disciples.  There's more than one way to be missional.  

Today, let us focus on the ways we can remain steadfast and true to our callings.  Today let us remain at the tomb alert for resurrection.

Litany of Thanksgiving for the Opening of the Ordination Door

Last night, my spouse and I spent an hour or so working on part of the pre-recorded service that my church will release on Sunday.  We're celebrating the 40th anniversary of the Lutheran church (ELCA variety) ordaining women.  My spouse and I recorded the following litany of thanksgiving for the all of the gifts that wouldn't have been possible without opening the ordination door.  I really loved the language, so I wanted to post it here, so I'd always know where it was.  Once I find out who wrote it, I'll come back to update with the attribution.  Update:  It came from ELCA resources to mark the occasion.


LITANY OF THANKSGIVING

For the many ways that women have proclaimed the gospel, including as pastors for the past 50 years, and for the impact that proclamation has had on more people than we can ever count or know ...

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the ways the church’s decision to ordain women allowed fresh air to blow through the church, opened up closed windows and flung wide closed doors, enabling new possibilities for women

to answer God’s call and fresh ways for people to hear the good news …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the ways women have pushed this church in new directions; for the distinctive gifts each woman brings, from her culture, her gender, her sexuality and far beyond …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the ministries of women of color, the vibrancy they bring, the wisdom they share, the Word they proclaim and the sacraments they administer …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.

For the ministry of LGBTQIA+ pastors who have enriched the church by their dedicated service throughout history, and for the 10 years since the ELCA’s policy change enabling them to serve

publicly and live authentically, including while in partnered relationships …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the people who had the courage and perseverance to work for the ordination of women, including our predecessor women’s organizations; for congregations who had the courage to call female pastors; and for the church’s ability to change …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For all women, the polite and the pushy, the troublemakers and the peacemakers, those who make the coffee, those who pay the bills, those who put the chairs away and lock the doors at the end of the night; for the deacons and deaconesses, the teachers, and the prayer-chain maintainers; for all those who stayed up late and got up early doing work that no one ever saw or acknowledged but that slowly transformed people’s lives and the church; and for the generations of women who didn’t get a title but served God just the same …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the support women have given and received over the decades; for the late-night phone calls, the chats over lunch, the affirmations and the hugs when words fell short; for the spouses, children, parents, mentors, teachers and theologians, whose impact cannot be measured; and for those who show up and those who speak out, in quiet and loud ways …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



For the apostolic witness of Mary Magdalene, the dance of Miriam, the hospitality of Lydia, the prayer of Mary, the discernment of Deborah, and the courage of Rahab, and for the faithfulness

of our biblical foremothers …

We rejoice and give thanks to God.



Gracious and living God, we rejoice and give you thanks for your strength on display throughout time and place, calling all kinds of people to be witnesses to your grace and power. We celebrate how the Spirit has blessed your church through the work of women and girls, including in this time and place. Guide us, as your people, into welcoming your prophets and teachers among us and into hearing

Christ’s good news through them. With gratitude, we pray. Amen

Video Sermon/Meditation Outtakes

When I'm working on a video sermon/meditation project (all 2 times I've done it), I always shoot more footage than I can use.  I don't want to overwhelm viewers/worshippers with a 30 minute sermon.  So here are some pieces of unused footage from my video sermon/meditation on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.

I didn't use this one because it just seemed too obvious:

And this one seemed to belong to a different project:

I shot this one of friendly dogs meeting each other, but I didn't want to do narration while there were people around and commotion:

I thought I might close with this one, but then I got something I liked better:

I tend to keep every piece of everything I've ever filmed.  When I was first learning to use digital cameras, I keep every scrap because even blurry images worked well in various book trailer projects.  Now I have so much stuff that I no longer remember what I have or which folder it's in.  But if I really needed it, I could find it.

Here's the finished project, for those of you who want to see what I used.  I look at it and see the observations I could have made, the different ways I could have phrased what I was trying to say.  But as with many writing projects, the deadline comes, and what I have has to be good enough, at least for this project.

Video Sermon: Matthew 13: 24-30, 36-34

At 10:00, my church will broadcast today's worship service.  We're no longer livestreaming, and we probably won't for awhile.  We used to meet, a skeleton crew of us, and do the service.  Our pastor would preach, the choir would sing, and I was in charge of the iPad which let me zoom in and out.  Our choir members tried to stay spaced 6 feet apart, but I had begun to worry it wasn't enough.

This week, I created the "sermon" for today's Gospel of Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.  It's a different kind of sermon.  Here's how I described it for my YouTube channel:  "A different kind of sermon on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43. Part parable, part video meditation, part poetry, part found art, part questions, part ambiguity and mystery, and hopefully some inspiration."

In short, it's not a typical sermon, in the pre-pandemic sense of a sermon:  someone standing at a podium, lecturing, giving background, instructing a congregation in what is demanded.  It's much more like a poetry presentation.  For several days, I walked the neighborhood, filming short clips, making the kinds of interesting connections that usually only happen when I write poems.

If you'd like to see it, go here.  Later, I'll post a link to the entire worship service, so  you can see it in context.

Update:  To see the whole service, go here.

When the Call Shifts

Long ago, when I was in undergraduate school, I was surrounded by people, mostly males, who would confidently talk about their call to anyone willing to listen.  They knew exactly when God came knocking at the door of their lives.  They knew exactly what God wanted them to do.  They had a plan for how they would do it, a plan that usually involved going to seminary and becoming a lead pastor at a church like the ones of their childhoods.

I often sensed a whiff of condescension and pity when they surveyed the rest of us who had no call and no plan.  I would love to know if those college colleagues went on to have whopping midlife crises where they lost their sense of their call or when things didn't go smoothly or when they stopped being sure of what God wanted them to do or when history/current events intervened.

Of course, I don't know that I have coping skills that are any more sharply honed when it comes to the crisis of call.  Before the pandemic, I thought I was coming closer to having a sense of call--not in the way that those guys in college had a call, but in a limping towards a fuzzy vision kind of call.

And now, I often feel that I've lost the vision altogether.  Or maybe the vision has shifted.  Before the pandemic, I hadn't made the kind of video parable/poem/sermon/meditation type thing that's captured my imagination since May. 

Let me explain in a vignette via Facebook.

A few days ago, I made this post on Facebook:  "When I said I wanted to study eschatology, I didn't really have our current situation in mind. I was thinking more about a deep dive into ancient prophets or T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land" or a comparison of nuclear war movies and climate crisis themes. I wasn't thinking about a case history of Florida."

One of my pastor friends responded:  "After the 2004 hurricanes, I was asking myself a similar question as I had always felt a pull towards disaster relief ministry."

I wrote back, " If you still feel that call, I think it's a growth ministry. Sigh. I have spent 10 years saying I felt called to be a hospice chaplain, and I keep feeling like God says, "Great. i can use you right where you are." I'm ready to be called to a different kind of ministry--perhaps the director of virtual creative encounters with the Holy. Hmm. Let me dream about that for a time."

Guest Blog Post with Another View of This Sunday's Gospel

This Sunday's Gospel: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Weeds as Wickedness and a Christian Response 

(Thoughts from C. A. Berkey-Abbott)



There are three issues that strike me as interesting for this section of gospel: 1) pay attention making sure that nothing happens “while everyone is asleep,” 2) do not so aggressively pursue the eradication of evil as it harms the fertility of what is valuable, and 3) the evil (undesirable) and the good (desirable) will be separated.

Point 1: If everyone sleeps at the same time, this allows the opportunity for “the enemy” (evil) to make its way into the valuable (good and productive) plantings. This is not the emphasis of this gospel, but seems to be a historically reinforced message. We should “Beware the perverters of the Gospel” including those that would use it to demand greater sacrifices in support of “the Church.” We have seen this blasphemy in many ages and its divisions within the catholic (universal theistic) church from Catholicism to Lutherans to Lutheran Pietist and others who have split from “the Church” for similar reasons.

Point 3: The evil (weeds) are removed once the wheat plantings (desirable) are mature and stable, but before the harvest. What does this mean? Perhaps that there is an appropriate time for the Church to recognize its strength and aggressively seek justice. Perhaps it means that we should let evil persist and let God sort it out at the harvest (although I strongly disagree personally).

Point 2: I read this passage today of one of the better explanations of the “problem of evil” that I have encountered. For those who may not be familiar with this slightly technical term, here is the problem of evil: Premise #1: God is omnipotent (all powerful) and omniscient (all knowing) and omnibenevolent (all good and loving). Premise #2: If God knows all (omniscient), truly fully loves us and therefore wants no evil to come to us (omnibenevolent) and is all powerful (omnipotent), no evil should ever come to us: God knows it will happen, God cares that it does not. God has the ability to stop it. Evil should not happen. Premise #3: There is definitely evil in this world. Therefore, there is no God or no being that is Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omi-benevolent.

This is a valid argument which presents a great challenge to theists (believers in a God with these attributes). This is so much of an issue, that attempts to explain how the premises can be true and not get to the conclusion has a name: Theodicies. This is a real concern for the Church. How do we reconcile a God that knows an 11 year old will get cancer, cares that she does not, has the power to remove the cancer, but does not”

One theodicy, says “we have free will which creates evil.” This does not explain natural evil (harm) like hurricanes and earthquakes. The argument here is that God’s love for us, means that God must give us the freedom to be a weed (out of communion with God) and this is what allows for the introduction of evil. This is not the explanation for the existence of weeds (evil) that we get in this text!

Another approach to this gospel could be: but maybe the weeds (evil) will turn into wild coffee plants (something valued). This argument suggests that evil just needs to be educated and transformed. This approach (sinners – outsiders need to be transformed) has caused innumerable harms. It is not accepting, but focuses on being transformative (God loves you, but only if you behave and think as we do). Under your recognition of those conditions, God will not eradicate the weed. This is not the explanation that Jesus gives us in this text!

Another approach to this gospel could be: the weeds (evil) are innocent (sown by someone outside of themselves who has evil intent). This argument suggests a few things: 1) people are largely pawns in a greater system and cannot make their own decisions and 2) even evils that are promoted through these pawns (innocents) must be tolerated. At least the second of these suggestions is wrong. Even if someone is raised to believe that theft, rape, and murder are appropriate and/or somehow deserved, we are not obligated to tolerate these abuses from the indoctrinated innocent. As a final note: this explanation for not eliminating the evil weed is not the explanation that Jesus gives us in this text!

Another approach to this gospel could be: The weeds (evil) are needed to appreciate the wheat (the valuable). This comparative explanation argument fails for a number of reasons: 1) there need not be evil for us to appreciate the good – even if recognizing the good is aided by comparison and 2) a lower grade of evil (a few weeds) would accomplish the same purpose. This is not the explanation Jesus gives us in this text!

Another approach to this gospel could be: For every evil there is a comparable good. Yet, it is not clear that the amount of evil will lead to comparable goods. What comparable good resulted from the dehumanization of blacks, Jews, physically disabled, mentally challenged, LGBTQIA+ slaughter in Nazi Germany? What comparable good (except for the advancement of white – European American privilege- did Manifest Destiny (the destruction of the food source – buffalo, the introduction of alcohol, the chemical warfare of small pox infected blankets, and ultimately the slaughter or unconditional surrender of the Iroquois, Comanche, Sioux, and Kiowa people) bring. This is not the explanation Jesus gives us in this text!

Another explanation to this gospel could be: We don’t know why, but evil is part of God’s plan. In this scripture, it is the work of an enemy of God (the good crop) that created the weeds. It is not part of God’s ideal plan. This just kicks the preverbal “can down the road.” Why then did God not stop it?. This is not the explanation Jesus gives us in this text!

Another explanation to this gospel could be: Even the weeds have “a right to life.” Some contemporary theists seem to like this argument: “everything regardless of how evil has a right to life as God supports life.” This argument is wrong. Things that are life-supporting and love promoting have a right to life. Things that seek to eliminate life do not. Tolerant and loving people must draw a line at some point that says intolerance will not be tolerated (an objective principle – theistically based or otherwise). This enters into a philosophical consideration of where a right to self-defense begins and ends. Generally, the Church (drawing heavily on Aristotle in particular) has recognized this right. This is not the explanation Jesus gives us in this text.

This passage reads as both a warning and a call to action. There will be a time when the evil/undesirable (weed) is to separated from the good/desirable (wheat) and destroyed. Waiting too late (harvest) creates a comorbidity; evil is not destroyed until the “end time” and the desired clean crop is never manifest on its own. Waiting too late may also allow the weed to “go to seed.” When the weed seeds begin to grow in the next planting, at least some responsibility for that spread of evil falls on the gardener.

We are also cautioned: We should not remove the evil (weeds) and aggressively and indiscriminately “tear them out.” We are given a reason for this that does not resolve the “Problem of Evil (why God would allow evil in the first place. The explanation does not account for natural evil either. It does address human evil. As a reminder of some explanations that are not offered: We are not to let evil grow because: 1) the ability to be evil is a gift from God, 2) because the weeds may become wheat 3) the evil is innocently done, 4) we need the evil to appreciate the good, 5) for every evil there will be a comparable good, 6) the apparent evil is all part of “God’s plan, or 7) because even weeds have a right to life.

Here is the warning: attempts at aggressive (and I would add indiscriminate) eradication of evil in an immature field (weak Church) does extreme harm to believers and the Church beyond any perceived benefit. We have seen far too many examples of how aggressive eradication has failed to promote one’s faith. Examples include all manners of fundamentalism: Christians killing Muslims, Muslims killing Christians, Buddhists killing Muslims, Zuni versus Shia….The list of wars done in the name of the will of the divine is as exhaustive as it is stupid.

The examples need not stop at wars among religions either. We have many examples of hasty generalizations and sweeping harms done to all manner of people domestically and internationally that are not religiously based. Slavery, internment (historic and contemporary), Jim Crow laws, anti-LGBTQIA+ laws, treatment of refugees, are all examples and this list could go on as well.

On this reading, how are we to respond? Where and when does the required eradication begin? How do we prevent being overly aggressive? How do we avoid creating (praise or pay) incentives that may become perverse incentives to be aggressive? For wisdom and guidance we pray for well-considered answers recognizing that they are likely as complicated as the challenge itself. How do we resist evil without our doing so becoming a “symbol of righteousness” and a license to injure others and ultimately undermining the core values (character) of our very faith?

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The lessons for Sunday, July 19, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 44:6-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 28:10-19a

First Reading (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 12:13, 16-19

Psalm: Psalm 86:11-17

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 139: 1-11, 22-23 (Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24 NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:12-25

Gospel: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Again this week we have agricultural metaphors--what an intriguing scenario, to have an enemy that sneaks into your fields to sow weeds, instead of just destroying the field outright. And what an interesting response of the owner: to let the wheat and the weeds grow, to separate the useful from the useless later, once the growing is done and the reaping finished.

The traditional response to this Gospel sees this story as a metaphor about Judgement Day. My problem with that metaphor is that weeds don't turn into wheat, and I don't like the implications of that. The parable comes much too close to advocating predestination for my Lutheran sensibilities to be happy with this interpretation.

Luckily, humans aren't solely weeds or wheat. I know that there are some weeks where I'm more of a weed than anything that is of agricultural use. And I'm the pesky kind of weed; I'm not the kind of weed that grows quietly alone; I impede the spiritual progress of others, strangling and choking and making life miserable. I console myself by telling myself that we all have those days or weeks or seasons where our weedy natures take over.

But I can’t take too much consolation. These summer Gospel readings remind us that we don’t get to sleep in the soil forever. We don't get to loll around in our wheatfield, hoping that we're one of the chosen ones and not one of the weeds. At some point, the wheat will be separated from the weeds.

Let us return to the idea of sowing and seeds, a useful metaphor in so many ways. How can we sow seeds now that will blossom into good gardens later? There are as many ways to do this as there are vegetables in the garden right now in many parts of the country.

Maybe we could pray more. Maybe we could resolve to be cheerful, no matter what the day brings. Maybe we could give one or two percent more of our income away. Maybe we could remember to say “please” and “thank you.”  Maybe we could turn off the news and reach for something that inspires us.

Our basic task is to shine God's light into a world that's increasingly troubled. How can you best do that?

If you feel disheartened, like your weedy self is too firmly rooted, remember those who have gone before you. One of Christianity's most successful evangelists, Paul, was killing Christians before he converted. If God found a use for Paul, God can use your seedling talents too.

All the Narrow Gates of Mysticism

I've been meeting with one of my online journaling groups for a little over a year now.  It's a group formed by Mepkin Abbey, who organized all of the retreatents by zip code and encouraged us to meet when we're not at the Abbey.

In the beginning, we all listened to the same recording of a retreat with Don Bisson.  We journaled on our own, and then we met via Zoom meeting.  We discussed what we had journaled, and then we journaled silently during the Zoom meeting, and then we discussed.

This month, we're branching out from Don Bisson, and I am so glad that we are--not because I have anything against Don Bisson, but because our new resource is so amazing.  I spent the morning listening to the first presentation by Richard Rohr--it was recorded during a retreat called Following the Mystics through the Narrow Gate.  In the first presentation, Rohr takes us through a history of spirituality.  He traces the development of mysticism, along with other spiritual developments.

It was an AMAZING 75 minutes.  I feel like I understand more about world history than I did this time yesterday--and I know A LOT more about spirituality than I did this time last year.  Rohr did a great job of explaining the spiritual developments across the globe and talking about what's happening in the rest of the world at any given time.  For example, he talks about Alexandria as a site of intellectual and spiritual developments while Rome is busy taking over the road militarily.  He talks about Ireland being protected from Rome and other various invaders which meant that they could develop a more cohesive spiritual practice which would become the Celtic Christianity that so many of us know and love.

He also talks about how monastics through the ages have protected knowledge, furthered knowledge, and occasionally gotten in the way.

I hesitate to even use the word knowledge, since in our culture it has such a connection with intelligence and brain power.  Rohr uses it much more expansively.  He talks about the dualistic thinking that has been so damaging--that knowledge can only be associated with our brains.

When I first went to the CAC website to buy the DVD set, I was a bit aghast at the price:  $60, which is more than I would usually pay for a recording of a conference.  But based on this first 75 minutes, I'd say it's worth every penny.

Creating the Next Video Meditation

This week, my pastor asked me if I wanted to create some sort of meditation for either or both of the next 2 Sundays.  I couldn't pull anything together for this Sunday, but I did give him some ideas.  I did volunteer to do the meditation for next Sunday, and then my brain got to work thinking of an approach to Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43.

I wanted to do something like my Pentecost Project.  Of all of my creative projects this summer, that one has been my favorite.  For several days, I've walked the neighborhood, filming short clips, making the kinds of interesting connections that usually only happen when I write poems.  Here's an example:

I really enjoy doing these, and I think that they may be a more useful approach to sermons than the traditional lecturing from the pulpit.  I like a good lecture as much as the next person, and as an academic, perhaps I like them MORE than the next person.

I am not telling people what they have to think.  I'm suggesting some approaches to the Gospel and hoping that they inspire people to do some pondering on their own.

Here's another example:

 At some point in the next few days, I'll put them all together, and next Sunday, I'll post a link.

The Feast Day of Saint Benedict

Today is the feast day of Saint Benedict.  If I had to pick the saints that have been most important to me, he would make the top 10 list.  Female medieval monastics who are saints would come to mind before Saint Benedict, but of course, their lives would have been very different if Benedict had never lived.

It is Benedict who taught us a way to live in community, and more importantly, Benedict wrote it down, thus preserving his ideas.  The Rule of Saint Benedict continues to be important, but if you were to look at it, having never looked at it before, you might say, "This?  This little book is so important to so many across so many societies?"

Yes indeed--it's only 73 short chapters, but it covers most of the important elements of how to live together.  The Rule divides the lives of the monastic community into work, prayer/worship, and sleep.  The Rule talks about how to be obedient, both to God and to the abbot, and what to do when one is not.  The Rule also talks about how to manage a monastery.

It was written in the year 516, and unlike many ancient texts, it still reads well, and the ideas still hold up.  It seems simple, but when one thinks through the implications, it's really not.  Neither is it hopelessly complex--it's not quantum physics.  Unlike many ancient texts, it still seems both brilliant and useful.

Benedict gets the credit for being the founder of Christian monasticism, and rightly so.  He created an order and a rulebook that kept communities together through some of the most difficult times of human history.

I always wonder if these ancient monastics knew that they were creating something so lasting.  I suspect not.  Wikipedia tells me that Benedict founded twelve communities, and he was probably most focused on their success, not in hoping that his brand of monasticism would last into the 21st century.  In fact, he might shake his head at the fact that we're focused on The Rule that he wrote, not on some other project, now lost to us, that was nearer and dearer to his heart.

Today I take courage from the example of Saint Benedict.  Today I am grateful for Benedict and for the monastic tradition he created.

Process Notes on a Video Haibun

I have long been intrigued with all of the experiments that people have done with video poems, and lately, Dave Bonta's haibuns have made me want to try the form.

Here's my haibun, with the words below:

Lower Your Boats


The Holy Spirit is that time in the morning: the sun breaks through, the light spreads across the sky, staining it with color, telling us, “It is time. Time to lower our boats into the water, time to go out onto the sea.”


Leave your safe harbor.
Find other fish to harvest.
Pluck the perfect shell.

To watch on YouTube, go here.

Process Notes:

In May, I was part of a team who put together a pre-recorded worship service for Pentecost.  My pastor asked me if I wanted to do a creative reflection or meditation, and I said yes (for notes on that project, see this blog post).

I spent a week walking around the neighborhood, being hit with all kinds of inspiration, and creating meditations by filming with the camera, while I spoke from behind the camera.  As I walked and created, I thought about how similar to poetry the process was for me.  I was trying to make people think about the Holy Spirit in ways that they never had before.  I was trying to jolt them out of their long held beliefs about the Divine, just the way that the original Pentecost experience had done for those first believers.

I ended up with lots of short bits of film, and as Dave posted his haibuns, I thought about returning to them to see if they might work.

I love the compressed form of the haiku, although I'm always hesitant to call what I write haiku.  Once I went to a haiku workshop at the Morikami Museum, and I learned that there's so much more to this art form than compression and syllables.

And I feel even less secure about using the term haibun to describe what I'm doing--I worry that there's an aspect or two that I'm mutilating.  I was so worried about issues of cultural appropriation/desecration that it took me some time to convince myself to post the haibun.

And then I laughed at myself.  It's a haibun-like thing, for pity's sake.  It's not like I'm writing a novel and appropriating the voice of a migrant worker or a Civil Rights icon.  People will not call for the revoking of my multi-million dollar book deal.

I'll keep working in this format--I like that I have lots of little videos already recorded, so even when I'm feeling blah and uninspired, I can make something new.  I like having a project that inspires me and scares me.  I like sailing beyond the harbor of my comfort zone.

Spiritual Sketching Journal Update

I've been intrigued by my sketching habits.  For much of the month of June, I sketched for 5-7 minutes each morning as part of the Morning Watch devotional time that I led live on my church's Facebook page.

I would return to the same sketch over 3-6 mornings.  I made sketches like the one above and below.

On Sunday, I returned to my habit of sketching in church; I was part of a skeleton crew there to help with the livestream of the service.  I came up with this sketch, which perhaps has more of an Advent theme than a July theme.

I suspect many of us are in this Advent frame of mind, watching and waiting and hoping.

On Wednesday, I created the sketch above.  I started in the morning and finished in the evening.  If I had known how much it would change, I'd have taken a picture in the morning.  Here's what I captured from the Morning Watch broadcast:

I thought it would go in a different direction, a blue and brown direction.  Last night, I kept adding more and more color and then the swirling black lines.  I love the way it turned out.

I return to a theme that must feel familiar by now:  when I feel like I haven't been doing anything creative, let me remember that I have.  I may not have been filling up my purple legal pads with poetry, but I have been creative.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 12, 2020:

First Reading: Isaiah 55:10-13

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 25:19-34

Psalm: Psalm 65:[1-8] 9-14 (Psalm 65:[1-8] 9-13 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 119:105-112

Second Reading: Romans 8:1-11

Gospel: Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

This Gospel returns us to one of my favorite metaphors: the seed. When I first read this Gospel lesson as a child, I read it as an indictment of the seeds. Clearly some were just bad or worthless. Now, as an adult, I see this Gospel as being primarily about the ground. We've all got lots of potential, but some of us just aren't in the right kind of ground to flourish.

Unlike seeds, we can move. I'm not necessarily talking about a literal move, although the idea of moving to be near a great religious community doesn't strike me as absurd, the way it once did. Many of us move for much more stupid reasons.

Unfortunately, given the state of the pandemic and job markets, many of us are as rooted as plants need to be. However, there are still many things we can do to enrich the soil in which we find ourselves.

We are living in a time of all sorts of online opportunities, and many of them are free. We could spend all of our Sundays--and a good part of our Mondays--watching various religious services that have been livestreamed and then recorded for later viewing.  We can attend all sorts of conferences virtually, and many of those conferences are offered for free or at substantially reduced rates.  We can watch great musicians play their instruments at close proximity--with screens separating us and keeping us safe.

Some of us have more free time these days, and so we can take advantage of these opportunities.  But what about those of us who are working more hours than we ever did before the pandemic?  All of us have some control over bits and pieces of our time.  We should look for ways to make that time more nourishing.

For those of us still commuting to our jobs, there's the time in the car that we could put to better use.  Spend time with something that calms you (a CD, a podcast, a tape). Get something that reminds you of who you're supposed to be. I've noticed that when I'm listening to Godspell, I'm less likely to curse my fellow drivers, and the lyrics stay with me through the day.  I get a similar effect when I turn off all the noise and have silence for my drive.

No matter where we're working--or not working--we can build mini-retreats into your day: find some green space and go there to pray; read something inspiring, if you can't leave your desk; find web sites with inspiring material and visit; close the door to your families, don't answer the phone, and practice deep breathing. 

This may be a time where fertile soil for soul building seems hard to find. We may feel like we're marooned in sand or concrete. But if gardening teaches us anything, it's that soil can be redeemed, and often by small efforts, day after day, just a few minutes each day.  Within a season, we can find ourselves with good soil that will nourish our souls, getting them ready for new growth.

Pandemic Protocols

In a time of pandemic, we may not be able to hold each other close.

We think about the possibility that we may have to live isolated in our homes forever.

If we're lucky, we can take long, solitary walks in natural settings.

We may find support from unexpected places.

We find our previous lives, the old normal, fractured beyond repair.

But we keep the light of hope alive, hope for a new creation making all things new.

Mandolin Progress Report

I had planned to spend the month of June remembering how to play my mandolin.  I had planned to play through "Dona Nobis Pacem" at least once each day while I prayed for peace.  As with many of my plans, I had mixed success.

For the first part of the month, I consistently picked up my mandolin daily and played through the song as I prayed for peace.  One day, I didn't play it on my mandolin, but I sang through it and prayed.  And then, my mandolin got out of tune, and I had trouble tuning it, and I stopped picking it up daily.

My spouse tuned it for me, and I've spent the last 2 weeks playing every few days.  Last night, I picked it up again, and I was happy that I could still remember how to play it.  My spouse was working on a harder piece on his violin, which makes it hard for me to hear what I'm working on when I play the mandolin.

We did a bit of internet wandering, as I remembered a Peter, Paul, and Mary version of the song he was working on.  He was playing "Midnight Train," which they interpreted as "Morning Train."  From there, we looked at some videos of Yo Yo Ma and Joshua Bell--nothing like looking at professionals to make me feel like it's useless to pick up an instrument.

Of course, I remember that becoming a professional is not the point.  I pick up my instruments again and again because it brings me a kind of joy.  I pick up my instruments because it's another way to pray.

Independence and Resilience

How strange to wake up on Independence Day to see my Twitter and Facebook feeds equally split between people who were enjoying the broadcast of Hamilton last night on Disney Plus and people who were watching the broadcast of President Trump at Mount Rushmore.  What a juxtaposition!

It's a strange moment in the history of the nation to be having this celebration of our independence.  A pandemic ravages the planet, people take to the street in levels of protests that we haven't seen since the 1960's, and there's an economic upset that threatens not only to compete with the Great Depression, but to take the record.  Insert a heavy sigh here.

And yet, perhaps out of these ruins, we can build something better.  It's happened before.

I'm grateful that I had a chance to know my grandmother in a deeper way than I would have if she had died when I was younger.  She had survived more than I thought I would ever face:  the Great Depression, World War II, various types of poverty.  And yet, she not only survived, but she had a rugged resilience and a stubborn optimism.

I began the 4th of July week-end yesterday by hearing this new song by Rhiannon Giddens.  It, too, reminds me that resilience comes out of adversity.

It's a good day to be inspired by those men who signed the Declaration of Independence on this day in 1776. They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, so great was their belief in what they were doing. It's a good day to think about our commitments, our values, what we hold most true.

Of course, it's always a good day to do that--let me always be trying to live a life that's in sync with my truest values. Let me always be ready to stake my sacred honor on principles that are that important.

Today let us pray for those who are oppressed by tyranny of any kind.  I will say a prayer for protection and for liberty from tyrannies of all sorts. Today and every day.  Let us pledge allegiance to our God who sets us free.

Fragments of a Map to an Unknown Future

This morning, I made a different piece of art:

In the wee, small hours of the morning, once again, I couldn't sleep.  I was having one of those dark night of the soul kinds of night, where I couldn't quiet my brain and go back to sleep.  I decided to get up and do some offline journaling.

I ended this way, "So many roads circling back to a question: what am I going to do with the rest of my life? How can I plan now that this pandemic has changed everything? Or has it changed everything?"

I did some sorting.  My spouse has an idea for a shelving project; I am fighting despair as the plan has gotten ever more complicated.  All I wanted was a place to put my books!  Books that have been packed away for 2 years now.  Insert a heavy sigh here.

I came across some map fragments.  They were part of a different art project.  I created this shadowbox out of hurricane damaged stuff, including a chest of drawers:

Then I tried to transform that project into something for an art show that I decided not to enter:

This morning, I found those map fragments as I was sorting, and I thought about how they represented my existential crisis of sorts--what map can we follow to the future?  What makes sense these days? 

I added a few more elements:

It made me happy, making these arrangements, even if I didn't have a flash of insight about the way forward.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 5, 2020:

First Reading: Zechariah 9:9-12

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67

Psalm: Psalm 145:8-15 (Psalm 145:8-14 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 45:11-18 (Psalm 45:10-17 NRSV)

Psalm (Alt.): Song of Solomon 2:8-13 (Semi-continuous)

Second Reading: Romans 7:15-25a

Gospel: Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30


In this week's Gospel, we see the mystical Jesus. The first part of this week's Gospel has those strange comparisons calling us children in the marketplace, and then Jesus reminds us that he and John are the latest in a long line of people sent by God to get our attention. And then the Gospel ends with that strange bit about easy yokes and light burdens, when the very definition of yoke and burden encompass experiences that aren't easy and light.

Maybe in these days of global pandemic and political raging, you're feeling the more traditional definition of yoke and burden; maybe you're feeling strangled and struggling. Maybe you're weary of the world's problems and the inability of governments to even attempt to solve them. Maybe you wish for a savior to show up in our troubled times. But then you'd have to wonder if we'd even notice, in our world of noise and the distraction of all our screens.

Sometimes, when I feel most bleak, I like to return to the words of the Old Testament prophets. It's good to remember that no matter how terrible our historic age seems, it's not really a new situation. This week's reading from Zechariah commands us: "Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope."

That command is our burden and our yoke. We must be prisoners of hope. We are called to commit to resurrection. That doesn't stop with our belief in a resurrected Lord. That's just one sign, among a galaxy of signs, of a God who creates and recreates the cosmos daily.

In our deepest despair, we must remember that we're Resurrection People. We don't believe in a fixed universe where everyone has a preordained fate. We don't believe that we're doomed. We don't believe that we have to accept our lot with stoic resignation.

No, our burden and our yoke is that God calls us into partnership in this remodeling of the world into one that is more in line with God's vision and plan. Could God just step in and order it to be so? Perhaps. But God didn't create that kind of universe. For whatever reason, God found it much more interesting to design a world in which we have free will. We can put our necks into the yoke that God offers us and discover that what appears to be a burden is, in fact, a blessing that transforms us as we transform the world.