Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary Reading for Sunday, April 14, 2013:

Acts 6:1-7:2a, 44-60

It probably says something about the tough week I've had that my first response to the readings for this week is to see the negative.  I've had a week of lots of meetings at work, some of them full of discord and discomfort. 

I look at the first part of the reading for this week, and I despair.  Even in the earliest incarnations of the Church, the days when I would expect people to be least likely to forget the mission given them by Christ, we see this infighting:  "I shouldn't have to do this work.  I shouldn't have to mingle with those people."

Those of us who have had to work with humans in groups, whether at church or at the office, will not be surprised.  It's such a small task, it seems to me, the serving of tables.  In the time they spend discussing it, the task could be done, if they'd all just pitch in.  But no, we see this quibbling.

It's good to remember that good can come from disagreement.  We see a decision reached and more disciples made because of it.  There's a foreshadowing of monasticism here:  it's decided that it is important to set aside some people who will pray for the rest.

It reminds me of one of my favorite Kathleen Norris quotes:  "Deep down, people seem glad to know that monks are praying, that poets are writing poems. This is what others want and expect of us, because if we do our job right, we will express things that others may feel or know, but can't or won't say" (The Cloister Walk, page 145).

And yet, even this early agreement leads to more discord.  One of the evangelists, Stephen, does his job too successfully, and he becomes the first Christian martyr.  Sigh.

Stephen's speech also strikes a chord in me.  It's not just been a week of discordant moments at work, but also bad news at church:  a roofing job that was supposed to cost $4000 and taken a few days to complete has now mushroomed into something much bigger.

And so I nod, when Stephen says, "Yet the Most High does not dwell in houses made with hands" (Acts 7:48a).  I have a vision of Jesus looking at our rotting roof boards and reminding me, "I didn't come to earth so that you would have a building to shepherd for future generations.  I sent people out into the world two by two."

I try to look at the building as a marvelous community resource.  I try to remember the other groups that meet in our church.  I try not to think about how many hungry people we could feed with the amount it will ultimately take to repair the roof. 

I'll try to keep remembering how many groups of humans will be nourished in other ways by having a meeting space.  As president of the Church Council, I'll try to keep us focused on the task.  I'll pray that we not divide into discordant factions.  I will trust in a God that has resources greater than ours, a God that shares, a God of abundance.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, April 7, 2013:


Luke 24:13-35

optional reading:  Psalm 30 or 30:11

Today we read of the sojourners on their way to Emmaus. This story gives us an important window into the lives we are to have as Christians, particularly when it comes to the sharing of a meal, and our basic obligations when it comes to hospitality.

That hospitality is the often overlooked side of the Emmaus story. The travelers have walked seven miles together.  For those of you who are wondering, that might take the modern walker, walking at a fast clip, a bit over two hours; in Biblical times, with unpaved roads with poorly shod feet, I'm estimating it would take half a day.

When they get back to their house, they don't say to Jesus, "Well, good luck on your journey."

No--they invite him inside. What remarkable hospitality. They share what they have. They don't say, "Well, I can't let you see my house in its current state--let's go out to dinner." No, they notice that the day is nearly done, and they invite a stranger in to stay the night.

Those of you who have read your Bible will recognize a motif. God often appears as a stranger, and good things come to those who invite a stranger in. For those of you who protest that modern life is so much more dangerous than in Biblical times, and so it was safer for people like Abraham and the Emmaus couple to invite the stranger to stay, I'd have to disagree.

We are called to model the same behavior.  Jesus calls us to a Eucharistic life, which requires a major readjustment of our mindset around the issues of food, drink, time, and hospitality.

One thing we can do in our individual lives is to adopt a Eucharistic mindset. Never has this been more vital. Most people have ceased cooking for themselves, and many Americans are eating at least one meal a day while they drive.

Rebel against this trait. Look for ways to make meals special. Cook for yourself, even if it's something special. Invite your friends and loved ones to dinner. Occasionally, invite a stranger.

But it's about more than dinner, more than hospitality, of course.  Without that hospitality, those strangers never would have known their fellow traveler. It is through the meal that the Emmaus Road sojourners realize who has been walking beside them.

What miracles might come into our lives when we open them to the ancient practice of hospitality?

Meditation on Easter (and Ashes)

The Revised Common Lectionary readings for Sunday, March 31, 2013:


Acts 10:34-43 or Isaiah 65:17-25

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24 (24)

1 Corinthians 15:19-26 or Acts 10:34-43

Luke 24:1-12 or John 20:1-18


The Narrative Lectionary readings for Sunday, March 31, 2013:

Luke 24:1-16

Optional reading: Psalm 118:17, 21-24 or 118:22


Our Lenten journey comes to an end with our arrival at Easter. But what do we do if our mood has not caught up? How do we celebrate Easter when we still have the taste of ashes in our mouth?

You may find the words of the men in the glowing clothes resonating: “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Maybe you feel somewhat tomb-bound yourself. Maybe you’ve resisted, but you still find yourself having a morose March, full of melancholy, a spring of sadness instead of new growth. You see the snow falling across the country, winter invading a new season, and you can relate.

It’s good to remember that the miracle of Easter involves actions done to Jesus, that old definition of passion.

Part of my Lenten discipline has been to read my way through Show Me the Way: Readings for Each Day of Lent by Henri J. M. Nouwen, and he has this interesting discussion of the passion of Christ and its relevance for us: “It is important for me to realize that Jesus fulfills his mission not by what he does, but by what is done to him. Just as with everyone else, most of my life is determined by what is done to me and thus is passion. And because most of my life is passion, things being done to me, only small parts of my life are determined by what I think, say, or do. I am inclined to protest against this and to want all to be action, originated by me. But the truth is that my passion is a much greater part of my life than my action” (p. 125, originally part of The Road to Daybreak).

If resurrection can come out of passion, then maybe I can shift my attitude towards the passions that I suffer. God can take something most horrific and turn it into redemption. And happily, my moroseness is not caused by anything horrible.

In some ways, that’s what makes melancholy difficult. It’s easy to understand why I feel Ash Wednesday intruding on my Easter during years when I’ve watched loved ones struggle with disease, in years when hurricanes have ravaged the landscape, in years of job loss. It’s harder to understand my emotional landscape when I can’t point to much that’s specific that’s making me blue.

If we've heard the Easter story and the Holy Week stories again and again, we tend to forget the miraculous nature of them. Or maybe we’re just subdued, too shy or scared to run out of our gardens to tell everyone else what we've seen, what we know.

Now is a good time to remember the promise of Easter: death will not have the final word. Even if we’re feeling beaten down by sorrow, like the women who came to the tomb to dress the body, we have the promise given to them too. We are not the dead. We will not live forever in the tomb.

Remember we are a Resurrection People. Commit yourself to new life. Celebrate the miracles.

Meditation on Palm Sunday

The Narrative Lectionary readings for March 24, 2013:

Luke 19:29-44
Optional Reading:  Psalm 118:19-23 or 118:20

The Revised Common Lectionary readings for March 24, 2013:


Mark 11:1-11 or John 12:12-16 Procession with Palms

Isaiah 50:4–9a

Psalm 31:9–16 (5)

Philippians 2:5–11

Luke 22:14--23:56 or Luke 23:1-49

If you didn't already know the story of Jesus inside and out, you might wonder if today's lessons are an early April Fool's joke. Here is the Incarnation of God, and look how the people treat God. We get the whole Passion Week story in today's readings. It's tempting to drift off, especially for those of us who will return to church on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. But stay awake. Pay attention. Try to hear it again, as if for the first time.

Jesus continues to teach the same lesson as he has been teaching his whole life: it is better to serve. If we weren't familiar with the story, we might wonder at its strangeness. We make ourselves better by humbling ourselves? We might hear the echo of other Gospels: Jesus washing the feet of the disciples, Jesus riding through Jerusalem on a donkey. Jesus has sent out the disciples with nothing--and they want for nothing. There's a lesson here for our possession-crazed culture. Empty yourself, so you can find what's essential.

One of my favorite images of Jesus is this scene of him praying that the cup be lifted from him. How often have I prayed that same prayer? How often have I learned what I needed to learn when the cup was not lifted? It is this scene that shows Jesus at his most human--that yearning to avoid great suffering.

Here we see Jesus moving through varying ruling branches of his society: the church, the government, the masses of people. One day they're on your side, the next day they're not. Things haven't really changed all that much, have they? Here, too, Jesus makes it clear what following him will mean for our earthly life. Marcus Borg calls Jesus "what can be seen of God in a human life" (Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary, page 7). In other words, Jesus shows us our highest potential as humans, what we can strive for, what we can reasonably expect to accomplish in our own lives--and it won't necessarily be greatness in the way that earthly life defines greatness: who gets to sit at which position of power and authority. According to this way of thinking, we can't let ourselves off the hook by saying, "Oh, but Jesus was divine, so what was expected of him would be different than what would be expected of me."

No, Jesus came to show us how to live a life for which we yearn. And how do we do that? By serving others. By sacrifice, perhaps the ultimate sacrifice of our lives, but certainly of our time and our treasure.

Sacrifice. It's such a grim sounding word. And yet, think of the times when you've felt most at peace, most like you were fulfilling your destiny. Those were probably some times of sacrifice. We finish an academic degree, which requires much sacrifice of time and money, and we get an incredible amount of joy. We weather tough times in our personal relationships. Any long-term relationship demands some sacrifice of ourselves. We can't always put ourselves first and expect people to stick around for that.

I've met (or read the books of) people who have made even deeper sacrifices, people who have formed intentional communities to better serve the poor and outcast. Those communities have made a deep and lasting impression on me, so much so that I spend a great deal of time yearning to return, wondering if I, too, could make that commitment. Those communities, like Sojourners in Washington, DC, or Jubilee Partners in Comer, GA, seem filled with peace and purpose. One senses God's presence there, in a way that one doesn't ordinarily in regular life, like, say, when stuck in rush hour traffic. These people in intentional Christian communities seem to be living a life most like Christ's. And though they may lack for things that our Capitalist culture tells us we NEED to have, like the latest electronic gizmos or speedy Internet access or health insurance or meat on the table for every meal, they seem to have found a way to fill the yearnings that many of us feel in our souls.

When we feel these yearnings for something more, many of us turn to food or exercise of Internet wanderings or alcohol. What would happen if we turned towards God?

Soon Easter will be just a hazy dream, and we'll have to return to life in ordinary time. We'll have forgotten about the story of Christ's passion and returned to focus on our own passions. But Christ calls us out of ourselves, to focus on the suffering of others. Paradoxically, here is where we will find our deepest joy, by serving others.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary readings for Sunday, March 17, 2013:

Luke 18:31-19:10

Optional Reading:  Psalm 84:1-4, 10-12 or 84:10


Last week's reading presented the rich man who was blind in so many ways that Lazarus was not.  This week's readings also revolve around blind people.

Perhaps the most surprising blind people in today's readings are the twelve disciples.  Can they really not understand the forces that Jesus has set into motion?  A large part of me understands that they don't comprehend Christ's mission, but can they really not see that the actions of Jesus put him on a collision course with societal institutions?

After all, the Romans were not reserved at all when it came to punishing criminals.  Likewise, the regional rulers chosen by Rome, men like Herod and Pilate, were brutal.  Crucifixion was not uncommon--and other methods of capital punishment were a regular fact of life too.  Life in a Roman outpost was harsh, especially for those groups that were lower on the social spectrum, as Christ and his followers were.

But the disciples cannot see.  Are they willingly blind?  Can they just not cope with what's coming, and thus they live in a delusional state?

Contrast the twelve to the one blind man, the man who can't see with his physical eyes.  Nonetheless, he recognizes Jesus--and as a reward, he receives physical vision to go with his spiritual vision.

And then, there is Zacchaeus, the man who is so short that he cannot see Jesus, even though his eyes are working perfectly fine.  So, he climbs up a tree to get some perspective.

In this story, we get to see Jesus act in ways that have set him on that collision course with the authorities.  Time after time, Jesus turns away from the rich and the powerful, as he heals the sick (often in violation of the purity laws) and invites himself to dinner at the homes of the outcast and lowly.

Christ's acceptance changes Zacchaeus, so that he can see spiritually as well as physically.  He vows to give half of his goods to the poor, and to all whom he had defrauded, he'll repay them four times over.

In a Sunday of stories that presents so many blind people, even those closest to Jesus, it's good to reflect on our own blindness.  Do we really understand the mission of Jesus, or are we blind, just like the disciples?  Are we willing to invite Christ into the center of our lives?

How big a tree will we climb if it means we can meet Jesus?

Meditiaton on This Week's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary Readings for Sunday, March 10, 2013:

Luke 16:19-31
Optional reading:  Psalm 41:1-3 or 41:1     The story of Lazarus and the rich man has been used as a cautionary tale in so many wrong ways throughout the centuries.  Some of us read that story and hear that if we have great wealth in this life, we'll be punished in the next.  Some read it and say, "Well, it must be better to be poor."

The Bible is quite clear, both in the Old Testament and the New Testament, that wealth is not intrinsically evil.  Simply having wealth is not enough to send us to damnation.  But wealth does come with dangers.

I have a friend who comes out of a Charismatic Catholic tradition, and I said to her that I thought that having wealth was spiritually dangerous.  She gave me a look of disbelief, as if I had suggested that we reinstitute virgin sacrifices.  But the Bible backs up my belief.

If we have wealth, the danger is that we will love our money more than we love our families, more than we love strangers, more than we love God.  Think about how the parable of the Prodigal Son would be different if the father had loved his money more than his lost sons. 

We see people who can't leave their wealth to follow Jesus--think about the rich young man who has kept all the laws and expects to be congratulated.  Instead, Jesus tells him to give away all that he owns and to join the disciples.  The young man can't do it.  His wealth keeps him from God.

We here in the first world should pay close attention to this lesson.  We have so much that would seem miraculous in developing nations:  clean water that flows with the turn of a tap, electricity that we can count on, a steady supply of food.  Many of us operate out of such a scarcity consciousness that we can't share.

And it would take so little money to make such a difference.  Ethicist Peter Singer encourages those of us in the first world to give away 1% of our wealth to developing nations, where a dollar will create so much more transformation than that same dollar would in the first world.

You don't need me to tell you the value of sharing your wealth.  You've had centuries of prophets who extol us all to share our wealth.  Are you like the rich man, who will not hear until it's too late?  Are you like his brothers, who wouldn't even believe a man returned from the dead?

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary readings for Sunday, March 3, 2013:

Luke 15:1-32


optional reading:  Psalm 119:167-176 or 119:176     Lost sheep (1 of 99), lost coin (1 of 10), and lost son (1 of 2):  these parables might be some of the most famous parables, especially the parable of the Prodigal Son.  Let's consider what Christ is trying to teach us about the quality of being lost and the quality of being found. 

Some will preach the parable of the Prodigal Son as being about repentence, but when we look at it as part of a series of parables, it's less clear that repentence is the point.  After all, the coin doesn't have to do anything to be found; it just sits there.  The sheep might repent, but if you've ever tried to wrangle sheep, you know that repentence is not a sheeply quality.  And that Prodigal Son:  is he really sorrowful about his actions?  If he hadn't descended to such a state of poverty, would he have had his epiphany?

We could look at these parables as tales of precious resources lost and then found.  The first two parables revolve around an economic resource:  a sheep and a coin.  In some ways, the metaphor might be lost on modern readers.  I've heard more than one reader talk about how ridiculous it is to get so excited over a lost coin.

But imagine a modern spin:  the person who loses 1/3 of a retirement portfolio, but it is restored before the golden years descend.  Or perhaps the person who was facing foreclosure, but home values rebound and the mortgage can be refinanced.  Rescued from desperate economic circumstances, would we not rejoice?

The parable of the Prodigal Son is more familiar, but in our familiarity, we lose some of the point.  The man really has two lost sons, the one who goes off to squander his fortune and the one who stays behind to behave correctly.  We see his grudging behavior at the end of the story; had he been this resentful all along?  We don't know whether the elder son changes his mind and joins the party.  The story ends with the father explaining his joy.

We understand the joy of children returned to us, but I've wondered about what happens next.  Has the second son really learned a lesson?  Does he destroy the family business?  Can the elder son work through his pain?  Does the father wake in the middle of the night and worry?

We know that God rejoices when we return, even as God must know that we will disappoint again.  We know that if we're lost, God will look under every shadow for us.  We know that God will go to great lengths to rescue us, even taking on human form and suffering crucifixion.

Many of us will never experience that feeling of being completely lost and then redeemed.  These parables have a lesson for us too.  We could be grateful that we've never been in the pig pen, considering eating food too horrible for human consumption.  The Parable of the Prodigal Son makes clear that  if we can't exercise gratitude and joy, we're just as lost as the starving guy who eyes the swine food.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary Reading

The readings for Sunday, February 24, 2013:

Luke 13:1-9, 31-35

optional reading:  Psalm 122 or 122:6


I don't have much history with sermons that implore us to repent.  I grew up as a good Lutheran girl and learned that God has already forgiven me.  I struggled with the concept of grace; if I'm already forgiven, why should I be good?

I don't want to wrestle with that particular question this morning.  Whole fields of Philosophy and Literature and Psychology and Sociology can give us a wide variety of answers.  No, I want to think about this issue of turning around and returning, verbs which are at the root of the word "repent."

In many passages, Jesus implores his listeners to leave the path that they're on and to choose activities that will lead to new life.  The prophets that come before and after Jesus have trumpeted a similar message. The end of the Narrative Lectionary reading for this week shows that Jesus knows that his listeners will not pay him attention any more than they did the prophets of old. 

But Jesus is clear:  repent we must.  Jesus didn't come to earth to get us into Heaven after we die.  Jesus came to earth to show us how to live so that we create the Kingdom of God right here on earth now.

Those of us who cling to the concept of grace like to think that we have plenty of time.  Sure, we'll take care of our neighbor.  But first, we've got some movies to watch.  We'll help feed the poor--right after we get back from our vacation.  We've got a grueling work schedule, so maybe we can just arrange for our credit card to automatically send money to Lutheran World Relief.

It might help us to think about that fig tree that gets a reprieve.  The fig tree doesn't get an indefinite amount of time to bear fruit. 

I'm not about to suggest that God will chop us down and send us to the flames of hell.  Frankly, God doesn't have to do that.  We marinate in the bad choices that we've made, and that's punishment enough.

But the parable of the fig tree suggests ways out of our barrenness.  We could think of pruning.  What in our lives needs to be pruned so that we can bear good fruit?  We could start with a bad habit or two keeping us from the life God wants us to have and build from there.

Or think of fertilizer.  What would enrich the soil of our lives?  More prayer, more inspiring reading, stopping each day to take a real break for a meal together:  the list is endless.  Choose one and begin to enrich the soil in which you're planted.

Like ancient people, we kill the prophets of God in all sorts of ways.  We like to think that we'd have recognized Jesus had he appeared to us, but would we?  Now is a good time to tend the fig tree lives so that we can truly repent and choose the way of Jesus.

Meditation on this Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary readings for Sunday, February 16, 2013:

Luke 10:25-42

Optional reading:  Psalm 15 or 15:1  

Many of us are probably familiar with both stories that are presented in today's Narrative Lectionary:  the parable of the Good Samaritan who stops to help the brutalized traveler after religious authorities have refused to help and the story of the two sisters, Mary and Martha, one of whom sits with Jesus and the other who bustles around the house doing chores and resenting the fact that no one helps.

Yes, we've read them separately many times, but how different to read them together!

I read the story of the Good Samaritan in many ways, but the one I come back to most regularly sees it as a lesson about the importance of our actions matching our mouths.  Which of the characters in the story of the beaten and robbed traveler shows love to the neighbor?  The one who stopped to help.  At first read, it's a story that seems clearly to instruct us to show love by our actions, not by yakking about how much we love the world.

But then comes the story of Mary and Martha.  It's hard not to sympathize with Martha, the sister who understands the importance of getting the daily chores done--and there's a guest, who must be fed!  She hustles and bustles and grows increasingly resentful of all these people who ARE NOT HELPING.

Based on our reading of the Good Samaritan, we might expect Jesus to tell Mary to help her sister.  But instead, Jesus gives us an opposite instruction:  it is good to sit with Jesus.

Should we see the pairing of these stories as instruction about which work is important and which is not?  Are we being instructed on the true nature of hospitality?

Most of us will never be faced with such extreme choices, but we like to think that we would behave appropriately.  But as we think about our daily lives, we see how often we take the safe path.

The safe path takes us away from the bleeding stranger.  The safe path has us doing our household chores instead of paying close attention to God.  Jesus came to show us that we should leave the safe path.

The life of Jesus also warns us that by leaving the safe path, we may end up broken and bleeding ourselves.  But Jesus shows us that redemption can come from this kind of suffering. 

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary: Transfiguration Sunday Edition

The readings for Sunday, February 10, 2013:

Luke 9:28-45



optional text:  Psalm 36:5-10 or 36:9     Here we are, the final Sunday before Lent begins.  Transfiguration Sunday gives us a chance to wrestle with an essential question:  who is this Christ?  Why worship this guy?

Do we worship Christ because of his glory?  The mystical elements of Transfiguration Sunday dazzle us and threaten to overshadow the rest of the story.  What a magnificent tale!  Moses and Elijah appear and along with Christ, they are transformed into glowing creatures.  A voice booms down reminding us of Christ's chosen and elevated status.

It's easy to understand Peter's response:  we'll stay on the mountain, we'll build booths!  It's easy to understand why the disciples stay quiet about this mystical experience.

Jesus then heals a child; he's a success where his disciples have failed. 

Do we worship God in the hopes of harnessing this kind of transfiguring power?  It's easy to understand this impulse.  But the rest of the lesson for today warns us against this impulse.

Jesus know that he's on a collision course with the powers that rule the world.  The disciples argue about who is greatest, and Jesus reminds him of the nature of his ministry:  to be least.

For those of us who worship Christ because we want transfiguration, it's important to remember what kind of transfiguration we're going to get.  We're not likely to get worldly power because we're Christians--in fact, it will be just the opposite. 

Will we get healing?  Maybe.  Will we be creatures that glow with an otherworldly light?  Metaphorically.  Can we charge admission and get rich from our spiritual beliefs?  Go back and reread the Gospels, and see what Jesus has to say about wealth.

Ah, Transfiguration Sunday which leads us to Mardi Gras, a few last hurrahs before the serious season of Lent, that season of ash and penitence.  Let us stay here in this glow.  But let us not forget the path before us, the path that brings us off the mountain and into service.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, February 3, 2013:

 Luke 7:1-17
Psalm 119:105-107 or 119:107
In today's reading, we see two miracles of Jesus, both involving healing.  In this post, Mark G. Vitalis Hoffman has created an interesting chart that looks at the two miracles side by side.  It's worth a look.

The miracle of the healing of the Roman centurion's slave shows a Roman who knows how the system should work.  He makes his appeal for the life of his slave through proper channels.  Jesus responds.

The miracle of the healing of the widow's son shows a woman of low social status.  Jesus' healing shows that once again he's flouting the purity code when he touches the bed of the dead son.

Both miracles show the compassion of Jesus.  We don't have to pray in just the right way to get God's attention.  We don't have to go through a certain pattern of behaviors to win the favor of Jesus.

I'm always a bit wary of texts like today's.  I worry about the people who have prayed for healing, but haven't gotten the outcome for which they yearned.  We can say, "God is the ultimate physician."  It's important to remember how rarely God subverts the physical laws of the world that God created--when that happens, as C. S. Lewis tells us (Bishop Gordy cited Lewis in a Bible study at the Create in Me retreat at Lutheridge in 2012; I don't have the direct reference).

And it never happens because we've prayed the right prayer, because we've contributed to the proper social justice funds, because we've behaved the right way as opposed to the wrong way.  We can't control God that way, and it's vital that we remember that we cannot.

Luckily, we worship a compassionate God, one who wants to be with us in good times and bad.  We worship a compassionate God who will touch us, despite our impurity, and we are healed, often in ways we cannot fully understand.

And if our cells continue to die, as cells do, if our body wears out, as bodies do--the narrative of Jesus tells us the larger story.  Death is never the last word.  It may be the outcome we wanted to avoid.  But resurrection will come.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary Readings for Sunday, January 27, 2013:

Luke 6:1-16


optional reading:  Psalm 92 or 92:4


Many people have never met anyone--anyone--who is serious about keeping the Sabbath.  Amongst my friends, I'm seen as an oddity for regularly attending church.

Imagine what modern folks would have made of people like my grandmother.  My grandmother believed that there should be no work on Sunday.  Of course, her idea of what constituted work was curious.  My grandfather, a Lutheran pastor, certainly worked for much of Sunday.  My grandmother cooked.  But there would be no shopping. 

I have a lot of memories I'd like to go back through time so that I could do things differently; I remember insisting on washing my car in my grandmother's driveway one gorgeous Sunday afternoon.  It upset her more than I realized that it would, and now I regret it.

We tend to see the Pharisees in this story as the bad guys, and indeed, they do seem to be a legalistic bunch.  It's important to remember that they thought that by keeping stern adherence to the purity laws they thought they were keeping the people of Israel safe in various ways.  Not only that, they thought that the Messiah would not come until the people were pure enough.

It's not their fault that they didn't realize that the Messiah had come already.  Many people don't.

When I was young and had a more free-form life, I, too scorned the Pharisees.  I'm sure the Gospel writers made them a bit over the top so that we'd be sure to scorn them.

Now I find myself feeling a bit more sympathetic.  It's an essential question:  what is the Sabbath for?

Some of us would answer that good Christians need to be in church.  But that still doesn't answer the question of why we need to be in church.  If church is just one more obligation, particularly one we take on because we think we need to be pure, we have a Pharisee mindset more than a Resurrection mindset.

There are many ways to worship God, and I believe God's happy with what makes us happy.  There's something to be said for being out in creation, appreciating God's handiwork, for example.  Why gather in a building instead of kayaaking in the Atlantic or watching the sun rise across the mountains?

The answers to this question will be as various as the individuals who gather in the building.  But we do know, because of the example of Jesus, that our lives will likely work better if we live them in the midst of good community.  At it's best, a gathering in a church building is that good community.

In these days when most people I know are living increasingly frantic lives, I find myself thinking about the Sabbath and the best way to keep it.  We can dismiss the Pharisees, but it's important to recognize their lessons for us.  We don't want to get so rigid that we make our Sabbath one more kind of duty, obligation, and stress. 

But we don't want to be so free-form that we forget to insist on the boundaries that a Sabbath observance can give us.  God showed us the importance of rest, from the beginning, with the Creation story that ends in rest.  Likewise, Jesus retreats periodically to rest.

We can probably do a better job of rest and retreat.  Many of us desperately need to do a better job of rest and retreat.  Now might be a good time to adopt an additional spiritual practice that allows us to do that.  Maybe we want to declare one day each week to be free of Internet distractions.  Maybe we want to reserve Sundays only for church and relaxing with friends and family.  Maybe we only want to watch wholesome things on our Sabbath day.

It's good to have boundaries.  The Sabbath gives us those boundaries.

Meditation on This Week's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, January 20, 2013:

Luke 5:1-11


optional reading:  Psalm 90:14-17 or 90:17b

 If you were setting up your new ministry--or any other kind of venture--would you choose the men that Jesus chose?

In hindsight, it's easy to say "Of course."  But take a minute and consider the story for today.

We see fisherman, and unsuccessful fisherman.  In the Palestine of Christ's time, these men wouldn't have been at the bottom of the social ladder, but they'd have been close, viewed as solidly working class or lower.  It's hard, heavy work to do this kind of fishing--and dirty work, as there are fish and nets to clean.

These are not men who own land, the kind of men that would have had status.  These are not men who have been trained by religious authorities, as we might have expected Jesus to choose for his ministry.

Jesus chooses regular, ordinary people.  These are not men with gifts of oratory, not first.  These are not the best and the brightest, at least not at first.  But Jesus chooses them.  In similar ways, Christ still calls us, if we can hear.

There are several powerful messages for us here in this Gospel. We, too, have been offered this invitation. And what are we to make of this invitation? How do we respond? Do we tell others? Do our lives change? Can other people tell that we've been changed?

One of the tasks that God calls us to do is to transform the world we live in, to make the Kingdom of God manifest here on earth. No small task. But God has given us an example of how to do this: Christ's experiences on earth show us the way.

At this point, perhaps you echo John the Baptist, "I am not the Messiah."  Perhaps this knowledge that God still invites us to be part of Kingdom building makes you feel tired, instead of excited.  You think of the chores you have to do each day, your family responsibilities, the work tasks.

The men in Luke's Gospel were no different.  In the previous chapter, Jesus has healed Simon's mother-in-law.  These are not young, single men, fishing on a boat to pay for college.  Just like you, these men had families and work and lots to accomplish in a day.

But Christ calls, and they respond.  Perhaps it's because of the nets that are so full to bursting that they almost sink the boats.  Perhaps they realize that on their own, they have empty nets, while with Christ in the boat, they're successful in ways they didn't think they could be.

It's a potent metaphor.  Christ wants to join you on the boat.  Will you give him a place to teach the world.  Christ wants you to try again, when you're convinced that only failure can come from casting down your nets again.  Will you follow Christ?  Will your nets be empty or full to bursting?

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary readings for Sunday, January 13, 2013:

Luke 4:14-30

optional reading:  Psalm 146 or 146:7b-8


Today we see Jesus beginning his career by reading from Isaiah 61, the text  that we had as our primary reading a month ago.  This text from Isaiah tells us what the people of God should be doing. If God had a business plan, we could find it here. If God had a mission statement, we could use one of these verses.

The verbs should not be a surprise to the faithful: bring, proclaim, grant, give. The populations that concern God should be familiar too: the afflicted, the captives, the mourners.

Here, in this chapter that Jesus reads, once again we hear God's promise: repair, resurrection, and new life.

So far, so good.  But then Jesus goes further and reminds the people that God's promise extends to more than God's chosen people.  This message infuriates, and the people rise up against him.  It won't be the last time.

We might say this is an inasupicious beginning for the Messiah, but it sets the stage for the ministry of Jesus.  God incarnate isn't going to spend time courting favor with the rulers of the land.  The focus of Christ's ministry will be the poorest of the poor, the outcast amongst the outcast:  the bleeding women, the sick, the tax collectors, and the prostitutes.

Jesus won't announce his presence with a show of weapons and firepower, no matter how much people would prefer that kind of Messiah.  Again and again, Jesus will remind us of the true power of the Good News, the liberation of the oppressed.

Think of all the ways you've been feeling oppressed.  Think of all the prisons from which you've yearned to be free.  Jesus invites us to liberation.

Jesus will also be inviting us to liberate others.  There are so many facets of society which conspire to hold us all in chains.  How can we be part of the Jubilee time that Jesus proclaims?

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, January 6, 2013:

Luke 3:1-22

optional texts:  Psalm 51:6-17 or 51:13

John the Baptist often shows up during Advent, either as the baby in Elizabeth's womb who moves when Mary arrives, or as his prophet self in the wilderness who tells people that he's not the Messiah.  It's a mantra we would all do well to adapt:  "I am not the Messiah.  The redemption of the world does not rest on my shoulders."

Of course, if I did go around saying that, John the Baptist might accuse me of being part of the brood of vipers that he castigates in today's reading.  It's much too easy to say, "I am not responsible," and then to sit back and do nothing.  Today's reading makes clear that doing nothing is not an option.

Here's the good news contained in today's reading:  what we must do is not really that hard.  Look at verses 10-15 and remember again our task:  to share what we have with those who have nothing, to not take more than our share, to deal with people fairly, and to be content.  On its surface, it seems so simple--why are these goals so hard for so many people?

Perhaps, as with so many New Year's resolutions, we try to do too much all at once.  Maybe we should start small.  Here are some possibilities:  once a week, buy 10 cans of food for your local food pantry.  Once a week, sort through your possessions and give away one thing.  Tip 1 or 2% more than you do right now.  Eat a meatless meal once a week--and give what you save to an organization like Lutheran World Relief that gives money to people who struggle in developing nations.  Put 5 more dollars in the offering plate each week.  I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

John makes clear what the penalty will be if we do not adjust our trajectory to be more generous people.  He talks of axes taken to trees that do not bear good fruit, he talks of winnowing forks, and he talks of chaff being thrown into the fire.  We may feel despairing as John assails us again and again with our unworthiness.

The end of the reading gives us more hope.  Note that Jesus has God's approval, even before his ministry starts.    God does not withhold favor until the job is done.  Like John the Baptist, we're often much more harsh with ourselves than God is.

God delights in us, the way that God delights in Jesus at the baptism scene.  You already have God's favor--now go out and live like you believe that fact.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary Reading

The readings for Sunday, December 23, 2012:

Luke 1:26-49


Optional Reading:  Psalm 113 or 113:9


How interesting to get to the Sunday where the Narrative Lectionary finally begins to dovetail with both the Revised Common Lectionary and some of popular culture.  Today in the Narrative Lectionary, we see and hear (again?) the promises of the angel Gabriel and Mary's response.

Many of us are already preparing for Christmas as we loop back to the beginning of the story.  I read the Narrative Lectionary lessons the morning after I watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.  What a remarkable television show, with Linus reciting, in the language of the King James Bible, the true meaning of Christmas.  Year after year we watch this unabashedly Christian Christmas special that airs into a popular culture that usually wouldn't endorse a pro-Christian stance.  And then there's the larger message of Christmas that drenches the whole story:  that love can redeem us all, from the scrawniest tree to the most ineffective person to the most suffocating/repressive/brutal kinds of culture, whether that culture be a group of elementary school kids to the empires of the world.

The Narrative Lectionary has been reminding us of God's collision with the brutal world.  God always has a better vision for us than we can dream for ourselves.  God always has a need for collaborators to help with the redemption of the world. God can use the most unlikely humans, the ones the world would cast away.  And amazing things often happen when those human outcasts say yes to God.

The story of Mary and Elizabeth is a classic story of God's call and human response.  Here's a story of two women, two women unlikely to conceive, one because she is unmarried, one because she is barren. The angel reminds us, "For with God nothing will be impossible."

That message leaps out to speak to us in our cynical age. We've grown used to tales of those in government or big business who take bribes or steal money. With each new scientific or technological advancement, we wonder how it will be abused or go terribly wrong. A nation or people that commits genocide no longer has the power to shock--after the 20th century, you'd have to kill a lot of people to make it into the record books of murderers. We're a culture drenched in irony and knowing smirks. What we seem to lack is hope.

The angel tells Mary not to be afraid, and that, too, is a message we need to hear.  Don't dance with your dread.  Don't keep company with your fears, your worst case scenarios.  Dream big.  Think of the world God promises:  God will fill the hungry with good things.  The one who is mighty does great things for the lowly.

Listen to Gabriel again.  God has a use for each of us, if we can hear the message through our fears and doom and gloom.  No one is too insignificant.  If God can accomplish great things by means of a young woman, a barren woman, a variety of wandering preachers and prophets, just think what God might accomplish with all of our gifts and resources. 

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, December 16, 2012:


Isaiah 61:1-11

optional text: Luke 4:16-21

Today we read the chapter of Isaiah that we'll find echoed throughout the story of Jesus and his ministry. In the optional reading for today, this passage appears as the text that Jesus reads as an adult when he first preaches. He says that the prophecy has been fulfilled.  We also hear echoes of the text in the Magnificat that Mary sings when she and Elizabeth visit each other during their pregnancies.

Unfortunately, the next two thousand years of history show that there's still plenty of work for the people of God to do. The redemption of the world has indeed begun, but in many ways, it's not complete. And much theology tells us that God needs our help.

This chapter of Isaiah tells us what the people of God should be doing. If God had a business plan, we could find it here. If God had a mission statement, we could use one of these verses.

The verbs should not be a surprise to the faithful: bring, proclaim, grant, give. The populations that concern God should be familiar too: the afflicted, the captives, the mourners.

Here, in this chapter, in such inspiring language, once again we hear God's promise: repair of the ruins, new life out of devastation, recompense for wrongs done, and the kind of joys we associate with weddings.

This chapter of Isaiah provides such chapter and hope.  For so many people, 2012 has been a difficult year.  For so many people, every year is a difficult year.  Isaiah tells us that to be human is to suffer.  But Isaiah also gives us the promise that God is at work in the world.  Isaiah reminds us that even when we can't see God moving amongst us, God is there, binding wounds, knitting brokenness back into new life, and planting seeds in the ruins.

Meditation on This Week's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, December 9, 2012:

Joel 2:12-13, 28-29


optional reading:  Luke 11:13

Last night, my spouse and I had a special guest to our house for dinner.  Our campus pastor, who has moved on to other tasks, was in town, and we were happy to host him.  How amazing that after all these years, we're still in touch and happy to see each other.

We talked of all sorts of things, mainly church related.  His current work has him travelling to various churches across various ELCA Synods, so he's seeing how people are living their faith in real time in various settings.  It was fascinating.

We talked of the challenges for the church (both the ELCA and The Church in a wider context) as we move forward through this century.  We talked of our various wearinesses.

I find the words of the prophet Joel particularly comforting this morning.  Humans have a tendency to look back and to see a golden age which has passed.  Most of us look back with blinders.  We don't remember how life really was when we were living it.

The ancient texts are a helpful counterpoint here.  We see Joel calling on the people to repent.  We get a sense that actions above and beyond the usual repentance are in order:  fasting, weeping, opening of hearts, and making offerings.

Sounds similar to our age, does it not?

The last part of the passage for this Sunday's lectionary gives the promise that God's spirit will be poured out on believers and wonderful events will ensue.  We will be drenched with visions for a better life--and we can assume that God will give us what we need to be able to fulfill those visions.

As we move through the Advent season, we move closer to the Christmas holiday that celebrates the fulfillment of Joel's promise in a spectacular way:  God incarnate in the manger.  But it's important to remember that the Holy Spirit still moves among us.  It wasn't just a one time special event in Bethlehem.  We're still blessed with visions and dreams--and if we have eyes to see, we can see that those visions, dreams, and prophesies lead us to glorious places and experiences.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The readings for Sunday, December 2, 2012:

Daniel 6:6-27


optional reading:  Luke 23:1-5  

Today we get the story of Daniel in the lions' den; yes, it's the same Daniel as the friend of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego who were thrown in the fiery furnace.  Here we see another Biblical figure, like Joseph centuries earlier, a figure held captive by an alien empire, a figure with the power to interpret dreams.

We also see the story of a faithful man, like so many other Biblical stories.  When the powerful leaders of the alien empire decree the religious practices of the Jews to be illegal, Daniel continues to pray several times a day.  He's obvious about it.  Like Jesus, he's on a collision course with the empire.

As with the Old Testament story of Esther, we see a king manipulated by those who surround him.  He doesn't want to put Daniel in the lions' den, but the law is the law, and so, Daniel is walled up.

But God protects him because he is faithful.  God finds Daniel blameless.  Chastened, the king has the manipulative advisers walled up with the lions, where they are not so fortunate:  the lions rip apart their limbs.

I can now hear my atheist friends snorting in scorn:  "We're expected to believe that God swooped down and saved Daniel from hungry lions?"

Focusing on whether or not the story could actually happen isn't very useful here.  As with the story of Jonah a few weeks ago, we lose the point of the story if we focus on whether or not a man could live in the stomach of a whale for 3 days or if a man could survive overnight when walled in a chamber with hungry lions or survive a fiery furnace.

We shouldn't focus on the literal truth, but that shouldn't prevent us from thinking about the other truths of these stories.  Above all, again and again we see stories of God who can make a way out of no way.  We see stories of a God who will not be stopped by events that hold humans back.

I see this story of Daniel as one that reminds us of the importance of our religious practices.  But I also see it as a story about the problems of law and strict adherence to the law.  Because of the interpretation of the law, the king had no choice but to condemn Daniel.  The main focus of the story is that God rewards faithfulness, but an important undergirding of the story is the message that the law, with all its strictures, will not lead us to freedom.

Many of us may feel like Daniel, strangers in a strange land, an alien empire, full of practices that we don't fully understand.  Many of us find ourselves in workplaces and other cultures where we don't find many other Christians, if we find any at all.  We may find ourselves struggling to stay true to our Christian values in a world that doesn't reward us for that and may in fact actively punish us.

The stories in the book of Daniel are designed to comfort those of us who labor under an alien empire.  These stories remind us that although the larger culture may not reward us, God watches and God is the one who is ultimately in charge.

We may not escape from all of our lions' dens, but we can be sure that God will reward our faithfulness.

Meditation on This Week's Narrative Lectionary

The reading for Sunday, November 25, 2012:

Jeremiah 36:1-8, 21-23, 27-28; then 31:31-34


optional reading:   Luke 22:19-20


In today's reading, we see that not every prophet enjoys the easy acceptance that Jonah did.  You may remember that a few weeks ago, Jonah goes to Ninevah expecting to be rejected, as prophets so often are. But much to Jonah's dismay, the people of Ninevah not only accept his word, but go all out to show repentance--even the livestock fast!

Jeremiah doesn't have the same success.  He delivers God's message to the king, but the king burns the scroll to show his complete disregard for God's message.  In the parts of this book that we don't read, Jeremiah continues to try to deliver God's message, but no one pays any attention.

As we head into the season of Advent, it's good to remember that plenty of people have no interest in hearing God's message.  We'll decorate for Christmas, we'll enjoy time off, and maybe we'll even spout platitudes about the true meaning of Christmas.  But many of us are happy to stay gathered in the glow of the manger at Bethlehem.  We turn away from the cruelty of the cross.

Again and again, the prophets deliver the message that Jeremiah delivers: we are people with God's imprint on our hearts.  God wants to live in intimate connection with us.  God will go to great lengths, including taking on human form and suffering crucifixion, to make that connection.

Why do we turn away?  Why do we burn the scrolls that bear that message of God's great love?

The answers will be different for each human.  We know that even the most devout believers have moments where they, too, burn the scrolls that bring God's message.

The prophets remind us that God doesn't want the destruction that humans seem to seek out so eagerly.  God wants what is best for us.  But we often don't want what's best for us.

As we head into the frenzy that is the Christmas season for so many of us, let us take a few minutes to think about how we will keep focused on Advent, not Christmas.  So many prophets tell us to prepare our hearts.  How can we best do that?

So many prophets implore us to stay alert so that we not miss the coming of God, which will happen in ways we don't expect.  How can we keep watch in these days of so many distractions?