Luke's Depiction of Judas

Luke says that Satan entered Judas. That line made me stop and ponder. I know that this is a Biblical way of talking about how humans go astray, but I don't like the way that it takes agency away from Judas. It's as if Judas couldn't help himself; it recalls that old line, "The devil made me do it."

It detracts from one of the central lessons of Judas, which is that humans will betray each other for any number of petty reasons. Sometimes it's for a monetary pay off. Sometimes it's to satisfy our jealousy or our hatred or our envy. Some people just like to make mischief. I suspect that we often don't understand why we betray each other--and that may account for Judas better than anything else.

I think of the book by John Knowles, A Separate Peace, when the narrator bounces a tree limb, causing his best friend to fall out of the tree. Why does he do it? He doesn't know. That truth of the novel terrified me as a teenager, but it wasn't a surprise. Not really. We betray each other all the time, and perhaps we're more likely to betray the ones we love than the people we barely know. And why do we do it? We don't know.

And perhaps that should be one of the lessons of Judas. Judas had plenty of time to change his mind, or at least, it sounds like he did. He could have made the arrangements to betray Jesus and then not have shown up. He could have been more introspective: "Hmm. I want to betray Jesus. I wonder why I want to do that. Thirty pieces of silver really isn't that much money. How will I live with myself after I tear apart my community here?"

Most of us just aren't very introspective. We don't understand why we act the way that we do. And many of us go through life, sowing destruction, when we could be agents for peace.

Walking the Candlelit Path

On Friday, I went over to the labyrinth; every Friday in Advent, the labyrinth is lit by candles from 6:30-8:00. We're hoping that people will take some time out of their busy December schedule to remember what the season is really all about.

We first did an evening candlelit walk for All Saints Day (read the Miami Herald story here). But I couldn't stay for the whole event, so I walked as the sun was setting. For me, that was a first. I've walked labyrinths in a variety of settings, but always in full daylight. I loved walking as the sun set and the streaks of oranges and pinks filled the sky. I felt electrified and full of light myself, yet serene.

On Friday, I got to the labyrinth at 7:20--full darkness. From the road, the candlelit labyrinth looked Halloweeny. I was expecting more of a Christmas Eve feel, but to see a distant glowing shape was almost spooky (of course, the temperature didn't help--we were at a balmy 75 degrees, which is a Fall temperature to me, not an Advent temperature).

Once I got close to the labyrinth, it lost that Halloweeny feel. I started walking, and realized how different it is to walk a labyrinth in the dark, lit only by candles. I literally couldn't see very far into the distance, to see where the labyrinth would be curving. I could only see as I got there and made the turn. Even though I understood the shape of the labyrinth--I helped create it, literally, with my own two hands--I couldn't remember how the path went.

That experience seemed like a great metaphor for life. And of course, the labyrinth experience works as a metaphor for life in many ways. But Friday night, I meditated on how often I think I know where I'm going, only to be sent curving in a different direction. I meditated on how I had plenty of light if I just focused on my present steps. Once I stared off into the distance, trying to anticipate my future steps, I'd get lost. But if I stayed present, I'd be OK.

Ah, that old difficulty--to quit fretting about the future (which will curve in ways we can't anticipate) and focus on my present steps; to trust that God will give me enough light to show me where I need to go; to use the light I have, even though it may be dim and flickering.

That's the beauty of a spiritual practice like the labyrinth--it symbolically reminds us of the tasks at hand, while giving us an experience rooted in the physical world. And with labyrinths, as with the best spiritual practices, that experience is powerfully calming.

Great Online Advent Calendar

Yesterday, I found mention of a great Advent calendar over at LutheranChik's "L" Word Diary (she posted her discovery on Thursday). I know that there are probably tons of online Advent calendars out there, but I like that this one gives us Scripture, slideshows, videos, music, links to further meditations, and for Dec. 5, we get links to good gifts to give.

What's upcoming for this calendar? I don't know. It won't let me open future days.

It reminded me of being a kid, that momentary joy of the chocolate or hidden picture of the daily Advent calendar, that urge to gobble up everything in one moment of gluttonous joy. I like this spiritual discipline of taking everything day by day, a skill that still doesn't come naturally to me.

Keeping our Advent Watch with a Nativity Scene

I've decided to occasionally post my poems here, especially if they fit with the liturgical season or anything else I'm writing about. I've had nativity scenes on the brain, since they start to appear right now, and they often inspire controversy: do we allow them in civic spaces? Do we include the baby Jesus before Christmas? Do we allow children to be creative with them?

Through the years, I've heard of unusual additions to home nativity scenes, and I decided to combine all the possibilities I could think of into one poem, which is below. This poem comes from my chapbook, Whistling Past the Graveyard.

My current nativity scene has lost some key figures through the years. We've managed to keep track of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, probably because they're glued into the stable. We're down to one shepherd and a camel--no wise men to go with the camel, no angels in sight. That's probably a poem right there!

We do have a plastic, purple monkey that our friend John put in the nativity scene years ago. It's a tiny, flat monkey with a scooped hand that came from a game where you try to pick up other plastic monkeys to make a chain. I know that some people might see it as disrespectful (and they shouldn't read the poem below), but now, most of my decorations have some memory of beloved friends and families attached to them, and I like decorating and remembering.

Plus, I think that if the Gospels teach us anything, it's that God will be found in the most unlikely places and attract all sorts of attention. People will follow who you would never expect to find in the company of God. That purple, plastic monkey can be a symbol of the tax collectors/prostitutes/social outcasts that Jesus invited to dinner.

Anyway, here's the poem:

Nativity Scene

Through the years, the stable attracted
the odds and ends of our childhood toys:
a plastic soldier, his rifle chewed and mangled,
migrated from the war zone;
a horse, which once helped herd
plastic animals, now riderless and alone;
a Magic 8 ball with murky
water, the answers to our questions, obscured;
a nutcracker dressed in festive finery, but missing
its lower jaw, its mission in life undone;
lonely Barbie, hair shorn from too many experiments,
now loveless and forlorn;
a matchbox car, once prized, now missing
a wheel and limping along;
a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle doll with other refugees
from popular shows of past years;
a gingerbread boy gamepiece, knowing he belongs elsewhere,
neglecting his duties in Candyland, so compelling
is the baby in the manger.

Meditation on this Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 7, 2008:

First Reading: Isaiah 40:1-11

Psalm: Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13

Second Reading: 2 Peter 3:8-15a

Gospel: Mark 1:1-8

Today's Gospel takes us to John, a fascinating character. In today's reading, we see him, clothed in his strange costume, eating locusts and wild honey. Other Gospels present him as the cousin of Christ. Who is this guy?I find him fascinating for many reasons. Maybe I'm always intrigued by a prophet. This year, I'm thinking about John's place in the drama of Christ's life, and how he seems completely comfortable with his place.

In earlier years, I've wondered if it would be hard to be John, with his more famous cousin Jesus overshadowing him. This year, I notice that he has the perfect opportunity to upstage Jesus--people of the time period were desperate for a Messiah, and there were plenty of predators wandering around, trying to convince people that they were the Messiah. John had more legitimacy and a wider following than most of the other people with their wild claims.

But John knows who he is. And he fills out his full potential by preparing the way for Jesus. Not only does John know who he is, he knows who Jesus is. John knows for whom he waits and watches.

We might be wise to see John as a cautionary tale too. John is one of the earliest to know the true mission of Jesus (in some Gospel versions, perhaps he realizes the mission of Jesus before Jesus fully does). Notice that John's life is turned upside down.

I'm not saying that we'll be driven into the desert to eat locusts. But it is a different vision than the one that today's current crop of Prosperity Preachers offers us.

Many people are shocked to discover that being a Christian doesn't protect them from hard times. Being a Christian doesn't mean that we won't suffer sickness, that we won't lose our jobs, that we won't lose almost everything we love. To be human means that we will suffer loss--and thinking people know in advance that we will suffer loss, which means that we suffer more than once.

But we have a God who has experienced the very same thing. Think of the life of Jesus, who had no place to lay his head and died by crucifixion. No prosperity gospel there.

No, the good news is that we have a God who fully understands all the ways in which we suffer--and wants to be with us anyway. We have a God who fully understands all the ways in which we will fail--and loves us fully anyway.

John reminds us of our Advent goal, which is to keep watch, to stay alert. Of course, our Advent goal should spill over into the rest of our life. It's easy to keep watch in December, when the rest of the world counts down to Christmas. It's harder to remember to watch for God in the middle of summer. And of course, that's why we need to develop daily spiritual practices that will keep us watchful.

It's important for us to determine which practices will develop our intimacy with God. For John, it was going into the wilderness. What will it be for you?

And of course, we're being prepared for a greater mission than just our own personal relationship with God. John baptized people and told them the Good News. We are called to do the same.

Advent Retreat at RevGalBlogPals

If you're already feeling overwhelmed by the season, and you need an Advent retreat, there's a cool thing going on at RevGalBlogPals. They've posted an online Advent retreat in three sessions, complete with Bible readings, art, meditations, questions for reflection, and of course, there are comments. Here are some links to make it easy: part 1, part 2, and part 3.

Enjoy!

Relying on God, not our Retirement Funds

Ever since eating with the homeless two weeks ago, I've been thinking about wealth and how it's distributed. I've been thinking about my grandparents.

My grandfather was a Lutheran minister, and they'd have been considered poor throughout much of their lives. The churches that they served always made sure they had a house in which to live--but it was a parsonage, so they never owned it. They were paid, but those were in the days before the current ELCA guidelines were in place. They had enough, but not much more.

Still, they gave away money. They tithed to the church, and saved 10% too. My grandmother will still tell tales of tramps finding their way to my grandparents' house and asking for money. My grandfather never gave away money, for fear that it would be used to buy alcohol, but he would always make the tramp a fried egg sandwich, even if there weren't many eggs in the house. And then he'd sit on the back steps and eat with the stranger.

They never really saved for retirement. My grandmother's pension check from the ELCA is $90 a month--like I said, they were serving the church long before the ELCA guidelines were in place, guidelines that help insure that pastors will be compensated fairly--or what our current generation sees as fair. My grandfather made some investments with money that he made from selling honey, but for the most part, they trusted God.

And they have been compensated, far more than they ever would have thought possible. My grandfather's stocks, bought in teeny amounts, have appreciated. He didn't invest in the strange options we have now--he bought shares, often one at a time, in things that he saw his family using, like Duke Power, which provided their electricity. He would have been astonished had he lived long enough to see how well he provided for my grandmother with those stock purchases.

Of course, he'd have probably taken no credit for that.

He served a church in South Carolina for almost twenty-five years, and when he retired, the church gave them the parsonage that had been their home for that time. Pastors had started asking for a housing allowance, and the church knew that the next pastor was unlikely to want to move his family into a parsonage, into a small house that was in need of upgrades. So that church gave my grandparents the parsonage.

I think of all those Bible passages that tell us not to worry about tomorrow, all those passages that tell us that God will provide for the faithful. My grandparents were the only people I've known personally who were able to live that faith, and I'm sure part of what made that possible is that they lived through the Depression. They understood, in some visceral way, that humans will always be subject to economic forces that they can't understand.

They understood where their allegiance belonged. I'd like that kind of strength.