Rahab and Faithfulness

My church is off lectionary for a few months.  Thus Sunday, we will ponder the story of Rahab, found in Joshua 2:  1-23.

In this passage, we find the story of faithful Rahab, who protects the Israelite spies from the townspeople planning to kill them and assists their escape from the town.  She bargains for protection for her family during the coming invasion, and she is promised what she wants if she follows instructions.

Traditionally her story is told as one that demonstrates faithfulness and reward for that faithfulness.  I worry about that interpretation and how we might see it if we feel we are not being rewarded.  Will we criticize ourselves for not being faithful enough?  I hope not.

I have Christian martyrs on the brain as I read the story of Rahab.  I think of all the people who sheltered Jews during the time of the Holocaust--many people survived because of those efforts, but let us not forget those who were killed because of their faithfulness.

I also see this as a story of how God will use the outcast of society to transform that society.  Think about Rahab, who was a prostitute--not only a woman, but the lowest kind of woman in patriarchal society.  Yet without her assistance, the Israelite spies would have been killed.  She not only shelters them, but she tells them how to survive and escape.  She knows the land, in a way that people in a higher rung of society might not.

What motivates some of us to provide assistance and some of us to turn away?  It's hard to know, but of one thing we can be certain:  God can use any one of us.  We may assume that since we don't have money or power or importance, that we are not essential--our culture beams that message to us every day.  Watch network TV and see for yourself.

But the Bible shows us story after story of the most unlikely people turned into agents of God's vision for creation.  If a prostitute like Rahab has a starring role, there is room for all of us.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The lessons for Sunday, October 11, 2015:

First Reading: Amos 5:6-7, 10-15

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Job 23:1-9, 16-17

Psalm: Psalm 90:12-17

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 22:1-15

Second Reading: Hebrews 4:12-16

Gospel: Mark 10:17-31

So, far, this month is proving to be Tough Text month. I suspect most Americans will have more problems with this text than with the divorce text of last week.

We've spent centuries rationalizing our way around the demands of this text. We talk about how the needle's eye is really a gate in Jerusalem (something that scholars doubt), so that we can convince ourselves that one could be both rich and righteous, even if that might be rare. We return to our stewardship messages, reminding each other that Jesus calls us to be generous. We consider a tough stewardship message one that asks people to give away 10% of their income.

No, Jesus has the tough stewardship message: sell what you have and give the money to the poor.

Gulp.

I've had this argument with believer and non-believer alike, who say, "You can't really believe that Jesus means that literally."

Yes, in fact, I do. And of course, the next question: "Why aren't you doing that then?" Well, sadly, I'm as attached to my possessions--and their symbolic security--as the next person.

The last decade has taught us much about the danger of counting on our possessions for security. We've seen how quickly wealth can be liquidated--and for what. I remember getting an account statement after a particularly volatile quarter.  As I considered the drop in value, I thought of how much happier I might be had I given that money to the poor instead of hoarding it for my future. Now it's vanished, gone, like steam. No one has benefited--except, perhaps, for the people who made a profit off my money before it vanished. And I'm fairly certain the poor didn't see the benefit of that.

Jesus returns to this message again and again: our attachment to money is spiritually dangerous, the biggest spiritual danger that most of us face. Comparatively speaking, he doesn't spend much time at all on other sins. He never talks directly about homosexuality, the issue that's splitting so many churches. But he returns again and again to the message that the rich must share with the poor.

Jesus calls us to radical generosity. We are to do more than just follow a set of laws, like the young man was so capable of doing. We are to jettison our stuff, so that we're more able to follow Christ. Jesus calls us to give away our wealth, so that our grasping hands can be open for the blessings that God wants to give us. We are to unclench our hands, release our money (and fear), and trust in God.

But the good news of this Gospel is that Jesus loves us where we are. So you're not radically generous right now. Start where you are. Increase your giving by 1%. Pick up the check more often when you go out with friends. You've got a lot of possessions gathering dust, and you probably know some young people just starting out who could use them. Leave larger tips. Quit complaining about your taxes.

Like every other spiritual trait, we grow stronger as we practice. Unclench those greedy, grasping hands.   Open your hands and your heart to the gifts that God wants to give you.

Love in a Time of Climate Chaos

Last night, I had a Facebook chat with a dear friend in Columbia, South Carolina who was waiting to see if she would be evacuated should a dam break.  She lives on a bit of a hill that overlooks the main road, with no lake or river nearby--and she might be evacuated.

In the end, she wasn't.  But how surreal to be exchanging information about the weather, thoughts about how to secure what might be left behind, ideas about how the scenario would end if we transformed it into a movie, chat about how we both couldn't sleep when a storm is in the area--all the while knowing that a knock on the door could come at any moment.

I thought of all the ways we are lucky:  if she had to leave, I could likely keep track of her.  She was not swept away by the first round of flooding like so many people were.  Above all, we live in a first world country, which, while our government cannot control the forces of the weather, it can respond in the aftermath.  We do not have to fear rebel forces who will sweep in to take advantage of chaos.  We will not be taken away to camps, never to see our homelands again.  Our houses will be rebuilt.

Of course, the minute I wrote that last sentence, I thought about all the flooding victims who will not see their homes rebuilt.  I'm thinking of the obvious Hurricane Katrina examples, but there have been many epic floods in the last 10 years--here and throughout the world.

I am already missing the planet we used to have.  And yet, I understand that the planet has never been in a state of stasis.  I realize that we can count on nothing but change.

I wonder how our societal institutions will change in a time of climate chaos.  There are the obvious examples of providing help; I was touched by how many of my South Carolina friends were organizing water deliveries, even when the roads to the victims were still flooded.

Institutions will also be needed to provide other kinds of comfort--and courage, along with the comfort.  Our deepest ideas and ideals will be tested. 

As institutions, are there ways we can prepare for those challenges now?

A Prayer for Those Who Face the Flood

I have lived in several parts of South Carolina, before moving to Florida, and I'm seeing pictures from across South Carolina, particularly Columbia--yikes!  I can scarcely comprehend the scope of that flooding.  I'm seeing buildings that I recognize, buildings with water almost up to the roof.  I'm seeing road and interstates that I recognize that look like rivers now.

I am reminded that nothing--nothing--that I have to deal with this week is of any consequence at all.  I still have some staffing of classes left to figure out, but I am safe and dry, my house is not damaged, the city's water system is still operating, and no one is in danger from the decisions that I make.

I am hoping that dry up and clean up go quickly and that everyone is safe when the floodwaters recede.  But let me do more than hope.  Let me pray:

Oh God of All Weather, please be with your people who cannot escape the relentless rain.  Please bring them comfort as they sit in the darkness, waiting for the restoration of services.  When the floodwaters recede, please be with them as they face the enormous clean up.  Remind us all of your promise

The Feast Day of St. Francis

On Oct. 4, we celebrate the life of St. Francis of Assisi. Many congregations will do this by having a pet blessing service. Here again, we see a powerful life story reduced to something significantly more mundane. I would argue that the church almost always does this reduction act – and why? Why give up the power of these stories that way? We see that in our approach to Jesus Christ, and in our approach to every other believer who has a dramatic story. Are we afraid of the implications?

We often remember St. Francis because of his work, "The Canticle for the Creatures." Many people see him as one of the early environmentalists. I have no problem with animal rights crusaders and the environmental movement, but it's important to remember that St. Francis was so much more.

He spent many years of his early ministry living with lepers and caring for them. He gave up everything he owned – and he was rich – in a quest for a more authentic life. He inspired others to follow the same path, and he founded two religious orders that still thrive.

In churches that celebrate the life of St. Francis, will we hear these parts of the story? I doubt it. Those are the parts of the story that are threatening to the social order. We can't have young people behaving in the way that St. Francis did. What on earth would happen then?

Our society would be transformed. And one of the ways that Christians have let down their faith, this is one of the most damning: We dampen the transformative message of the gospel or we dumb it down into some sort of self-help drivel. The gospel can transform us as individuals, sure, but then we are called to go out and transform our societies. God has called us to do redemptive work.

So, on this day when we celebrate the life of St. Francis, let's consider how we treat our pets and how we treat our modern-day lepers. I'm willing to bet that the community in which you live pets are treated much, much better than lepers. Think about how your church would react if someone brought their pet dog or cat to church. Now think about how your church would react if a drunk, smelly, raggedy person walked in.

Lately, I've been thinking about the care we offer our pets and contrasting that care with the amount of care we give ourselves. We often do no better at taking care of ourselves than we do of taking care of the poor and outcast of our society. I've known more than one person who cooked better meals for their dogs than they do for themselves. You can probably offer similar examples: Humans who make sure that their pets see dentists, even when the human members of the family don't take care of their teeth, dogs who see therapists, pets who get wonderful treats that humans deny themselves – the list could go on and on.

Why is it so hard to achieve balance in our societies? Why can't we take care of the destitute in the same way we take care of our pets? Why does self-care often fall to the bottom of our to-do lists? Why do we practice self-care and then not do the larger work of caring for the world?  Why do so many of us care for creation so badly or not at all?

As we think about the life of St. Francis, let's think about the wealth that we have and the ways that we can share it. Let's think about the earth and the ways we can care for our patch of the planet. Let's think about all the voiceless members of our society: plants, pets, children, the destitute, the elderly. Let us resolve to follow the model of St. Francis long after we’ve left the pet blessing service.

Obvious Beauty, Elusive Joy

In 2009 at Mepkin Abbey, I chased a butterfly--but not with a net, with a camera.  I wanted the perfect picture:

Is the picture above the perfect picture or the one below?

What we forget when we see perfect pictures:  all the imperfect pictures that we also took:

My pastor does amazing work with a camera.  He says that for every perfect picture, he takes dozens if not hundreds of shots that aren't quite what he was going for.

As I look at the shots that I missed, I'm struck by the beauty of the plants that are part of the labyrinth where I chased the butterfly:

What other beauties might we miss when we focus on the more elusive joys?

How can we remain mindful?

Lutheran Field Report

Yesterday, we had a wonderful breakfast with our old campus pastor and Religion professor who was in town.  He came to our house, and then we headed to the beach.  We drove because it was a hot and humid morning.  We had a tasty breakfast with a lovely view, although it was scorchingly hot with no breeze.

Over breakfast, we had a great conversation about the value of turning off cell phones so that face-to-face connection can be made.  We talked about the value of church camp, as a way to leave our technology behind for a time. 

We talked about how rare it is to share a meal with not one cell phone on the table.  We talked about how many people say that the only face to face conversations that they have is at camp, where connectivity is iffy.

We also caught up on news of classmates and news of Lutherans from across the southeast.  Our former campus pastor does a lot of travelling from Synod to Synod on behalf of Novus Way, which oversees 4 Lutheran church camps.  He says he's energized by what he sees going on in individual churches and Synods.  He noted that lay people, especially, these days are doing amazing things.

How wonderful to hear this report from the field.  How wonderful to be still be connected in so many ways.

I left for work feeling nourished in all sorts of ways.