Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 4, 2012:


First Reading: Isaiah 25:6-9

First Reading (Alt.): Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9

Psalm: Psalm 24

Second Reading: Revelation 21:1-6a

Gospel: John 11:32-44


What a very strange week it’s been for so many of us. We went from the experience of Reformation Sunday straight into Hurricane Sandy—then Halloween and now All Saints Day. And even before the tumult of this week, many of us have still not recovered from the tumult of past years: job loss and continued wars and other storms and all the catastrophes that can strike our individual lives in the form of sickness and death and other losses.

Even in years when we aren’t surrounded by constant examples of how short our time here can be, All Saints Day comes around to remind us. We don’t have long on this side of the grave. It’s a good festival to take some time to think about what we’d like to get done while we’re still here.

Today is a high festival day that celebrates the saints that have come before us. Alas, in many Lutheran churches, we don't celebrate the long line of saints that Catholics do; most Protestants who observe All Saints Day mark the lives of those gone in the past year. Perhaps as we continue to reform the church, we should move back to a broader understanding of saints as the entire community of Christians.

It’s a good time to think about those who have gone before us. You might spend some time on this feast day thinking about the great saints who have helped to form Christianity through the centuries. How can we be more like them? For what would we like to be remembered in future centuries?

If you have relatives and friends who have served as models of a life well lived, this would be a good time to write a note. We won’t be here forever. Write to them now, while they’re still here and you still remember. On a future All Saints Sunday, you might light a candle in their memory. But in the meantime, you can tell them how much they have meant to you.

In many cultures, this feast day becomes a family time. Think of the Mexican tradition of taking picnics to the graveyard. Now would be a good time to record your family memories. Write them down while you still remember. Make a video. Assemble those records.

But we should also use this All Saints Day to look forward. For many people, this day is bittersweet. We’re reminded of our losses. It’s hard to think of transformation.

But dream a little on this All Saints Sunday. If you could create a new life out of the threads that you have, what would you weave? Or would you start again, with different yarns and textures? What is your dream of a renewed life?

Jesus invites us to be part of a Resurrection Culture. We may not always understand how that will work. Some years the taste of ash and salt water seem so pervasive that we may despair of ever tending fruitful gardens of our lives again. But Jesus promises that death will not have the final word.

Hurricane Response

Despite the threat of Hurricane Sandy, we proceeded with our plans to join my parents and my sister's family at my parents' place in Williamsburg.  And despite the first rain bands of Sandy, we went to my parents' church to celebrate Reformation Sunday.

During the church announcements, the pastor reminded everyone that the church had a gas stove and that, as with Hurricane Irene, the church would be available to people.  He reminded people of the wonderful time of fellowship that they'd had with that hurricane:  people arrived to cook the contents of their freezers, which they shared.  While people cooked, they also read, played games, and talked. 

I found myself heartened by this vision of congregants gathering together.  And yet, I also found myself wishing that it didn't take a storm to bring us together in this way.

I know that the days to come will bring us many challenges, especially if we suffered direct impact.  But even if we didn't, there will still be needs that the rest of us can help meet.  If you don't know where to start, the American Red Cross has always been very good at getting resources to where they are needed--today is a good day to make a donation.  ELCA Lutherans have also traditionally done a great job; go here for more information.

Even if we can't spare any money, we can pray.  It's a huge storm, and victims will need our prayers for months to come.  We can pray for the government officials who will need to make decisions.  We can pray for utility workers who will work themselves to exhaustion in the weeks to come.  We can pray for those who have lost everything.  We can pray for those who must make repairs.

We might even send cards, so that people know that we're praying for them.  I remember week after week of clean up and repair after Hurricane Wilma.  One day, we got a prayer shawl from a church in Oklahoma with a card that said they were praying for us.

I cried.  From a distance of 7 years, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit how much it meant to me to know that a church many states away held us in their prayers.  But it meant a lot.  It didn't magically remove the damaged carpet or fix the holes in the roof.  But that knowledge gave me the sustenance to carry on a few more days.  And then a few more days after that.  And then month after month.

So, give money or give prayers or whatever unique opportunities you may have to be of service.  And then, pray a bit more.

Christians and Halloween

Now that we're done with Reformation Sunday, it's time to wrestle with the questions posed by Halloween.  A year ago, I wrote this post for the Living Lutheran site.  I'll post some chunks from it for your reading pleasure below:

"And those of us with a social justice conscience must ask ourselves: Is the best use of our money? Even if you celebrate simply, you’ll likely spend a bundle on candy to give out to trick-or-treaters."

"We could make our decorations. Instead of buying strings of orange lights that come from China, we could buy pumpkins from the local congregation that uses the pumpkin patch to fund education programs, and we could support local farmers when we buy mums, which last until the poinsettias make an appearance."

"As the shadows deepen and the Northern Hemisphere moves to a darker part of the year, we see people battling the gathering gloom by carving pumpkins and lighting candles.


The ghosts of the pagan customs that remain in the way we celebrate Halloween show a yearning to believe that death is not the final answer.

The good news contained in our Christian Gospels reassures us that death will not have the final word."

Ways to Celebrate the Reformation

I first wrote this post several years ago. I think it's worth another look. I thought I'd run it today, Reformation Sunday.  You can celebrate today or wait until October 31, Reformation Day itself. 


How to Celebrate the Reformation

I'm biased. I think the best way to celebrate Reformation Sunday is to go to your local Lutheran church, sing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," and celebrate the Eucharist. Then you could come home, listen to Garrison Keillor's show (if your local NPR station rebroadcasts it at lunch, as mine does), drink some German beer, and take a nap.

Even when I wasn't a member of a church, I've always been intently aware of the liturgical season and the holidays that the Church celebrates. I grew up in a Lutheran family that went to church every time the doors were open--and that included when we were on vacation. So those rhythms imprinted themselves into my brain.

I love to celebrate, and I love that I have additional things to celebrate by being liturgical. But I know that not everyone is good at creating celebrations.

So, for those of you who are on your own this Reformation Sunday, here are some things you can do to celebrate.

--Go to a German restaurant and eat a German meal. Think about Martin Luther, who ate this food. Drink a German beer. Think about Martin Luther, who was not inhibited about the earthly delights.

--As you're drinking that German beer, write your own hymns. Not a musician, you say? Use popular drinking songs as your base! Lutheran legend has it that some of our greatest hymns have tunes that originated as drinking songs. So, the melody is already created for you--write a hymn.

--Not in a songwriting mood? Write your own 95 theses. What do you see as wrong with the Church? Do you have any suggestions? Extra points if you can back them up with Scripture.

--One of the Church's actions that outraged Luther was the selling of indulgences, which he saw as victimizing the poor. We like to think that the modern church has moved beyond the selling of indulgences, but history suggests that we're fooling ourselves. In what ways do you see the Church selling indulgences? Another way of thinking about this question: in what ways does the Church abuse its power?

--If you want to follow in the footsteps of Luther, indulge in some guilt. Luther held himself to some stringent standards, especially in his early life. Think about all the ways you've let God down--and then remember Luther's teaching about grace, and feel better.

--Read the Bible. Rejoice in the fact that you can read it in your own language. Thank Luther for being one of the earliest translators of the Bible into the common language.

--You don't want to worship at a Lutheran church today? Go to a Catholic church. Remind yourself of where you'd be if Luther hadn't started the Reformation.

I'm being a bit facetious with this one. I know that if there had been no Luther, there'd have been others to lead us down the Reformation road.

And in all seriousness, one of my most memorable Reformation Sundays was spent with a Lutheran friend and an Episcopalian friend during our retreat at Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist monastery. We got in touch with Christian roots that are much more ancient than the roots that we usually celebrate during Reformation Sunday.

And another memorable Reformation Sunday was spent on a South Carolina beach with some of my best friends from graduate school. We had a reunion on one of the barrier islands in 2006, 16 years after the last time we'd been together in South Carolina. One friend was raised Southern Baptist and has gone on to find joy in a Unitarian church, but at the time she thought she wanted nothing to do with church. My other friend was very active in her local Church of England congregation, but she felt strongly called to become a Quaker. And I was part of a Lutheran congregation that left me desperate for more spiritual nourishment. We spent that Reformation Sunday talking about our spiritual struggles and our desire to find a group where we felt more at home.

I'm rather startled to reflect that each one of us has found her heart's desire. I give credit to the Reformation process of being able to talk about what we yearn for, about where the Church has fallen short, about being able to have a vision for the future.

Our Reformation Sunday Gospel finds Jesus promising that we will know the truth and the truth shall set us free. The truth can be terrifying and send us hurtling down paths that seem dark and dangerous. At times we may not know whether we're heretics or whether we're struggling to birth something new and inspiring. If we keep ourselves rooted in church traditions, we're less likely to flirt with the heretical. Yet, as the life of Luther reminds us, sometimes there are traditions that have gone completely rotten.

On this Reformation Sunday, I pray for us all to renew the Church the way that Luther did. I pray that God will show us the truth. I pray for us to be set free.

Of Anniversaries, Radical Love, and Sacrament

My parents celebrate their anniversary today: 50 years together!


I think about their marriage as an example of radical hope.  The days leading up to their wedding were also the days of the Cuban Missile Crisis (1962). My dad was a young officer in the Air Force, and up until just about the moment they got married, they weren't sure if my dad would actually be there, or if he might be called back to his unit. In later years, as I've realized how close to nuclear war the world came during that month, I'm amazed that they actually pulled it off--I'm amazed that we're all still here.

My mom and dad have only recently begun to talk about their wedding in the context of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I can't imagine my mom, as a young bride-to-be, planning the last details of her wedding, while watching world leaders huff and puff. She's rarely talked about that.

I can imagine how I would feel: terrified. I might wonder what would be the point of marrying and pretending that life would go on as normal.

And yet, here we are, 50 years later, with life going on as normal. If my parents had cancelled their wedding and lived as if nuclear bombs would rain down at any moment, they'd have spent 50 years living that way. They'd have missed out on the joy of marriage and raising two children. They'd have had no grandson (my sister's boy). They wouldn't have travelled or gone to back to school or had all the joys they've had.

I, too, have been haunted by the prospect of nuclear war, as have many people of my generation and older generations. I've noticed that younger generations just look at me, baffled, when I ask if they worry about the possibility of nuclear war.

Oddly, they're probably more at risk than I ever was. At least when the Soviet Union was intact, we knew where the nuclear weapons were. Now, many of them have vanished--but we know they're out there, somewhere.

In the meantime, I hope that we can all continue to make gestures of wild hope, during these tough times, the way my parents did, during the Cuban Missile Crisis. What would that wild gesture of hope look like, in this time of global warming and pandemic flu?

Love is always such a gesture. To commit to another person, to love others, even though you know they will disappoint you in ways that you can't even imagine--that's a radical act of life-affirming hope. We love, even though we know that all we love will be lost if we live long enough. Even if we don't have the dramatic backdrop of a international standoff that would likely end in nuclear war, to commit to love in the face of all that would erode that love is a such a bold act.

And since this is my theology blog, let me remind us that our best example of married love points us to the love that God has for us; in fact, in some traditions, marriage is a sacrament for just that very reason.

I feel profoundly grateful to my parents for demonstrating the benefits of married love.  I feel grateful to my church for finally widening the marriage circle to include same sex couples who are deeply committed.  I feel that miraculous relief to realize that God loves me in similar ways to my spouse:  both God, my spouse, and my parents have seen me at my worst, and they love me anyway--and more, they believe that I can be better.  And through that belief, I am able to move towards becoming a better human.

Meditation on This Sunday's Narrative Lectionary

The Narrative Lectionary Reading for Sunday, October 28, 2012:

1 Kings 5:1-5; 8:27-30, 41-43


Luke 19:45-46
    King David wants to build a temple, but God doesn't want a temple, so David doesn't.  Here we are, a generation later, and Solomon builds a temple.

We might ask ourselves why humans want to pour so many resources into a building.  Psychologists would likely tell us that its our desire for permanence or maybe it's our desire for safety.  Creativity theorists would tell us that humans have always had these kind of projects; what could be better than a building to design and decorate?

Solomon stops to consider where the nation of Israel has been and what the temple represents.  What interests me most about his prayer is this passage from 1 Kings 8:  "41 ‘Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, comes from a distant land because of your name 42—for they shall hear of your great name, your mighty hand, and your outstretched arm—when a foreigner comes and prays towards this house, 43then hear in heaven your dwelling-place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel, and so that they may know that your name has been invoked on this house that I have built."

I find this idea of the foreigner interesting.  Who is likely to be a foreigner to our churches and temples today?  Someone from a distant land?  Or the people who drive past the buildings every day?

I've been thinking of this NPR story which reports on the actual religious practices of U.S. residents, half of whom say they attend a religious service weekly.  But when researchers look at what people actually do, they found that only 25% actually attend.

In our time, foreigners are likely to be our neighbors.  We might ask ourselves what our buildings tell those foreigners as they zoom by.  Perhaps that idea explains the magnificence of some religious buildings.

We might also ask ourselves what the activities that occur in the church building tell the foreigner.  What values are we promoting through our activities?

We might also ask ourselves what happens should a foreigner actually attend one of our services.  Would they feel welcome?  Would they be able to follow the service?  Will they feel the Divine presence in our midst?

What We Say, and How We Actually Practice Our Faith

Yesterday, NPR ran a great story on what we say about our religious practices and what we actually do.  Below, I've quoted from the story, but it's worth hearing the whole thing.

People in the U.S. report significantly more church attendance than people in other countries:  "You know, by any measure, as you point out, the United States is a significant outlier when it comes to how religious people say they are. You know, virtually alone in the developed world, large numbers of Americans report that they are indentified with a religious faith. Nearly half of all Americans report that they attend church every week - that's every single week, compared to Western Europe, for example, where maybe about 20 percent of people say they attend church."


If you're like me, you go to a church where every attendee can have a whole pew.  And maybe you attend a church where there are many pews left empty.  If all these people go to church, where are they on Sunday morning?

Yes, maybe they go to churches that are more popular than my Lutheran church.

Or maybe the flaw is that these studies are based on people's self-reporting.  And we all know how wrong we can be when we rely on people to tell us honestly what they do.

Yesterday's story posits that maybe people are actually answering a different question:  "The question that asks how often do you attend becomes a question like: Are the sort of person who attends? The respondent hears the question how often do you attend and interprets the question to be: Are you the sort of person who attends?"

You can approach the question of attendance from a different angle and have people keep an activity log or have them take you through their week.  And when you look at activity logs, only 24% of Americans actually attended a religious service last week, according to the researchers in the NPR story.

So, should we be happy about the fact that people think that they want to be people who go to church?  Should we be happy that people still see church activity as something worthy of time?

For me, though, the more important question soon emerges:  how could we make our churches into a place where people actually want to go, not just a place where people think they should want to go?

I suspect I'll spend the rest of my life pondering this question.