A Last Word (Paragraph) on Casting Out the Unclean Spirit

 I've been thinking about Sunday's sermon--no, not this Sunday's sermon, but last Sunday's, on Jesus and the unclean spirit that he cast out.  I'm pleased with how I ended the sermon:

Jesus gives us a new commandment to love each other, and he shows us that one of the surest ways to do that is to actively invite one and all to the table to share a meal together. In this time that seems full of devils that try to drive us all apart, let this be the year that fight the forces of evil in all the ways that we can. We may not be able to cast out demons as decisively as Jesus did, but we have power in our possession, power by being possessed by Christ and filled with the Holy Spirit, a power so simple that it can’t be taken away from us, a power that miraculously moves beyond what human knowledge can understand, a power that prevails.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, Feb. 4, 2024:

First Reading: Isaiah 40:21-31

Psalm: Psalm 147:1-12, 21c (Psalm 147:1-11, 20c NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Gospel: Mark 1:29-39

Again we see Jesus early in his ministry, which at this point, seems to consist of healing and casting out demons. The issue of rest, or lack of it, speaks to me in the Gospel this week.

Notice that Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law--and what is the first thing that she does? She gets up and serves them. Maybe she shows the appropriate response: what to do with a miraculous healing? Why, cook dinner, of course. But the story reminds me of many female friends I have who will get up from their sickbeds, even when they're burning with fever, to do things for the family, like cooking dinner or doing the laundry. What's behind this busyness?

Also this story faintly foreshadows the story of Mary and Martha. Martha can't stop her frantic rushing around, getting the meal ready. Mary takes time out of daily tasks to listen to Jesus.

Look at Jesus, later in the chapter. He's been on a whirlwind tour of preaching and healing. He gets up early in the morning, "a great while before day" (verse 35), and he retreats. He goes to a lonely place.

It's getting harder and harder to find lonely places. In graduate school, I used to get up at 4 in the morning to get some writing done--it was wonderful, because all the stores were closed at that hour, everyone slept, and because we couldn’t afford cable, there was nothing on TV--no distractions, in other words. I still often get up early to enjoy the lack of distraction.

We could learn a lot from Jesus--turn off the TV, don't answer the phone, disconnect from the Internet, stop our busy chasing after we don't even know what anymore. In short, we need to go to a lonely place.

Notice, too, that Jesus doesn't just flop on a rock and zone out. Jesus spends his down time praying. He uses this Sabbath Time to get in touch with God. We daydream about a lot of things to recharge our batteries: trips to a spa, a super vacation, early retirement. But the way Jesus shows us is simplicity incarnate.

God calls us to a servant's destiny. We are put on earth to be of service to others, doing the same things that Jesus did: preaching, feeding, teaching, healing. People who scoff at the idea of service often fail to understand what wonderful community can be formed during these times of service. Through our service and community building, we become more connected, which heals us—and the world—in all sorts of ways.

But God doesn't expect us to do these things without periods of rest. We need times of retreat, even if we can only schedule short times. We need times of prayer. We need time to listen for God, because the cries of the needy can drown out the still, small voice of God. We need time to refresh, and the easiest way to renew ourselves for the tasks ahead is to pray. The world, with all its aching yearning, will still be there after we emerge from our time of retreat.

Winter Weather Inspirations

When we left the house yesterday morning, we thought we'd stay for the covered dish dinner after the worship service at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  But as we approached the higher elevations at 7:45 in the morning, snow started to swirl.  On the other side of the mountain, in Bristol, it wasn't snowing, but the forecast called for rain to turn to snow in the early afternoon, so we decided not to stay for lunch.

On our way back across the mountains, I was surprised by how much snow had stuck to the ground and the trees while we were in Bristol.  The roads were still in good shape, wet, yes, but not frozen.  I was glad we had decided to get back earlier than planned.  The higher elevations were under a winter storm warning, so it was good to get up and over earlier rather than later.

Later, I tried to sketch what I had seen. As with last year, the first glance of a winter landscape looks like variations of gray and black to me, but when I look closer, I see lots of browns, along with some deep greens and burgundies.  I continue to try to capture what I see, but both my skills and my art supplies (Copic markers) are inadequate.

In many ways, it's much more fun to take the longer view (and to take more time):

Last week, I tried to sketch the winter sky, as it shifted from blue to snow, and I thought I had failed.  I was happy to look at my sketchbook last night and like this picture more than I remembered:

A goal for my sketching practice for this year is to include snippets of observations that might become poems.  Here's one of my favorites so far (the sketch itself doesn't photograph well):

Squirrels scamper

across the spines of winter trees.

Skeletons of past springs.

Sunset coming, cold winter sky.

Soon I will bundle up and head out for a different kind of inspiration, the kind that comes from a walk in the winter landscape.  It's the kind of day that will be windy and cold all day, so I may as well go early before I can talk myself out of it. 

Scattered Saturday

Despite having had a good week, I feel a bit scattered today.  Let me collect a few thoughts and see if they cohere:

--A week from tomorrow, I need to have a 1-2 page bibliography for my Environmental History of Christianity class, so this morning, I did some library/online searches.  I've gone from being afraid that I might have no sources to being afraid that I have too many sources--and afraid that any ideas I have may have been done to death already.

--In that class, I could avoid a big paper by being part of a small group that would meet by way of Zoom periodically (4-6 times for the term) and discuss other works.  I think I prefer to write the paper.  The small group might be wonderful, but I really need the flexibility of an asynchronous class.  I don't want to have to commit to a Zoom session--and frankly, I don't have as much time as I once would have for a scheduled meeting.

--Today I need to plan for the PowerPoint I need to create for Thursday.  Tomorrow at church, I'll need to take some photos.  Here's the assignment:

Create an upload a 10-15-slide “Show and Tell” PowerPoint/Canva (or any software of choice) presentation introducing your worshiping tradition/s, both past and current.

It needs to have images and/or videos, and it needs to cover baptism and communion and what worship spaces look like.  So I need to make sure I have some images.

--Yesterday I went for a mid-afternoon walk in shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and returned home very sweaty.  Yes, I returned home sweaty on the last Friday afternoon in January.

--I saw this article in The New York Times and thought the title would make a great line for a poem:  What do you call a galaxy without stars?

We have lots of rain in the forecast today, so let me bring this writing to a close and head out for my walk.  The weather conditions aren't likely to be better later.  I'm pretty sure I won't return home sweaty this morning.

January: The Cruelest Month or the Comfort Month?

 Whoever said that April is the cruelest month was wrong--or he lived in England.  I do realize that T. S. Eliot is the one who first penned the line.  However if you Google the line because you want to be sure that you're remembering where it was in "The Waste Land," you'll discover all sorts of trivia, like that it was a title for an episode of Beverly Hills 90210.

No, I think that January is the cruelest month, where it seems that winter has settled in to stay, like a tenant who is at first happy to live at discounted rates in your cottage, but then begins to complain about things you can't possibly fix.  Or about things you dread fixing.  Or maybe the metaphor doesn't work at all.

My spouse and I were talking about January weather.  We are expecting highs near 70 degrees tomorrow.  The temps will be high for January, in part, because of the thick cloud cover that keeps the January heat from escaping.  I would rather have cloudy warmth than cold sunshine, but my spouse is the opposite.  That's not accurate either.  My spouse really missed the warmth and sun of South Florida.

I thought of January cruelty yesterday when I went in to give blood so that the lab could check my health.  Happily, the phlebotomist was wonderful--no cruelty in that needle stick. 

It's January when so many of us bump up against the reality of the riotous living we've enjoyed at the end of the year.  It's January when we try to get back on track.  Cruel, cruel January.

Or maybe I need to reshape my thinking.  Maybe January is the month that reminds us of the better selves that we want to be.  Maybe January is the comfort of the loved ones (human and pets) who always welcome us back with open, loving arms.

Yesterday, after writing an e-mail commiserating about the harsh reality of January, I finished an e-mail this way:

"But know that health can be regained. And it's easier to regain health than it is if one had never been healthy and suddenly needed to adopt healthier habits. The body remembers and wants to be of service to us. Spring will be here soon--resurrection is not only possible, but assured."

May it offer hope to us all.

Thinking about Bonhoeffer and Our Current World

 Last night, we watched the 2003 documentary Bonhoeffer.  I needed to watch it for Systematic Theology class on Thursday, and I wanted us to watch something other than the Court TV kinds of shows that have consumed my spouse lately.  I found it riveting, although it wasn't unfamiliar material to me.  Let me collect some thoughts that might not have cohered into a focused essay:

--I wrote this Facebook post:  "Watching a Bonhoeffer documentary for my Systematic Theology class, wondering about New Hampshire primary results, about past being prologue, about history not repeating but rhyming, -- and feeling really intrigued by this new seminary community that Bonhoeffer was creating before the Nazis shut it down. It's not new info to me, but feels newly pertinent."

--I know that I'm predisposed to focus on this topic, but I was surprised by how often Bonhoeffer thinks about how to create/protect community.  I know, I know, he wrote a whole book called Life Together.  It made me wonder what advice he would have to give us now as our communities seem to be torn into bloody tatters.

--Long ago, I read Life Together, but it wasn't what I expected or wanted.  I should revisit it.

--I used to be very judgmental about the churches who tried to keep themselves safe by signing agreements with Hitler or by living in ways that deflected attention.  I now have more sympathy for those impulses, that idea that if we can just survive, that is not something to discount.  I don't get the idea that all of those churches/pastors/leaders were antisemitic, so much as I think they wanted to save their skins and live until the danger was past.  I am not sure that all of those people knew what was going on, but I am no longer as sure of that.

--I had either forgotten or had never known that Bonhoeffer's group tried to kill Hitler more than once.  I thought that there was a botched attempt, which exposed them all and sent them to concentration camps.

--Before they were arrested the family had devised a way of communicating with themselves in prison.  They were allowed to have books, so the person sending a message would put a small dot under a letter every few pages.  With these messages, they could keep track of what they were telling officials.

--They were tortured/interrogated, which Bonhoeffer's father said he feared more than death.

--I am also intrigued by the seminary that Bonhoeffer created.  Did he do something radically different?

--I was struck by how much Bonhoeffer traveled, especially as war efforts amped up.

--I thought about my college years, in 1983 and 1984 where I first heard about Bonhoeffer.  He seemed like one of the fathers of the Church, like Luther and Calvin, and it's sobering to realize that he hadn't been gone very long, 40 years, when I first heard about him.

--His theology seems much more severe, which makes sense, given what he was facing.  My thoughts circle back to the question of evil, and how evil moves in the world.  Those historic films of all the people cheering Hitler--so sobering, even when they're not unfamiliar.

--I'll be interested to see how we use Bonhoeffer's work in Systematic Theology.  Much of the course focuses on Jurgen Moltmann, who my professor says is the most important theologian of the 20th century.  Will the works speak to each other? 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, January 25, 2024:

Deuteronomy 18:15-20
Psalm 111
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Mark 1:21-28

What on earth are we to make of this Gospel? Here we see Jesus casting out demons, an act which might make us modern folks very uneasy. We don't believe in evil spirits, do we?

Do we?

In her book, Preaching Mark, Bonnie Bowman Thurston points out that the person who had demons was cast out of the worshipping community, and thus away from the presence of God. She encourages us to wonder what "demons" separate people from our worshipping community today.

We might broaden our scope to think about what “demons” separate people from their larger communities in general. We might turn our analytical skills back on ourselves. What separates us, as individuals, from the communities of which we yearn to be part?

For some of us, it is that we just do not feel worthy. In her book High Tide in Tucson, Barbara Kingsolver describes her childhood as a child who read a lot; as a consequence, she says she’s often surprised as a grown up to find that people really do want to be friends with her. Many of us suffer from the kind of low self-esteem that might be described as a demon plaguing us.

Or maybe we don’t want to be part of any of the societies we see around us. Maybe we’re turned off by the values which can be so different than ours. Maybe we’re surrounded by mean people, by greedy people, by people who do not want the best for us. It’s not a far stretch to describe some of the larger communities in our world as demon possessed; evil does seem to be in charge.

For many of us, the issue is time. We’re increasingly overburdened by our to-do list. For those of us still lucky enough to have jobs, we’re likely doing not only our work, but the work of those who have been fired or not replaced. We work longer hours, and then we have family commitments, and our possessions need attention. We never have much down time, even when we sleep or go on vacation. We may feel tormented by demons who never leave us alone, who bedevil us so much that we cannot think.

For many of us, those demons are our electronics. Many of us are possessed by our smart phones, by our Internet ramblings, by all the things which promised to connect us (the demon seduction) but that leave us with so little time to make real connections with that which would bring us joy.

For this week, let us think about all of our personal demons and all of our societal demons. Let us decide how we will attempt to cast them out. As a church, what can we do to minister to those afflicted? As individuals, can we be doing more to reach out to those who, for whatever reasons, feel on the outside of our communities?

When my mother-in-law was sick in the hospital, the hospital had us wear visitor stickers on our shirts. Sometimes I would forget that I was wearing mine, and I'd go to the grocery store. I noticed that people treated me more kindly. That sticker showed that I wasn't having a normal day.

We should go through our lives, seeing our fellow humans as wearing similar stickers that show their need for our gentle treatment. Think of what a different world we would inhabit if all people of faith made gentle treatment of their fellow humans a daily practice. Think of how those demons would be diminished.