The Kingdom Call: Unity of Opposites

Psalm 148

I am usually uncomfortable with so much praising - seeing it as an outgrowth of imperial or kingly court influence or overlay on the religious devotion of the people, an attempt to transfer awe and allegiance of God to the king or emperor. So I found this particular psalm difficult to approach.

That being said, I can certainly appreciate the idea that the whole universe ought to appreciate the source of creative growth, stand in awe at the wondrous complexity and endurance, the fragility and perserverance of life and crystals and the atomic numbers on the periodic table of elements.

(I did find it entertaining when the psalmist spoke of the "waters above the heavens" [4] and "sea monsters" [7]. It reminds me that, yes, this an historical document reflecting a particular time and understanding, much of which I cannot share. And it reminds me to be generous in my reading.)

But something started to come together in verses 9 through 12. Fruit trees and cedars, wild animals and cattle, creeping things and flying birds, kings and people, women and men, young and old. These are all pairings of populations that compete with one another. Each of these is clearly distinct from the other and often vies for power and prosperity, sometimes for survival. Yet in this psalm they are united, singing with one voice, in praise of something greater than they. Herein lies the crux: God unifies disagreeing parties, and those who would praise God must join their voices with their enemies' if they would send a pleasing sound. This is the kingdom of God, Zion: unity in the face of division, diversity in the face of competition and forces that would wipe out diversity, holding all things sacred - especially our enemies and victims and those who oppose us (and whom we oppose). The wolf shall lie down with the lamb, and a little child shall lead them. (Isaiah 11:6)

Worship of God necessarily includes reconciling with our enemies, with our resources, with our sources of sustenance... with all creation, starting with what we most violently oppose or exploit.

And that is truly worth the whole world's praise.

Precedents and Overtures

Jesus' Childhood Casts a Shadow
Luke 2:41-52

Luke loves childhood stories of Jesus, and I for the longest time held this against him, assuming that therefore his Gospel was the most fabricated, most hypothetical of the synoptics. But I feel a change in the winds of my heart, and I turn to Luke anew - recognizing the style and literary intent in the narrative, and relating more to the Lucan conception of Jesus' role in salvation than of any other Gospel. So I look again at this story as part of Luke's sensitivity to Greek style and storytelling.

The purpose of relating that Jesus' family travels every year to Jerusalem is to establish their piety and credibility as faithful followers of the Jewish spiritual laws. Jesus' family is above reproach, despite their low estate. This could be foreshadowing of Jesus' trip(s) to Jerusalem, particularly during the Passover feast and his subsequent passion. And I find myself compelled to see it as a literary indulgence, rather than an accurate description of Jesus' family - among other questions, there is the economic possibility of making pilgrimage every year and during the most expensive time of year for travel to Jerusalem at that. Even so, the purpose is clear: Jesus' childhood was steeped in the rich tradition of the Jewish faith, and Jesus was clearly an exemplary Jew (if a somewhat insensitive child), excelling in the intellectual and spiritual exercises that were held in such high esteem by Jew and Gentile alike - an eager student of tradition and wisdom, with a keen mind of his own and the confidence and articulateness to respectfully and insightfully question his elders.

Luke also loves significant numbers - Jesus was twelve years old, and his parents looked for him three days. Could this be foreshadowing of the passion narrative? His parents, those who loved him but did not understand him, felt like they lost him - he'd disappeared from their sights, couldn't be found in all the usual places, and they were anxious (and probably confused and angry, too). And after three days he was found again, in the Temple no less, still about his Father's interests. (Is this what Luke is referring to when he says: "But [his parents] did not understand what he said to them"? [50])

And then, making sure not to push the precociousness of Jesus too far, not to make him too disobedient or difficult, Luke makes sure to note that he then returned with his parents and obeyed them thereafter. We don't hear of him again until the appearance of John the Baptist and the beginning of Jesus' conversion and career. But the precedent has been set - Jesus will disobey authority in the service of God, Jesus will break the rules when seeking the truth and when learning and teaching about God's will and Rule. And, it can be extrapolated, Jesus will be so focused on learning and teaching about God that he goes homeless for several days, and isn't particularly concerned about food or security. Another overture to his later life?

Jesus here is an intent student of God, and he seeks knowledge and wisdom from the traditional authoritative sources. Luke uses this as a preface to Jesus' preaching: Jesus is fulfilling the Law, not destroying it. Jesus is a good Jew, and the fact that he was born into that community is significant. Luke is going to great lengths to show that Judaism is the fertile soil from which sprang the fullness and truth he relates in his Gospel.

Let the Peace of Christ Rule

Col. 3:12-17 (l)

This is a great passage. I hardly have anything to say - except how poorly I put it into practice, and how much I need to work on that.

Some time ago, when I first started exploring "MySpace", I was interested in a "Christian" discussion group. I put Christian in quotes because the group was so large that there were many people of various Christian stripes - including virulently judgemental, hyprocritical, condescending, and self-righteous ones who insisted on abusively attacking anyone who didn't see the world and gospel precisely as they did (even if the topic being discussed had nothing to do with any complaint they could bring). (You can see I still have some hard feelings about this.) So I put Christian in quotes because they would call themselves "Christian", but I could see precious little of whatever I would consider Christian in their behavior or thoughts. For me, Christianity is an embracing, empowering, encouraging gospel that pushes the boundaries and makes us re-evaluate our parochial interests. I go the impression that, for one vocal person in particular, Christianity was an exclusive, fixed, condemning thing that demanded obedience rather than love.

So when I first read this scripture - speaking of dealing with others in meekness and patience, forgiving each other, and above all clothing ourselves in love - I thought I should have quoted this as a defense against this young man's attacks. I considered emailing the scripture to him, in lieu of a demand that he deal with others more kindly, and by way of a demand that he apologize and treat me more kindly. Aha, I thought, another scripture to use against him!

And then, as it tends to do, the scripture turned on me. Have I forgiven this boy? Have I given up my complaint against him who wronged me? Am I clothing myself with humility - not assuming I know what's best for him or others? Am I clothing myself in love? Is the Peace of Christ ruling in my heart? I must re-evaluate myself in this encounter with the scripture.

I have a tough time with forgiveness, generally. At least, when it takes me unawares. If I'm prepared for being wronged, I can be quite generous. But if it surprises me, I find myself unwilling at some level to let it go. I need to work on this.

So even if I'm not at the point of thanking God for the arrogance and cruelty of this boy in his offence against me, I can be thankful that I am still challenged by the gospel in transformation. Thank God for the scripture turning on me - making me realize how much I yet need to clothe myself with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience.

Faithfulness and Service

1 Samuel 2:18-21

This snippet is put immediately following a description of the high priest's wicked sons - how they exploited their positions of power and stole from those who came to sacrifice at the Temple. Presumably, this description of the crimes and shortcomings of the priestly family is inserted into the narrative of Samuel's early life in order to contrast with the piety of Samuel's family. Despite obvious hardship, every year Samuel's father and mother, Elkinah and Hannah, come to offer annual sacrifice. Every year, the scripture says, Hannah makes a little robe for young Samuel to wear in his ministrations at the Temple.

Instead of taking from those who come to sacrifice (flying in the face of the sacredness of the event), as Eli's sons do, Hannah herself brings more to offer to the Temple so that others would not have to provide this additional support for Samuel's ministry.

The obvious lesson and nobility in both sacrificing for the work of God and treating people fairly (even generously) is clear. The obvious farce of so-called priests treating both penitents and their sacrifices with contempt and greed is also clear. I'm amazed that this has remained in the Bible, edited all the while by priests and priestly scribes, who would have served themselves well to have merely omitted it. Perhaps the truth is too difficult to avoid - there are those who would abuse their position, turn a position of servanthood into mastery, we know all too well. And we would do well to be wary of such abuse. Even the halls of God are no match for the pervasive greed of human hearts.

But there is also room for praise here, too. These priests and scribes who could have been self-serving and edited out this lesson (taken it out of the text, but surely not out of people's ongoing experience), didnt. They served the people and God in their honesty and truthfulness - even self-critical truthfulness (oftentimes the most important truthfulness there is).

However intriguing the preceeding verses are, the lectionary selection focuses on Samuel's family and their faithfulness. Elkinah and Hannah are blessed by Eli, the high priest, for their faithfulness and for the service of Samuel at the Temple. Now, the blessing comes in the form of more births and children by Hannah, revealing the Priestly "piety-prosperity principle" (that is: the pious and faithful are rewarded with propserity in this life - if someone has riches, therefore, that is proof of their favor in God's eyes, while someone who is poor is poor because they have sinned in some way.) The piety-prosperity prinicple is patently contradictory to experience - sometimes good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people, and personal wealth is no reliable indicator of spiritual piety. (This is discussed at some length in the book of Job.)

While tossing out the peity-prosperity idea, we can look at the blessings that did come to Elkinah and Hannah - they had more children. Look at what happens: they have a child and consecrate it to the service of God, and find themselves with more children - and their faithfulness and response to God is all the greater. Apart from the agrarian praiseworthiness of having lots of kids (which doesn't necessarily translate into our urban, ecologically-minded lifestyles), there is another lesson here: our responses to God's call to serve beget more opportunities to serve.

Instead of something like paying ones taxes - where once you pay, it's paid (hopefully) - God's response to our faithfulness is to ask more of us, give us more opportunity to respond. Serving God faithfully is like a descending spiral: once you start to give in, you find yourself sucked in more and more, feeling strangly compelled to do more and more things that you wouldn't have expected yourself to do (and that certainly don't jive with the rest of your surrounding culture). Responding to God is the first step on a journey you have no idea where it will end.

In Remembrance of Mercy

Mary's Song of Praise (Luke 1:46-55)
part four (v 54)

"God has helped God's servant Israel, in remembrance of God's mercy..."

I am tempted to talk about loving one's enemies - but that comes too quickly to my heart.

This comes in the context of describing the salvic acts of God, three "revolutions" being ushered in through the birth of Jesus: a moral one (v 51) where arrogance and pride are overturned, a social one (v 52) where class and station are erased, and an economic on (v 53) where the dispossessed are lifted up and the rich are taken away from. This is a lot of upsetting happening here! This is the context of God's mercy, this is God's mercy?

It certainly won't be "merciful" toward the rich and powerful - unless we stretch the meaning of "mercy" to include "liberating" the rich and powerful of the chains of their riches and power. (This is a legitimate reading, of course, but something in it seems stretched thin to me.)

Perhaps God's mercy is the setting-right of social relations. God's mercy are those forces and acts that put us in right relation to other people (and, more broadly, to all life). "Sin" and "evil" thus would be those forces and acts that put us in wrong relation to others: economic inequality, arrogance, nationalism, capitalism, property, style and fashion, and so on, ad infinitum. Or perhaps God's mercy is God's will or wish that we should live in right relations with each other - and our acts are our remembrance of that mercy. (Is there a difference between God's will and God's acts?)

God's mercy, it seems to me now, is God's will for us to be in right relations with each other and the confidence that right relations are both possible and certain in the future. We speak of these things with such confidence that we speak of them as if they've already happened, even though they clearly have not (have only begun?). This has been the ongoing story of the children of Abraham - to which the verse makes reference - and is the story we take up in our discipleship of Jesus.

Social and economic justice are the hallmarks of God's Rule and Mercy. God does not forget this, and neither should we - especially on this very special occasion.

Pride Resisting the Fall

Mary's Song of Praise (Luke 1:46-55)
part three (v 51)

"God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts"

We proud, who believe we know better, who hold our own opinion so dear, who stand so tall with conviction, who are certain we know who God is and what God wants, and trust those voices on "our side". We are destined - over and over again, it seems - to be scattered in the thoughts of our hearts. God is the source of confusion here. ("There is a confusion that brings death, and a confusion that brings life.")

When we are proud and arrogant, we take ourselves very seriously, hold ourselves as more valuable, knowledgable and noble than others. We must be broken down in this. Our hearts must be disturbed, our thoughts upset, our certainty shaken, our self-importance crumbled - and this is not an easy or pleasant thing to bear. It is better, of course, to start it at one's own hand - approach and pray and open oneself to change. But it is inevitable, so the scripture attests, for all the proud, and for some it will be difficult indeed. For me, too....

I'd say I am more proud than most, but I wonder if that declaration of above-average suffering is itself a mark of pride, of thinking that I am somehow exceptional, if even in my sinning. Suffice it to say I am proud, and it is a struggle for me. I forego some honors, and yet I love honor and miss it when it passes me by. I lose some games, and yet I seem to lose my temper when I lose without my consent. I can be self-deprecating, but do not allow others to be so critical of me. These are ways I struggle with my pride.

Thankfully, I have been given good friends, who both accept me and are secure enough in our friendship to offer criticism. They honor me with their friendship, but do not let that honor stand too high, or make it exceptional - we all honor each other so. And I lose more games than I win, to be sure, and they love me regardless of my reactions, and invite me to play again. (And also my occasional victories are not made too much of, either.) We are all self-deprecating, but all in a context of love and ultimate respect. Whatever shortcomings I am reminded of, I am reminded of them in the context of a loving, enduring frienship. These close friends make me a better person. They are a more compassionate and slow hand of God, working with me mercifully, and investing in me some measure to work with them.

I must be open to the scattering of my thoughts - not hold too tightly to even my firmest convictions - and trust in a God of love that will restore my spirit and thoughts to right. I am already a changed person from who I was five years ago. But it would be prideful to think that I do not have more change awaiting me.

Mercy is for those who fear...

Luke 1:46-55, part 2 (esp. v 50)

This is a tough scripture for me. I don't like the idea of a God who likes people to fear it, or rewards such a dysfunctional relationship. Respect, fine. Honor, great. Love, even better. But fear? It sounds too much like the popular God-as-abusive-father image that I hear too often. My God isn't that - and certainly wouldn't be a god worth respecting or honoring. (If all God wants is fear, then that's what God gets from people predisposed to praise a scary God. Less generous parts of me say: leave them to it, if that's what they want.)

But perhaps I'm letting myself be taken in by the popular image to start off with. Am I reading that verse already thinking that I know what it means - the same thing I see scared-of-God people doing? Perhaps I misunderstood the line.

"God's mercy is for those who fear God from generation to generation."

Could it be that God laments the fact that some fear God? That God feels bad for those who fear? Perhaps this is a prelude to the Beattitudes - blessed are the poor and those who mourn. Jesus wasn't saying we should kill our loved ones so that we would mourn more. Jesus was saying something about God's relationship to those who suffer. Is Luke giving a pre-echo of that here? God's mercy is for those who fear God - God doesn't want people to fear God, but God extends God's mercy and compassion toward those who can't help but fear, who have been taught to fear or who have experienced such uncertainty or lack of love that a terrible God is more real to them than a loving and present one. God's mercy is for those so close and yet lost to God.

There is mercy everywhere, it seems. Even here in fear.

My Soul Magnifies the Lord

Mary's Song of Praise (Luke 1:46-56, esp. v 47)
part one

My soul magnifies the Lord. Can the Absolute be magnified? Can the Ultimate be made larger? What does it mean for my soul to magnify the Lord?

I'm thinking of a child holding a magnifying glass up to an insect (hopefully away from direct sunlight) - the child's increased vision doesn't change the insect at all, it doesn't even necessarily change the child at all - they are both what they were before, in the same relationship they were in before. But something has changed. The child's focus has changed, her vision has narrowed and intensified for a moment. To her extraordinary details come to light, subtleties she was not aware of, complexities and (dare I say) beauties become manifest. A new world opens up to her - a world that was always there, paralleling her own, but that in her hurry and self-centeredness she never noticed before. All it took was a look through a magnifying glass, and she was shocked into seeing a whole new world.

Is this what Mary meant when saying "my soul magnifies the Lord"? Of course, she may have been just emoting, just expressing her feelings of closeness to the Spirit, of exaltation, in being chosen, in having a baby. But the expression "my soul magnifies" seems subtly important.

Can our persons, our souls, act as a magnifying glass for God? Can we focus people's vision on finer details of a world of which they may not even be aware? And how can we do this?!

If we look to Mary's experience, her magnification comes in the context of her joy. Upon arriving at her aunt's house and feeling the welcome there, Mary is surely relieved and begins to overcome her fear of social rejection, and allows herself to feel the joy of new motherhood. And there is also confidence - more than hope (but less than certainty, for what mother thinks of certainty) - a confidence that she will raise a fine son and that he will do good things. Mary magnified the Lord when her soul was filled with joy and confidence.

Confidence in God's workings in the world - that justice and peace will someday prevail, that economic and spiritual relations between people will someday be equal and nourishing, that those in need will have theirs met, and that there will be mercy. Mercy. Mercy and blessedness.

Oh, that we all could be filled with such joy and confidence. We might just be able to change the world. And wouldn't that magnify the Lord.

John's Advice: Behavior Change

Luke 3:7-17 (part two)
(esp. vv. 12-14)

When asked what they need to do in the face of judgment, John tells the crowd they must do acts of justice. His two examples are of equal distribution of resources: coats and food - the one with two coats must give to her who has none, the one with food must give to him who has none. And then specific kinds of people come up to him, asking for advice: tax collectors and soldiers.

(Surely, Luke is at least partly interested in setting the literary stage here: tax collectors and soldiers as populations reviled in an occupied Palestine, one group within the religious community and the other entirely outside Abrahamic culture. They approach John, as later they will encounter Jesus. So this vignette with John may serve partly as foreshadowing for the rest of the Gospel. But my interest right now isn't the literary role of these two classes of people.)

What grabs and unsettles me this morning is verses 12-14, John's answer to the tax collector and soldier. The tax collector asks, and in reply John says merely "collect no more than the amount proscribed to you." And to the soldier he says: "do not extort money from anyone by threats... and be satisfied by your wages." A verse earlier John is saying we should redistribute resources and wealth equally among all, which would seriously upset the social/political/economic structures of his time, and then he gives permission for people to continue to participate in those same unequal structures but not use them for their own unfair gain.

I'm certain that my labor background is making me balk at the idea of advice to a soldier being "be satisfied with your wages." That is, honestly, the last thing I'd tell a soldier. There are so many other things I'd rather them do, including dissatisfaction with their wages (who can pay one enough to kill?), not to mention the larger implication of telling workers anywhere to be satisfied with their wages (setting them up for perpetual and abhorrent exploitation at the hands of their employers!).

There is the obvious context to those sentences: John is telling them they should deal more fairly with the people they meet - don't take advantage of them despite your ability to do so, your station is not to be lorded over people. This is a good message in itself, but is hardly comprehensive.

Perhaps this is where Luke plans on having Jesus pick up the baptist's message and bring it closer to fulfillment. Luke might be wanting Jesus to take John's message of "not abusing your unequal station" a step further, to one of "abandon your unequal stations because their very existence treats people unfairly." Jesus' ministry is preluded by John's message.

John says he baptizes with water, while another will baptize with the Spirit. John begins people with a physical act, calling them to mere behavioral changes in the face of abject inequity. Jesus will be calling them to change the way they think about the world and themselves, calling them to more than behavioral changes, calling them to spiritual transformation.

So often we substitute fundamental spiritual change with superficial behavioral changes. We spend a holiday serving at the soup kitchen and somehow manage to come out unchanged but thinking well of ourselves. We give a set amount of our money to church or charity, but give no thought to how we earned that money (was it a Christ-like activity?) or that the very existence of monied interests represents unequal distribution of resources and power. It seems we'd all rather be disciples of John the Baptist - just needing to change our behavior a little bit, still being able to go about our lives participating in all kinds of structures and activities that in themselves perpetuate inequality, but as long as it is the structure's fault and not our own, then we have no problem facing judgment! We'd rather not really listen to Jesus' message that participation in these unequal mechanisms is itself unholy. We must be changed through and through, to give us the vision and resolve necessary for discipleship.

"Be satisfied with your wages..." is half-assed advice, which is why it falls on the lips of John and not Jesus.

Judgment and Justice

Luke 3:7-18 (part one)

These verses are a strange mix of judgment and justice.

John the Baptist warns people not to flee from judgment, but to perform acts that will stand them well. John uses the word "repentance" - which is always key, since repentance isn't something like feeling sorry or regretful, the Greek word is "metanoia", "change one's way of knowing."
Don't believe, John warns, that other qualifications will save you - and although John speaks of using the lineage of Abraham as cover, it brings to my mind those who use the name of Jesus as cover. Christians that claim that merely confession of Jesus' name and belief in him as some sort of supernatural savior will "save" them, these Christians seem fundamentally misguided. There is no "name" or label or single confession that saves, but acts of justice in the context of a changed heart and mind that "save." This is the point of John's claim that only trees that bear fruit will remain standing.

I don't like the undertone of vengeance and violence, but I do like the overall message. The crowd asks John: what do we do? And his response is fabulous: whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise. Yee-freakin-hah.

While I want to talk about the "justice" verses, I'm feeling led to tarry with the judgment ones for a while. Indulge me.

God is able to raise up children of Abraham, so being one won't save (v 8) - in other words, since God can bring it about, it isn't really that important for our salvation. A possible midrash of this might be that we are able to do (called to do?) what God is not necessarily able to do - that is, make people (ourselves) treat others equitably. The axe that is lying at the root of the tree might not be God's "wrath", but the consequences of our own decisions - our choice to live in iniquity (inequality), to refuse to do what God cannot do without us. Those trees that do not bear good fruit (equality and justice) will be consumed by their own fires of greed and selfishness, while those that do bear good fruit will pass on seeds of generosity, sharing, compassion. Of course, we're always a mixed bag when it comes to what we are - what we inherited from those before us, what we've chosen, and what we pass on to others. So it isn't as if our judgment is final or singular. But, too, I suppose, an axe doesn't cut down a tree in one blow, either. In every act we are either chipping away at our roots or planting seeds of hope for the future. Either way, our fate seems certain, but we can pass on to others the possibility of a future time of equality. We are judged now - so that others later might live free.

Why "flannelectio"?

Why not?

But, more seriously, Lectio Divina, the practice of reading and meditating on scriptural passages is an ancient spiritual discipline. A discipline, frankly, I'm not very good at, and could use some practice.

Lectio Divina, isn't often written, and although I certainly could use more time when I don't feel compelled to produce something, I find it helpful in retrospect to come back to lectios I've done before. So I offer this as much to my future self (selves?) as to my own spiritual present.

My task here is to meditate on a scripture - probably one in the upcoming lectionary schedule - and simply reflect on it. Without the more historical research and literary criticism and skepticism that I usually approach texts with. I want this to be a time when I just encounter the text. I don't imagine that I'll not have criticism, or that I won't also at times be surprised and moved. And, in all honestly, there will likely be times when the work doesn't seem all that fruitful at all. But that's the point, I suppose: no pressure to be particularly fruitful... just honestly, thoughtfully, prayerfully engage the text as scripture.

I'd like to offer a prayer at the beginning of this discipline:

Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

(Psalm 19:14)