marriage: what Jesus said and meant (I think)

a biblical reflection, based on Mark 10.2-9, for the 19^th Sunday after Pentecost, October 4, 2015

Some Pharisees, faithful observers of God’s commandments, test Jesus, asking, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” They already knew there was legal precedent. Jesus, also aware, in his typical manner, answered their question with a question, “What did Moses command you?”, compelling them to fess up, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.”[1] Jesus also was mindful of the surrounding patriarchal culture that deemed women to be chattel, viewed marriage as an institution for the preservation of property and inheritance, status and honor, and reserved the right to divorce only for the husband. Reflecting on God’s purposes “from the beginning of creation”, he spoke an inclusive word about the mutual sanctity of marriage: “God made them male and female…and the two shall become one flesh…Therefore, what God has joined together, let no one separate” (my emphases).

Now, before hastening to codify Jesus’ teaching into an unalterable law mandating that there are no grounds for divorce (though, throughout time, there have been societies and communities that have done that), I believe that proper interpretation of scripture involves both understanding what is written and why. The latter, in this case, as I suggest above, pertains to the male-dominated first century world.

Hence, as I read it, Jesus’ word (though eternal also embracing time and culture-centered situational elements) cannot be made to:

• Declare all (including abusive, destructive, manipulative) marriages inviolate and indissoluble; thus,
• Deem all divorced persons irredeemable lawbreakers; or
• Deny the possibility and much less the validity of same-sex marriages (not even Jesus, who walked the earth in a particular day and time, could have addressed a concern that did not exist)

His word is a theological proclamation (“…from the beginning of creation, God…”) with an explicitly spiritual intention (“…the two shall become one flesh”). Jesus declares what marriage is from a heavenly perspective. Not a legal contract meant to assure ownership and inheritance rights and the fluid transfer of property. Although in our world we often make it so. Marriage is a dynamic, organic union where God lives in covenant with two people who, in the oneness of their Spirit-inspired love for God and each other, become for each other and the world an incarnate sign of God’s unconditional love.

[1] See Deuteronomy 24.1-4

“cluelessity” – a sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

a sermon, based on Mark 9.38-50, preached with the people of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Greenville, SC, September 27, 2015

“Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”

Usually Peter is the disciple who demonstrates that spiritual malady of “cluelessity”;[1] a profoundly deeper state of cluelessness. Here, it’s John. (I perceive him as prepping for his later decidedly, embarrassingly less-than-star-appearance with his brother James, who, seeking to best their fellow disciples in claiming places of prominence, ask Jesus “to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.”[2]) John exhibits that humanly inherently stubborn obtuseness that cannot comprehend the theological and ethical dimensions of Jesus’ teaching, verily, his being.

Jesus, journeying to Jerusalem, begins to script the denouement of his story: His do-and-die confrontation with all who reject his proclamation, his presence of the nearness of God’s kingdom of love and justice for all. And John chooses this moment to report to Jesus, at best with mistaken loyalty, “someone’s casting out demons in your name”, and at worst with misguided pride, “who is not following us.”

Us? The disciples? Those models of faithfulness to Jesus and the gospel?

The same disciples, at Caesarea Philippi, for whom Peter spoke when rebuking Jesus for daring to predict his suffering and death?[3] The same disciples, after the transfiguration, about whom a father of a demon-possessed child complained to Jesus, “I asked (them) to cast it out, but they could not”?[4] The same disciples, at Capernaum, who, having argued about who among them was greatest, Jesus had to teach again about the kingdom-value of the unconditional equality of unconditioned servanthood?[5]

Yes, those disciples and I daresay us. Well, to be fair to you, me.

When I look at my life’s record as a follower of Jesus, including the chronicle of my service as a priest in his name, there have been times of greater cluelessity than clarity. Moments when I, paraphrasing the petition of Richard of Chichester, needed to cry, whether aloud or in the murmuring of my soul: Day by day, O, dear Lord, three things I pray: to see thee more clearly, for I don’t. Therefore, to love thee more dearly and follow thee more nearly, I can’t.

So, I take comfort in Jesus’ reply to John: “Whoever is not against us is for us.” A mercifully generous word! Jesus includes among his followers not only those who are for him, all seekers of his word and way, all strivers to do his will, but also those who are not against him, the confused and undecided; a group of which, I confess, I sometimes must count myself.

Even more, I perceive that numbered among those who are not against Jesus are the apathetic and lethargic. This stirs in me a deeper sigh of relief. For, truth to tell, my ability to see, love, and follow Jesus most often is less about confusion and indecision and more about willingness or its lack. Most of the time, I have a fair notion of what it looks like to answer Jesus’ call to deny myself and take up my cross and follow him[6] and to obey his commands to be salt of the earth and light of the world,[7] to turn my other cheek to an offender,[8] to love and pray for my enemies,[9] to renounce practicing my piety before others,[10] to reject judging others,[11] to refuse to worry about my life.[12] Thus, when I do not, again, it is not because I understand not, but rather because I choose not, which is rooted in my sin of self – self-interest, self-attainment, self-enhancement, self-control, self-protection.

And perhaps that’s the point for me and again I daresay for us of Jesus’ following word. His severe denunciation, employing the language of self-mutilation should I, we, in our belief and behavior, prevent another, any other from seeing, loving, following him. For Christian life and labor, vocation and virtue are not, are never about us, but rather always about who we and others are and become in him.

Day by day, O, dear Lord, three things we pray: to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly and follow thee more nearly, day by day.

Footnotes:

[1] One of my original additions to the English language lexicon

[2] Mark 10.35-37

[3] Mark 8.32

[4] Mark 9.18b (my emphasis)

[5] Mark 9.33-35

[6] Mark 8.34

[7] Matthew 5.13a, 14a

[8] Matthew 5.39

[9] Matthew 5.44

[10] Matthew 6.1a

[11] Matthew 7.1

[12] Matthew 6.25

love’s light – a revelation

Early morning, Sunday, September 13, I was stricken – suddenly incapacitated, unable to stand, sweating profusely, my breathing labored and shallow, my consciousness rapidly waning. A terrifying moment. Less for me as I was barely (really, not at all) alert. More, I believe, for Pontheolla who swiftly came to my aid, calling 911, and staying with me from the trip to the ER and throughout the 4-day hospital stay.

After a battery of tests – including an echocardiogram (at the end, the sonographer saying, “You’ll be pleased to know you have a heart and it’s in the right place!” to which I quipped, “I bet you say that to all your patients!”), an examination of my carotid arteries, and a proposed cranial CT scan (to rule out the occurrence of a heart attack or a stroke) – the findings, as far as this medical layperson can discern, is that I experienced the proverbial “perfect storm”; the confluence, the collision of several factors erupting into a health crisis.

Today, continuing to reflect on a revelation that, like a beacon of light, came to me amidst the shadows of my unconscious infirmity, my gratitude deepens.

The revelation? Whether I lived or died, I knew that I was loved. By Pontheolla and our daughter Kristin, and by others. Many others. Loved with an unconditional benevolence I cannot earn and I do not deserve. Loved because and in spite of who I am. Loved in a way so profoundly beatific (though, yes, in this earthly realm, affected by our always limited human capacities) that it mirrors the God who is Love.

As a student of scripture and a Christian, I believe in this love. Many are the moments this love has been made known to me from others and, I daresay, I have shown to others. Still, I am certain that heretofore I did not awaken each morning, rise from rest, walk through the day, and lay down again at eventide with a breath-by-breath awareness of being enveloped by love. I do now.

true greatness

a biblical reflection, based on Mark 9.30-37, for the 17^th Sunday after Pentecost, September 20, 2015

Peter, in response to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say I am?”, answers, “Messiah.” Jesus then teaches his disciples that he is a Messiah without a messianic-complex – his cause, proclaiming God’s kingdom of love and justice for all; his throne of triumph, a cross of crucifixion.

His identity and destiny confirmed, Jesus heads to Jerusalem and his do-and-die confrontation with adversarial authorities. But with every step, his disciples, acting like children, argue about who among them is greatest.

If I was Jesus, I would be hurt and angry that my friends thoughtlessly, selfishly ignored the deadly severity of my need and I would chastise them in the most ungodly language! But if Jesus does that, he, like them, would make it personal – all about him.

Rather, he asks, “What were you arguing about?” I imagine the disciples, again, like children, in mortified silence waiting for one of them to say something. Anything! Even then a frustrated Jesus, with pointed finger and sharper words, might shame them. Rather, in the presence of a child, he, not ignoring their concern, teaches them about greatness: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

An amazing teaching on two counts…

Jesus instructs not by injunction, but observation. He doesn’t say, “You must do this”, but rather, “Life is like this.” Life, as created by God, is more giving than receiving. More caring for others, especially those in need as represented by a child. More justice for all than just us (whoever “us” happens to be in relation to “them”). More radical hospitality than calculated generosity. If we focus solely, even largely on our individual interests, life (which by divine design is not only meant to be, but is relational, communal, mutually beneficial) cannot exist.

Jesus, linking greatness with service, places prestige not within the reach, but in and of the hands of everyone. This also is how life is. Not everyone is materially wealthy or possesses earthly authority or wields worldly power. But everyone everywhere everyday can serve at least one somebody in need, and, therefore, is great.

a 14th anniversary reflection

Today, 9/11, many are the official commemorations and personal observances.

I value the purpose, the power of remembrance to draw us together in solidarity. And therein, I think, is an inherent problem with remembrance. In the renewal of our unity, particularly in response to tragedy, we may be tempted to overlook an essential historical and ethical question: What have we learned? After 14 years, I pray something about forgiveness.

Forgiving. Not forgetting. For who can erase the memory of a grievous wrong? Rather, forgiving as commemoration’s higher art – seeing clearly the wrong and, in enlightened self-interest (knowing the corrosive power of resentment), choosing to forsake the natural human desire for vengeance and the generational nurturance of prejudice.

Remembering the offense and our anguish clarifies for me the necessity of forgiveness and makes forgiveness, when offered, no feeble sentimentality, but a bold deed of mercy toward others and a true act of kindness to ourselves.

Still, forgiveness is easy to say, harder to do, and, at times, impossible. But today, I pray, not unthinkable. For our soul’s health as individuals, a nation, a world is at stake.

Today, as my personal existential and spiritual work, I contemplate repenting and forgiving my excesses. At one extreme, my human susceptibility to the blinding fear and burning anger that demonizes “the other.” At another extreme, the flaccid romanticism that idealizes a universal humanity, encouraging me to ignore the undeniable cultural, ethnic and racial, and religious differences that divide us.

In repenting and forgiving myself, I, with wide-eyed honesty, recognize anew that ours is a dangerous world and I, with a revived heart of hope, will continue to strive to understand “the other” – always seeking to be alert to every opportunity, with open eyes and an open heart, to unfold my arms and unclench my fists and open my hands to all.

carry a cross? part 3 – ok, Jesus, about this “saving” and “losing” life thing!

In my earlier reflections (September 9: carry a cross? part 1 – what it might have meant “back in the day” and carry a cross? part 2 – what it might mean today) I shared first what I believe Jesus meant, and then what the cross might mean today.

In this third and final reflection on Mark 8.27-38 – as hard as I think and feel Jesus’ word about cross-bearing self-denial is to hear and accept (Truth be told, do most of us really want to do that most of the time? Mmmm, probably not!) – I ponder what I consider to be Jesus’ most puzzling teaching, verily, his justification, his discernible proof not only of the essentiality, but the inescapability of self-sacrifice: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

I don’t think Jesus is saying we cannot avoid a selfless life. Last time I checked human nature, mine and that of others, self-interest and, at times, selfishness reside in the very hearts of all of us. We, by virtue of being alive, have, are carbon footprints of undeniably self-focused want and need. So, no, I don’t believe Jesus means to imply that we can’t choose not to live self-sacrificially.

Nor do I think Jesus is offering us an insightful observation or a helpful recommendation: “You know, people, it’d be a good idea if you followed my model of self-sacrifice. Life is nicer and the world is a better place when we, at least, every once in a while, think of others first before ourselves. So, please, give it a try.”

Rather, Jesus is pointing to something greater, truer. Jesus, I think, is saying something about demonstrable, factual existential reality – the way things are, the way things work, the way life and living are designed, verily, the way God creates.

To wit, when I try to save my life (spending most of my attention, effort, energy, focus, and interest on me, my wants and needs, my intentions and actions), I lose my life, becoming, being consumed with fear of scarcity, worry about “tomorrow” (rather than living, being present in “today”), and anxious about whether I’ll get from life, from you what I believe I deserve. When I lose my life for Jesus’ sake, following him in his way of being, and for the sake of his gospel, being love and doing justice with all I encounter, I save my life, becoming, being filled with a resonant sense, a resident spirit of connection with life and the world, with God and you.

“Hey, people,” says Jesus, “just do it! Choose to lose your life and you’ll find it, and, thus, become, be who you already are.”

carry a cross? part 2 – what it might mean today

a biblical reflection, based on Mark 8.27-38, for the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, September 13, 2015

In my earlier reflection (September 9: carry a cross? part 1 – what it might have meant “back in the day”), I shared my view of Jesus’ intent at the moment of his first utterance. Now, I consider the image of the cross as symbol. Does it still work?

In the 1^st century, the cross was an unmistakable symbol of self-sacrifice and denial, suffering and death. In the Roman Empire, crucifixion was a chief, always successful form of capital punishment. When one was crucified, one died. What greater sacrifice could there be than one’s life?

In this post-modern era, I wonder how suitable, workable, meaningful is the cross. A symbol is a symbol because it points beyond itself to a reality (either not visible or easily expressed), conveying its significance immediately and universally. If any of us wonders what does the cross mean or to what reality does it refer or what contemporary daily resonance does it have, then it’s not a symbol, but only two pieces of wood, metal, or stone attached, however artfully, perpendicularly.

Today, we may need something else, something better and more fitting that we can carry for Jesus’ sake. A briefcase or satchel. The ever-popular book bag or backpack fully accessorized with IPhone, IPad, or whate’er our preferred electronic device. Each, more than the cross, is a recognizable and attractive symbol of life in our day and time. Each has a handle, allowing us to carry it conveniently and efficiently. Each as a burden of our own choosing is a more relevant symbol of who we are: purposeful and resourceful, capable and willful.[1]

All musing aside, I still believe in the cross. Precisely because it is a symbol of self-sacrifice and self-denial. And, in that, it represents the lengths to which one might go to gives one’s self to others, truly to give up one’s self for others. And, in that, it is a symbol (though it might be beatified, being made of precious metal, finely carved wood, sculpted stone) of a bloody, tragic death, which was the real result of real engagement with a real world. And, in that, because it is a symbol that reminds us that our lives are to be spent in the service of others. For in losing our lives, we find them – writ large in personality and possibility through our real connection with the real world around us.

Illustration: Crucifixion, Nikolai Nikolaevich Ge, 1894

Drawing: freehand in pencil

[1] For this idea, I am indebted to the writings of theologian Kosuke Koyama (1929-2009)

carry a cross? part 1 – what it might have meant “back in the day”

a biblical reflection, based on Mark 8.27-38, for the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, September 13, 2015

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” What might this – one the best known, oft repeated, regularly preached verses of the New Testament gospel accounts – have meant in the original context of its initial utterance?

For Jesus, the end is near. During his ministry of proclaiming God’s kingdom, the realm, the life of God’s love and justice for all, Jesus encountered open, even violent opposition. Mindful of greater conflict to come, the thought doubtless occurs that he might die for his cause.

I think of Martin Luther King, Jr., and his intuitive awareness of the imminence of his death; giving voice to it on the night before his assassination: “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But…I’ve been to the mountaintop…And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. (But) I may not get there with you.”[1]

So, for Jesus. Thus it is important for him to know what his disciples understand about him: “Who do you say that I am?” Peter speaks for all, testifying to their hope of fulfillment in the coming of the long prophesied, long awaited divine messenger, “You are the Messiah.”

His identity established, Jesus must say more. He is the Messiah, but what kind of Messiah is he? A God-sent liberator who will drive out the occupying, oppressive Roman Empire or something else? The latter. Jesus is a Messiah who will suffer and die.

(This is not good news for the disciples. When I’m in trouble and have a choice between one who will rescue me from my travails or join me in my suffering, I, every time, without hesitation, choose the former. So, the disciples.)

Out of compassion, having uttered this disturbing word, would that Jesus stop here. Yet precisely for compassion’s sake, Jesus tells his disciples what their lives will be like. If he is a suffering, dying Messiah, then they are to live self-sacrificially: “If you want to be my followers, then deny yourselves, take up your cross and follow me.”

Illustration: Cristo abrazado a la cruz (Christ embracing the cross), El Greco, c. 1602 (Museo del Prado, Madrid)

[1] From the sermon, “I See the Promised Land,” delivered at the Mason Temple, Memphis, Tennessee, April 3, 1968 (emphasis mine).

“gladness” & “need” – a Labor Day weekend reflection

This coming Monday, September 7, is Labor Day. Since 1882, America’s annual recognition of workers. I think of Jesus. Not as prophet, teacher, miracle worker, or even Messiah, but as a carpenter. That Jesus was a laborer is a mark of identification with humankind as true and universal as any. I also think of you and me and our vocations.

As a practical and spiritual exercise, I’ve been reflecting on the ordained ministry to which I gave nearly 40 years of my active working life and (though retired, believing that as long as I have breath and strength, there is work to do) through which I continue to serve. Thinking of Frederick Buechner’s notion of calling as “the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need,”[1] I’ve asked myself: What’s my gladness and what’s the world’s need I seek to address?

Looking back on my life of ministry, I believed God called me through a dream…

Fall 1970, I entered college as a political science major; a prelude to law school. Early on, despite the advances of the civil rights era, I experienced acts of racism, both individual and institutional. This deepened my angst and heightened my awareness of the tribulations of others, historically and contemporarily. During my sophomore year, deeply depressed, I struggled between faith and non-belief, praying, asking, demanding: Where is the omnipotent and benevolent God in whom I believed? I adopted as my mantra the words of one of Archibald MacLeish’s characters in his play-within-a-play, J.B.: “If God is God, God is not good and if God is good, God is not God.” If an all-powerful God didn’t bring an end to injustice, then God must not be kind and if God is kind, desiring to end injustice, then God must not be powerful enough to do it.

As Spirit-breath blowing through the mists of my misery, the Reverend Bill Huntley, the college chaplain, invited me to join him for weekly wide-ranging conversations about absolutely anything. Without judgment, he encouraged me to follow my thoughts to their logical and illogical conclusions. To wrestle to find words to express what I thought and felt. To make outlandish pronouncements about how things should be. To cry in anguish without shame. To curse without guilt. To pray in my own language, not relying on words from a book.

At semester’s end, Bill asked, “Paul, have you ever considered ordained ministry?” “Yes,” I replied, “but not seriously.” “Think about it,” he said. I did. This, two years later, led to my senior year vocational paralysis, uncertain whether to attend law school or seminary. Finally, I made a decision to make no decision. I would complete all the applications and whatever institution gave me the most scholarship money would represent the life’s path I would follow!

Then came the dream: I stood behind myself (truly, an out-of-body experience!) at the edge of a precipice gazing into the horizon blanketed by a cloud from which thundered a voice, “You shall go to seminary.”

Awakening with a peace I hadn’t given (and couldn’t give) myself, I reflected on the biblical stories of the God who speaks through dreams and whose shekinah or presence appears as a cloud. This counterbalanced my skepticism that I merely might have heard my unconscious self. Believing it to be God’s voice, I tossed the law school applications. The rest, as it’s oft said, is history.

In the course of that history, I’ve discerned many reasons why I became a priest…

The reality of God, even the mere idea of God inspires me. And the notion of a connection between humankind and all creation with transcendent, yet immanent mystery, which although truly nameless is nonetheless knowable, delights and confounds me. And I want to be with people in the depths of their pains and at the heights of their joys. And I love people. And I love to listen and talk. What better profession could I have pursued than that of pastor and preacher?

This is my Labor Day story. What’s yours? What’s your gladness and what’s the world’s need you seek to address?

[1] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993, page 119.

ephphatha!

a biblical reflection, based on Mark 7:31-37, for the 15^th Sunday after Pentecost, September 6, 2015

Jesus heals “a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech.”

I see much in this story…

About Jesus’ compassion. Taking the man “aside in private,” apart from the intruding eyes of the curious crowd, lessening the possibility of embarrassment. Placing his fingers in the man’s ears, touching the man’s tongue – symbolically speaking an intelligible language that the man might understand.

About the story’s setting. The Decapolis, the region of Ten Towns. A Greek territory. This miracle taking place there signifies that Jesus’ proclamation of God’s kingdom, the realm, the life of God’s justice and compassion is inclusive, meant for all, both Jew and Gentile.

Still, I offer an ostensibly simple observation. Hearing and speaking – in whatever form, significant, primary, necessary aspects of the act, the art of communication – are hard to do.

It’s not easy to hear another person so to understand what is said and, even more, what is meant. Each of us – with family histories and heritages, overarching worldviews and daily working assumptions, aptitudes and interests – perceive and process information distinctly individually. (And given how hard it can be for us to know ourselves, understanding another always is more difficult.)

Yet how often have I, particularly at a time of need when I sought help, marveled that my counselor, pastor, or therapist, family member or friend “simply listened”, and then, if speaking, uttered (not necessarily a profound, but) an unmistakably compassionate word.

Hearing another, speaking to another, understanding and remaining unthreatened as another pours out soul-deep anguish, being secure and unafraid in the face of another’s grave spiritual or emotional need, I believe, all require, demand reverence for the Creator, respect for human nature, and rootedness in one’s own being.

I confess that when I am afraid of my inner self and shadows or caught, trapped in the grip of my needs I cannot welcome and embrace another with much intention and grace. I cannot hear with care or speak with compassion. I become a deaf man with a speech impediment; one whose need for healing is great.

Sometimes I experience the healing voice and touch of Jesus coming through my remembrance (truly my re-remembrance) that my life isn’t all about me, but involves abiding connections with others. That recognition calls me to turn from myself as the center of my universe and to open up again to others around me. Most often, however, my healing comes through a tender, enabling word spoken or an outstretched, embracing hand offered in love; that word, that touch of ephphatha! unlocking my fearful, hardened heart.

Illustration: Christ healing the deaf mute of Decapolis, by Bartholomeus Breenbergh, 1635