What can we say June 7? 2nd after Pentecost

     Genesis 12:1-9 is a great text, one of the key turning points in the Old Testament – or we should say in God’s history with the world. First, there’s a call. Abraham is called (how did he hear??) to go – where? “To a land I will show you.” Which would be…? Like the disciples who drop their nets and traipse off after Jesus: not knowing where they’re going, what the strategy is, what safeguards there might be, how it will all turn out, etc. They just go. Abraham just goes, uprooting self, family, and not heading a few miles away like the disciples, but to a genuinely foreign land, knowing nobody, strange language and customs. Walter Brueggemann named this as “a call for a dangerous departure from the presumed world of norms and security” – which is preachable.

   Brueggemann, I should add, gifted us with one last book (God of All Promises) before his passing, and it is lovely. Poetic reflections with prayers on the chapters of Genesis. On today's text, he speaks with God about things: "You were abrupt with our faith father, Abram. You spoke only a terse imperative to him: 'Go.' Father Abram was to travel light He took with him only your blessing. Abram was as terse as you were. He went!" Then he ponders the 2nd half of Genesis 12, the sorry episode in Egypt trying to pass Sarai off as his sister: "Father Abram lied - because he was scared. Abram is situated between a promise from God and his own lie. He did not think the promises would suffice." Such wisdom.

   Interestingly, we tend to delve into the psyche/self of the one called (or not called). Am I called? Or even Is he or she called? But a more intriguing question is What is God doing? Why does God call – in generally, and specifically now, and here? Russ Reno gets inside God’s head: “Because the children of Adam and Eve are beholden to the lie that worldly life can satisfy our desire for rest, God must interrupt the cascading flow of time, tear out a family from the drumbeat of the generations, in order to cut to the joints and marrow of human history.” Eloquent. And pinpointing God’s motive: to rescue all of us from what is really a lie. And already, so early in humanity’s history!

   So there’s the call, and then the buttressing promise. Reno links call to promise, underlining the context – that this call is right on the heels of the catastrophic Tower of Babel story: “Now God promises to give Abraham-in-particular what humanity-in-general sought to achieve by its own hands when it gathered to build a tower to heaven: a place, a nation, and a name.” I do like that Reno suggests that instead of rejecting the false hopes of the Babel generation, God rather redefines them!

   And so the promise really is for a place, a nation, a name. This threefold promise seems lovely, even powerful – until we consider the dreadful consequences throughout history of the children of Abraham fighting to fulfill that promise. So many horrific episodes through history, the Crusades, the 7-day War, and ongoing Israeli-Palestinian violence get traced back to the idea that “This land is my land!” – and claiming the divine imprimatur of Genesis 12. Not what God had in mind…

   I recall sitting in intro Old Testament in seminary and hearing Prof. Lloyd Bailey explain the dynamic of the “blessing” portion of this promise. God will indeed bless this people – but not so they can be special to the exclusion of anybody. They are blessed to be a blessing. Sounds trite – but it is God’s call to Abraham’s descendents – and fits the summons of the church to be, not a club of the blessed, but those who go out to the highways and biways to be the gifts of God in the world.

   Romans 4:13-25. I find Paul’s intricate theological arguments difficult to refashion into a sermon; even Fleming Rutledge skips this passage in her great collection of sermons on Romans (Not Ashamed of the Gospel) – but I am a bit tempted to try after reading Michael Gorman’s thoughts in his new commentary. He points out how “cryptic” verse 16, verbless in Greek, is, sort of “Therefore, from faith, so that by grace.” The foundation, the basis, the cause isn’t faith, but grace – so important for us Protestants who unthinkingly turn “faith” into the work, the only work but no less a work. Paul’s focus is on Christ’s faithfulness, not ours.

   He goes on to notice how translations of verse 18 (like the NRSV) “may hide what Paul actually means: ‘not to those who adhere to the law alone but rather to those who share the faith of Abraham’” (his translation). He calls Abraham’s “a kind of proto-Christian faith.” Justification is what the Creator and Resurrector does. I love his plunge into the bleakness of Abraham and Sarah’s situation. Her womb isn’t merely “barren”; the Greek nekrosis conveys “the stench of death.”

   Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26. Jesus keeps calling people, almost raising the ante by calling ever more unlikely and unliked people. Now it’s Matthew – the tax collector? A hated man in Capernaum. Not our tax auditor types or the one that threatens to garnish your wages. Matthew probably threatened to break your knees if you complained about him gouging you for too much money – and not for the public good but for those jerks in Rome. The Pharisee gripe makes total sense – although they lump together “tax collectors and sinners,” as if sinning were an occupation! In the 1950’s, politicians like Joe McCarthy and bureaucrats like J. Edgar Hoover tended to lump together “communists and homosexuals,” as if the pairing made it more dastardly.

   Their smug judgment though should alarm us, especially in our day when so many churches assume their calling is to be society’s “moral police.” No one is listening, nor do they care, when Christian people cockily “stand up for something!” Jesus was a radical alternative to the moral police – back then, as he still is today. But he doesn’t scold. He resorts to irony: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” You can bet most Pharisees didn’t get it, and though Yes, we are well.

   And Jesus lifts a verse from the prophets, one that punctuates key turning points in Matthew’s Gospel: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6). There’s no mercy in judging – and Jesus had not much earlier said “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” Perhaps, like the older brother in Jesus’ “Prodigal Son” parable, they did not think they needed any mercy – although you know that deep down, in some subterranean, crusted over place in their guts, they were desperate for some mercy. Why else behave in such calculating, morally superior ways than being duped into believing this was the ultimate coverup?

   And now the healing narrative. Two, actually, dovetailed unforgettably. Not quite as vivid as its parallel in Mark 5:21-43, is it? I was taught in seminary to stick to the text at hand and don’t veer into another Gospel. And you don’t want to read a lot in from elsewhere – but in this case, why not preach all we know from this mind-boggling episode from Jesus’ life?

   Matthew plagiarizes (the term we’d use today!) from Mark’s story – and thus his storytelling technique, which in this case is impressive. Or maybe things just unfolded in the way he reports. Jesus is asked, pleaded with to visit a child, the daughter of a powerful Roman military man, Jairus. In Mark, she’s sick and near death. In Matthew, she’s already died! – which must indicate this man’s faith is even greater! Or that his desperate sense of loss is more intense.

   Jesus, on such an important mission, is unfailingly “interruptible.” Important things to do, yes, always, but along the way there’s always a person, someone requiring just some compassion, a kind look and word. Jesus shows us how to be attentive while we’re headed toward wherever we’re going.

   There’s a painting I’ve loved since I first saw it – in a lovely new chapel on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the village of Magdala, Mary Magdalene’s home town. At ground level, this painting shows the woman reaching out to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment - from her lowly, ground-level perspective.

   She must be a woman of considerable means, having spent huge sums on doctors, in a day when most people couldn’t afford any doctor ever. But all the cash and care money could buy didn’t bring her any health. She was sick and tired of being sick and tired – until she heard about Jesus. Due to her illness, she would have been regarded as unclean, not welcome in any crowd, much less coming face to face with this travelling rabbi / healer / maybe Messiah. But she presses forward, as close as possible without being noticed, barely brushing her hand against the low hem of Jesus’ robe.

   And, Voila! She is healed. Power flowed from him, into her – and he wasn’t even trying. No wonder we speak of the Master’s touch, the way simply being close to Jesus brings an unanticipated wholeness. Jesus notices, puzzling his disciples – and then he has more mercy on her, treating her like no one else would, as a whole, infinitely valued child of God.

   While we're still on the healing of a woman: Peter Storey, in his marvelous new account of his incandescent ministry in South Africa, tells of his first parish - and how some young adults, impassioned by what they were learning of the Gospel, changed many things, including... "There came a symbolic moment of liberation when they decided to attend church with hair uncovered. Because of the role hair texture played in the racialization and stratification of woman in this community, this was a massive step toward self-acceptance."

   Oh, the child. Jesus almost forgot – but probably not. He arrives at Jairus’s house – late, by Matthew’s or Mark’s timeline. If we read slowly, or just use our imaginations, we can overhear the loud wailing of her family and neighbors. Invite your people to feel their pain. Jesus did.

   I love the little details of this healing – more in Mark than in Matthew! He could have thundered a word from the yard. But he enters the home. He takes the girl by the hand. Ask your folks to picture that. Feel your hands. Precious Lord, take my hand… He speaks – and onlookers recalled what he said in his and their native language, Aramaic, so moving that Mark, writing in Greek, records the Aramaic! Talitha kum. Rise up, little girl. So tender. This 12 year old girl stood up. Imagine the sound of the shock, the rejoicing, maybe more intense than the wailing just moments earlier.

   And then, showing his immense compassion and understanding, Jesus speaks to her family: “Give her something to eat.” She’s been sick. She’s got to be famished. Let’s get back to normal. Little girls eat. Families feed their children. Envision Jesus standing in your home. It’s time to eat. He gets that you’re hungry. Enjoy. Be nourished. What a week to have Holy Communion!

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   Check out my newest book, The Heart of the Psalms: God's Word to the World! I've been meaning to write this one all my life, since I did my Ph.D. on the Psalms and have taught and prayed them endlessly. Abingdon also has a study guide and a video series, which groups enjoy.

What can we say May 31? Trinity Sunday

    It’s Trinity Sunday – not a day for theological explication in the preaching setting, but in worship. Trinity isn’t a thing; it is in fact the thing. Then all texts are Trinitarian, all Sundays are Trinity Sunday. A preaching booboo this week might be to attempt an intellectual explanation of the Trinity. Save it for the classroom. In the liturgy, in sacred space, we don’t disentangle, analyze and explain the Trinity. We worship. We listen. We join that Holy Circle. We let the Trinity speak for itself.

   In last year’s post on Trinity Sunday, I speak of my theology professor’s agony trying to theologize about this, how the structure of a musical chord helps us make sense of things, how visuals like the Rublev icon help (or don’t) – and more. I would strongly commend to you now the video of a conversation I had with the brilliant and pastoral theologian Jason Byassee on “God as…Trinity.”

   Genesis 1, hardly a good prooftext for the Trinity, but so thoughtful regarding our probing of the heart and mind of God! My 17 minute video talking about religion and science – much of which involves Genesis 1. I love thinking there about someone like Richard Dawkins – an avowed and militant atheist, from whom I have learned, happily and gratefully, so much.

   I also lucked into a podcast conversation with Dr. David Wilkinson, that exceedingly rare astrophysicist who’s also an ordained Methodist pastor. That is well worth listening to – and pondering. I love his earthy reflection on why it took God so long to make the world. His illustration? When it’s his birthday, his wife spends much time in the kitchen baking him a cake, and it’s a mess once she’s done. When it’s her birthday, he purchases a cake. Which one exhibits the most love? God’s love takes time, and it’s messy.

   Wilkinson calls Genesis 1 not a science textbook (of course), but a ballad, a poem speaking of God creating everything; science shows us how God did so. Stephen Hawking, of course (in his Theory of Everything), explained that you can explain everything without recourse to God. I do believe God is fond of this. You don’t have to believe. It’s personal. You choose to vest yourself in it not being accidental – for which there is solid scientific backing.

   I was moved, and shall never forget, hearing an early lecture in seminary on how God brought order out of chaos – and that this is God’s business, bringing order out of our chaos! Wow.

   On a different level, how lovely is Ellen Davis’s thought (in Preaching the Luminous Word) that in Genesis 1, “God is stocking the pantry,” as Genesis is downright verbose in describing food sources. And so, “Eating is at the heart of our relationship with God and all that God has made… Eating is practical theology – a way to honor God with our bodies.” Indeed, “Our never-failing hunger is a steady reminder to acknowledge God.”

   The first people, and thus all of us, are created in God’s “image.” Which is…? Russ Reno puts it well: “that characteristic that makes us capable of receiving the consummating gift of the 7^th day, the gift of fellowship with God.” This “image” is thus the “basis for our supernatural vocation, the life in Christ greater than any possibility resident in our natural power, but which is nonetheless a genuine exercise of our nature powers.” Lifting these contradictory but fitting ironies up in a sermon is wise, faithful, and hopefully will tease out some thought from our people. The "image" is the part of us that dreams, loves, hopes, cries, wonders, yearns, gets disgusted and strives for good. This "image" is what we look for and are sure to find in every person - which is what drives how we think about any political policy... 

   Psalm 8 ponders all this poetically, and fabulously. Faith is precisely soaking in that God made all those universes even the Webb telescope can’t fathom, and yet the small human being gazing up at it all – and that they are interconnected, and profoundly one in the heart and mind of God! I love a statue just outside Assisi at the Eremo delle Carceri – of St. Francis lying on his back, on the ground. He did this – constantly – and pondered the grandeur of God, come down and touching his small, humble existence. What is man – me, Francis? And when medieval theologians saw “man,” they thought of Christ – which some of us think is good cause not to re-translate such texts with plural “people” and such. Who is “man” – the man being Jesus. This lying on the back, looking up: not a bad “Go thou and do likewise” sermon piece.

 My new book, The Heart of the Psalms, devotes an entire chapter to Psalm 8 and subjects like awe, curiosity, praise, and wonder - much-neglected themes in the spiritual life! The book engages 5 other Psalms in depth - and Abingdon has a study guide and video series to accompany a study for groups or individuals!

   2 Corinthians 13:11-13 is a lovely text, hard to preach upon (for me) – Trinitarian, yes, but actually replete with how we greet and bless one another. I benedict at most of my services using just these words from verse 13. Does it matter to people? Does it bless them in some mystical ways they aren’t even aware of? I have wondered (for instance, in my book Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week) if we have more capacity to bless others than we realize?

   Matthew 28:16-20. The so-called “Great Commission,” although Jesus’ other commissions, not nearly as vague as “make disciples of all nations,” imply touching untouchables, feeding the hungry on your doorstep, not laying up treasure on earth, befriending enemies… No wonder we made this clarion “great commission” such a big thing! – since it can be a bit innocuous. Do we “make disciples” ever, anyhow?

   What Jesus asks of us is in fact encapsulated in this text. Just as Jesus, at his birth, got the nickname “Emmanuel,” “God with us,” here, as his parting words, he clarifies he won’t be the great heavenly fixer, the insulator from all woes – but that simply he will be “with” us. Sam Wells, in his marvelous Nazareth Manifesto, suggests that the most important theological word in the Bible is “with.” God is with us. No small thing, if you ponder it over some time.

   Jesus’ commission is troubling, challenging, seemingly impossible. Go to – Afghanistan? Vietnam? The Congo? And simply tell the Good News – and they’ll fall in line and convert? Laughable. But how do we Go in our day? By loving, praying, showing up to drill wells or lift up orphans?

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   Check out my newest book, The Heart of the Psalms: God's Word to the World! I've been meaning to write this one all my life, since I did my Ph.D. on the Psalms and have taught and prayed them endlessly. Abingdon also has a study guide and a video series, which groups enjoy.