Only when they spread their wings are they the wakers of a wind: as if God with his broad sculptor’s hands were turning pages in the dark book of the beginning. 
       - Rainer Maria Rilke


READING:
When God began to create the heavens and the earth— the earth was without shape or form, it was dark over the deep sea, and God’s wind swept over the waters… Then God said, “Let us make humanity in our image to resemble us so that they may take charge of the fish of the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the earth, and all the crawling things on earth.” God created humanity in God’s own image, in the divine image God created them, male and female God created them …the Lord God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land and blew life’s breath into his nostrils.
                         - Genesis 1.1-2, 26-27; 2.7 (CEB)



REFLECTION:
It’s early – wicked early – but I can’t sleep for the wind stirring in my spirit; urging me, enticing me, inspiring me… challenging me to pray, reflect, listen, and write something of substance on freedom and equality. The very prospect is exciting because this conviction – the equality of all - has a prominent place in my heart; on this one theological issue at least, there is no ambiguity; on this point God’s Spirit brooks no excuses. 

Despite our best efforts over the years to coax the biblical tradition to support notions of our superiority over others (feel free to define our as you will), the biblical tradition has spread its wings and wakened the wind, inviting us to soar above and beyond the limits imposed by fear, jealousy, and a sense of entitlement; and to see the human community from God’s perspective: equal and unified. 

Despite our diligent attempts to paint Jesus as the defender of all things free – markets, accumulation of wealth, the assertion of power and control – Jesus emphatically refuses this role. Read his story; you don’t have to take my word for it; there is a clear sub-text. “Ain’t gonna happen,” Jesus insists. “You won’t use me to assert economy over equality, privilege over poverty, personal security over succor for the weak and marginalized. Ain’t gonna happen.”

And despite our fervent desire to bundle up against the wind and avoid being swept away on God’s cause, the wind has been wakened; the same wind that swept over chaos “in the beginning,” presaging the explosion of God’s creative activity. That wind continues to blow because God, with sculptor’s hands, continues to create children, women, and men in the divine image. The one, clear divine image, mind you. This image doesn’t come in stages or degrees. This image is not an entitlement. This image is not deserved but granted as a gift… to all. We are called to recognize and embrace its profoundly simple reality, a sign of God’s tender embrace of each and every individual, culture, and people. It’s just easier to recognize from above the clouds. Shall we soar?

                                     - Bo

We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.
                      - T. S. Eliot



READING:
“Don’t be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me. My Father’s house has room to spare. If that weren’t the case, would I have told you that I’m going to prepare a place for you? When I go to prepare a place for you, I will return and take you to be with me so that where I am you will be too. You know the way to the place I’m going.” Thomas asked, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus answered, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you have really known me, you will also know the Father. From now on you know him and have seen him.” Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father; that will be enough for us.” Jesus replied, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been with you all this time? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words I have spoken to you I don’t speak on my own. The Father who dwells in me does his works. Trust me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or at least believe on account of the works themselves. I assure you that whoever believes in me will do the works that I do. They will do even greater works than these because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask for in my name, so that the Father can be glorified in the Son. When you ask me for anything in my name, I will do it.
                - John 14.1-14 (Common English Bible) 


REFLECTION: 
I adore the words of T. S. Eliot cited above in which life – and all its pursuits – is portrayed in broad strokes as a journey of discovery whose end offers a new vision, a fresh perspective, a more profound understanding of the life we thought we knew so well. When and if we finally make our way home, we find it both strange and familiar; as if we are seeing it – truly seeing it - for the first time.

I wish we students of the Christian bible would take this wisdom to heart, and approach our studies as a journey of discovery in which we dare delve beneath the surface of the texts to the wonder, mystery, profundity, and challenge that reside within. I wish we would just own up to the fact that we never exhaust their meaning; and that there is always more to discover. More often than not this fresh perspective challenges our smugly held beliefs about the meaning of a passage of scripture, and how it informs our faith.

I’ve been thinking in this vein all week, because the gospel reading for Sunday is John 14.1-14; and I don’t want to preach from John 14. I don’t want to preach from this passage because of the many ways its meaning has been coopted, misused, even abused for the sake of supporting a cherished belief, or from the unwillingness to look beyond a traditional reading of the text.

And, let me tell you, several aspects of this passage have been misrepresented and misused. The first section about the troubled heart has been used so often at funerals that we think of it in a morbid sense as a reference to a smattering of comfort during a period of mourning. Released from this mindset, the passage offers a vivid, expansive hope of life lived in fullness both now and into the future. No modicum of comfort is offered in this passage; but rather a bold affirmation of fullness, meaning, and joy! Too often this is overlooked, and this passage becomes to funerals what Paul Stookey’s Wedding Song (a.k.a. There Is Love) is to weddings; bland, boring, and played on the wrong instrument altogether.

Would that this was the worst abuse this passage has seen. This oversight pales in comparison to the rigid, absolutist claims that have been made about Jesus’ self-proclamation as way, truth, and life. The profundity and subtlety of John’s message here is oversimplified, suppressed, or missed altogether so that the passage can be used to support a flat-out condemnation of a big chunk of the world God loves so much (at least according to Jesus). Isn’t it possible that life in its fullness is about something more than a statement of belief about Jesus? Is it inconceivable that God’s grace and compassion have just a bit more wiggle room than this reading allows?

Jesus as the way is an affirmation to be lived out in our life. Jesus as the way is a Jesus to be followed, not simply affirmed as an article of belief. This is underscored by the reference later in the passage to the disciples of Jesus doing the same works – even greater – as Jesus. And folks, this work is not that of a creedal statement. This work, exemplified throughout the life and ministry of Jesus, is an overflowing of compassion and grace; a refusal to allow any individual to go unrecognized and unvalued (like the Samaritan woman); the courage to stand for and with the marginalized and oppressed; and the will to let the love of God flow through us into the world.

Wow! I think I see something new here; or at least a profundity I have missed before. Perhaps there is more depth to be plumbed; perhaps this passage can inform our life of faith in new and powerful ways. I invite you to explore this possibility with me in worship on Sunday. 

How long will grown men and women in this world keep drawing in their coloring books an image of God that makes them sad?                                                                                
                             - Meister Eckhart 


Reading:
“Let me set this before you as plainly as I can. If a person climbs over or through the fence of a sheep pen instead of going through the gate, you know he’s up to no good—a sheep rustler! The shepherd walks right up to the gate. The gatekeeper opens the gate to him and the sheep recognize his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he gets them all out, he leads them and they follow because they are familiar with his voice. They won’t follow a stranger’s voice but will scatter because they aren’t used to the sound of it.” Jesus told this simple story, but they had no idea what he was talking about. So he tried again. “I’ll be explicit, then. I am the Gate for the sheep. All those others are up to no good—sheep stealers, every one of them. But the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of. “I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd puts the sheep before himself, sacrifices himself if necessary. A hired man is not a real shepherd. The sheep mean nothing to him. He sees a wolf come and runs for it, leaving the sheep to be ravaged and scattered by the wolf. He’s only in it for the money. The sheep don’t matter to him. “I am the Good Shepherd.”
                                   - John 10.1-14a (The Message)


Reflection:
When I was in graduate school, Dominic Crossan delivered a lecture series on the parables of Jesus at my university. His work on the parables is first rate, top drawer, and comes highly recommended. And this lecture series was no different. An exchange during this series made a lasting impression on my spirit, and has stuck with me for years. In one lecture Professor Crossan discussed the various ways that Jesus’ parables can confuse and call into question our long cherished ideas, thus allowing new meanings to take their place. And they can do this again and again. One pastor in the audience was scandalized by the very thought that the parables refuse to be reduced to one and only one meaning now-and-forever-more-amen. They can continue to interact with our spirit – and mess with our confident knowledge – and introduce new, profound notions that enrich our understanding and our faith if we will simply allow it.

This passage from chapter 10 is as close as John comes to a parable. Even though it focuses on Jesus rather than the Reign of God (as in the synoptic gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke), it shares some of the characteristics that make Jesus’ parables so enigmatic, profound, and a fertile ground for new meaning. Specifically, this narrative identifies Jesus as both the gate through which the sheep enter, and the good shepherd that cares for and protects the sheep. This ambiguity tends to throw us off balance - we are much like the scandalized pastor, and want one, clear identification and one definitive meaning - and in this way create an opening for new, more profound meaning.

Jesus as shepherd… well, we know just how to make this image boring and mundane. This Jesus is harmless, gentle and oh so sentimental and, to be honest, would fit best in a velvet painting (much like the ones that depict Elvis’ blue swede shoes). Forget the fact that this shepherd cares passionately for the sheep, and protects them even if self-sacrifice is involved. There is nothing sentimental about this shepherd.

Jesus as sheep gate blows sentimentality out of the water. Get past the double image of Jesus and the confusion it causes, and what appears is the notion that Jesus is not only the shepherd that protects us, but is as well the protection itself. Think about that… the shepherd who protects is identical with the One from whom all things come – our creator God – and the unique, reliable source of protection .

This shepherd, this Jesus can be trusted absolutely with all we are and all we have. This Jesus would never abandon or inflict pain into our life. This Jesus cannot be painted in sad, somber colors, and depicted as an ill-tempered judge (and jury!). This Jesus can only be painted in vibrant, rich colors that reflect fulfillment, peace and joy. Need I say more? Perhaps… perhaps we should pray:

“We’re ready God… ready to worship. We’ve all brought along our coloring book; that palette nestled deeply in our heart on which we draw your image. We rarely show this sketch to others, because we’re not sure what colors to use, or what name to choose as a title. We can easily see you in dark, somber colors. Such images are as varied as they are numerous, yet they reveal a common thread of distant, brooding authority, hungry for adulation and ready to pass judgment. Then that weaver of tales comes along and draws a shepherd in simple, gentle words; a guardian strong yet loving, firm yet protective, always given to laughter and joyful exuberance. Such a one is beyond our ability to draw. The colors required surpass our wildest imaginings in their brilliance and beauty. And the names…. the names are as numerous as the stars, as deep as love, as broad as compassion. Draw this image in our heart, O God, so that we may draw near to you, and find in you all that we need…”

Oh, I am in awe of the maker of galaxies and geese, stars and starfish, mercury and men (male and female). Sometimes it is rapturous awe; sometimes it is the numinous dread Jacob felt. Sometimes it is the humble awe of knowing that ultimately I belong to God, to the Maker whose thumb print is on each one of us. And that is blessing.
                                                  -       Madeleine L’Engle



THE READING
A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” When Jesus finally got there, he found Lazarus already four days dead. Bethany was near Jerusalem, only a couple of miles away, and many of the Jews were visiting Martha and Mary, sympathizing with them over their brother. Martha heard Jesus was coming and went out to meet him. Mary remained in the house. Martha said, “Master, if you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died. Even now, I know that whatever you ask God he will give you.” Jesus said, “Your brother will be raised up.” Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.” “You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” “Yes, Master. All along I have believed that you are the Messiah, the Son of God who comes into the world.” After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.” The moment she heard that, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When her sympathizing Jewish friends saw Mary run off, they followed her, thinking she was on her way to the tomb to weep there. Mary came to where Jesus was waiting and fell at his feet, saying, “Master, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her sobbing and the Jews with her sobbing, a deep anger welled up within him. He said, “Where did you put him?” “Master, come and see,” they said. Now Jesus wept. The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Then Jesus, the anger again welling up within him, arrived at the tomb. It was a simple cave in the hillside with a slab of stone laid against it. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.” The sister of the dead man, Martha, said, “Master, by this time there’s a stench. He’s been dead four days!” Jesus looked her in the eye. “Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.”They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.”
                                    - John 11.1-3, 17-45 (The Message)



THE REFLECTION
In the narrative of the Fourth Gospel it is raising Lazarus, not cleansing the Temple, which stuns the religious leaders with the awareness that this one must die. Without asking which version of the story is historically accurate (an irrelevant question when one desires to penetrate to the meaning of the narrative, which is its heart and soul), it occurs to me that John’s account is more compelling. It alone motivates such a severe reaction to Jesus and the threat he poses.

In the synoptic account, Jesus is a distraction, a troublemaker to be sure, and he certainly disrupts business as usual in the Temple with his prophetic act. In the Fourth Gospel, however, Jesus’ actions reveal the new, revolutionary face of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. When they gaze on Jesus the religious leaders see, as Marcus Borg might say, the God they never knew. And they are fearful. This new face of God is at once tenderer, more intimate, and more powerful than their experience suggests. Mores the pity; should they look more closely, they could see that this new face of God dispels any notion that God is to be feared, that God is to be kept at a safe distance, that God has room in God’s heart for anything other than the creative power of Love.

In his encounter with Lazarus, Jesus reveals the new face of God that we can trust with all that we are, and all we possess. Jesus is tender, moved by the plight of humankind, and determined to bring to it the fruits of compassion, healing and wholeness. And this Jesus is powerful. It is the very power of creation that can stand before death in its stark reality and call forth life.

Before this vision of the Word become flesh, before this intimation of the new face of God, we stand awestruck, stunned, and speechless. For this is the face of both tenderness and power. This is the face of One who understands and dispels our fears, the face of One who calls forth life from the jaws of death. Gazing on this face we finally understand the words of the psalmist, “I fear no evil.”    

We would like to heed God’s words, but we only half hear them. The big drama between us makes too much noise for us to understand each other. Only in our doing can we grasp you. Only with our hands can we illumine you.

                                                - Rainer Maria Rilke (adapted)




“Let me tell you why you are here. You’re here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You’ve lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. “Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven. “Don’t suppose for a minute that I have come to demolish the Scriptures—either God’s Law or the Prophets. I’m not here to demolish but to complete. I am going to put it all together, pull it all together in a vast panorama. God’s Law is more real and lasting than the stars in the sky and the ground at your feet. Long after stars burn out and earth wears out, God’s Law will be alive and working. “Trivialize even the smallest item in God’s Law and you will only have trivialized yourself. But take it seriously, show the way for others, and you will find honor in the kingdom. Unless you do far better than the Pharisees in the matters of right living, you won’t know the first thing about entering the kingdom.
                - Matthew 5.13-20 (The Message)



The passage cited above is perhaps better known (at least more broadly known) than any other from the Sermon on the Mount; at least the first part about light, that is. Most people know it, however, from the song it inspired. You know the one I mean, This Little Light of Mine. We’ve all sung it at one time or another: in children’s Sunday School, at summer camp, or in Vacation Bible School. It’s a harmless little ditty, lighthearted and casual; and it tends to bring back pleasant memories from our childhood that soothe and comfort us.

But, I must tell you; this perplexes me, because this simple, unpretentious song is inspired by one of the most challenging passages imaginable. Yet we seem to avoid its challenge by inserting our preferred interpretation of what it means to let your light shine. Whenever we sing it, we assume we know what light shine means. I remember, for example, growing up among fundamentalist-tending folk in the Deep South who interpreted the song for me as a child. “Be a good boy and do everything your momma asks you to do,” they said; and, “always, always avoid those Catholics,” whom they saw as the archenemy of all good Christians (read conservative, Protestant Christians).

As an older teen, I had advanced to a more sophisticated evangelical perspective; and the meaning of light shine was still assumed in a rather rigid sense that, surprisingly (or not) reflected the beliefs and biases of the group in which I found myself. To let your light shine meant to make sure you were different (read superior), from all those pagans who didn’t go to church. And it meant offering them the true beliefs that would transform them into faithful Christians. “Believe like we do,” they insisted, “And you will claim your ticket to heaven.”

As an adult - and a long-time student of faith, spirituality, and the Christian Biblical Tradition (among others) - I have found these interpretations lacking. They are good at spreading a rigid morality, and even a sense of superiority that any right-believing Christian can ostensibly claim. But they say little to nothing about living in community with God and other folk; nothing about walking a pilgrim pathway in the very real presence of God. So I decided to do something novel - and I invite you to do the same – I decided to turn directly to the Biblical Tradition and ask what Matthew’s Jesus has to say about light shine; and to seek other voices – like Isaiah 58.1-9a  - that provide context and content as well.

Long story short (so as not to steal my own thunder from Sunday’s sermon), both Matthew and Isaiah sketch a faith that acts; a faith that humbly looks beyond religious orthodoxy and learning about God as the primary sense of what it means to be a Christian, and recommends actually doing something to address the needs of others. Rilke (in the worship heading above) expresses this sense well in noting that we only grasp God, we only illumine God’s meaning for life, with our doing… reaching out with compassionate hands and hearts to address human misery. So, perhaps we should change the expression let your light shine to let your life shine. What do you think?