Be Like Mary Poppins

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  John 3: 1-17 (Lent 2A)

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. 2He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” 3Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” 4Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” 5Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. 6What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. 7Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ 8The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” 9Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” 10Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? 11“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. 12If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? 13No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. 14And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, 15that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. 16“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. 17“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

In an essay on this passage, Nurya Parish says she thinks that “every baptism or confirmation class should include a showing of the movie Mary Poppins.  Not for the suffragettes or the magic carpetbag [but for] the scene where Mary, Bert, and the children take hands and jump straight into the middle of a sidewalk chalk painting, emerging in an entirely new, much more colorful world.  That’s what becoming a disciple does…you leave an old, dreary world behind and enter a world where the unexpected becomes commonplace.  It’s not enough simply to say you are a disciple; you actually have to jump.”

That’s what Nicodemus did not get in the Gospel passage that we read, even though he was a learned leader and, therefore, a teacher, of the Jews, a rabbi, a teacher of all things Scriptural and all things faith.  He knew what questions to ask and we should probably give him the benefit of the doubt that he was continuing to probe and explore.  Maybe he wasn’t as sure of his own certainty when it came to beliefs. Maybe he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself.  He wasn’t really ready to go there yet.  So, he goes to Jesus in the dark of night, cloaked in mystery and secrets and probably trying to hide the fact that he was having trouble understanding it all from the rest of the community.  He wanted Jesus to get rid of all the doubts that Nicodemus had.  He wanted Jesus to make it all perfectly clear for him so that he could go on imparting that knowledge to the rest of the community.  He wanted Jesus to give him the answers.

Part of the problem may have been semantics.  After all, he did believe what Jesus had done, what Jesus had told him.  He knew that Jesus had done numerous miracles.  He had seen it with his own eyes.  So he knew that Jesus was good, he knew that Jesus was worthy as a teacher.  And yet, Jesus seemed to talk in circles.  He preached that one had to be born from above.  But how can one be born unless he or she re-enters the mother’s womb?  He preached that one must be born in the Spirit, and yet admitted that the place from which the Spirit blew was unknown and unknowable.  How can this be?  And he preached that one must believe.  Nicodemus believed what Jesus said.  What was Jesus talking about, then?

When you read this, you do sense that Nicodemus must have been a good teacher.  He was astute and knew what questions to ask.  He was diligent as he studied and explored to get to the truth.  But how could he believe this circular reasoning that Jesus was espousing?   Part of the problem, it seemed, was that Nicodemus and Jesus had completely different understandings of what “believe” was.  Nicodemus had, after all, accepted Jesus’ propositions.  He had probably even taught it.  But Jesus was not asking for people to believe what he did or believe what he said.

There is a difference between believing Christ and believing IN Christ.  Believing IN means that you enter into relationship, that you trust with everything that you are, with everything that is your life, that you sort of jump into it. It is much more visceral than Nicodemus was really read to accept.  Nicodemus wanted to understand it within the intellectual understanding of God that he had.  But Jesus was telling him that there was a different way.  Jesus was inviting, indeed almost daring, Nicodemus to believe in this new way, to turn his life, his doubts, his heart, and even his very learned mind over to God.

“How can this be?”  Those are Nicodemus’ last words in this passage, which sort of makes him a patron saint for all of us who from time to time get stuck at the foot of the mountain, weighed down by our own understandings of who God is, without the faintest idea of how to begin to ascend.  But there’s Jesus.  “Watch me.  Put your hand here.  Now your foot.  Don’t think about it so hard.  Just do as I do.  It’s like the Mary Poppins chalk painting.  Just jump!  Believe in me.  And follow me….this way!

We’re the same.  We are ALL Nicodemus.  We want to be certain.  Really?  Consider this:  the opposite of faith is not doubt…that would be WAY too easy.  The opposite of faith is certainty.  I mean, if you were certain, if this all made sense to you, well goody for you but, really, why would you need faith?  Breathe out the need to be certain, the need to have all the answers.  And breathe in faith, that wild, unexpected, sometimes-unexplainable thing that brings us closer not to the answers…but to God. So….JUMP!  I mean, after all, wouldn’t you want to be like Mary Poppins?

When we get our spiritual house in order, we’ll be dead. This goes on. You arrive at enough certainty to be able to make your way, but it is making it in darkness. Don’t expect faith to clear things up for you. It is trust, not certainty. (Flannery O’Connor)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  Matthew 15: 21-28

21Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Sometimes we don’t exactly know what to do with this passage.  It tells us that Jesus travels to a place that is not his, to an unfamiliar place some distance away.  It’s not the wildernesses that we’ve come to know but it IS a wilderness.  When we journey through unknown territory, through places that are not our home, through places that are not ours, places that we have not planned or planted, even places for which we feel totally unprepared, there is a certain wilderness aspect to them. 

And in this unfamiliar place, this woman appears to Jesus begging that he heal her daughter.  Her appeals got louder and louder and more and more insistent.  So, what was Jesus to do?  He wasn’t there for her.  She was Canaanite.  She was not Jewish.  (The Markan version of this story depicts her as Syrophoenician).  Either way, she was “the other”.  And at this point, Jesus understood that his mission was to the Jews.  This would not be right.  She was not one of them.  But the woman kept insisting.  (I will tell you, the reference to “dogs” is not a nice one.  Without offense to the dog-lovers and dogs among us, in 1st century Jewish society, dogs were looked upon as unclean, as scavengers.)  And, yet, even Gentiles, even the “bottom of society”, even the “dogs” gather the crumbs from the masters’ table. 

But, then, Jesus changes.  He stops, he listens, he changes.  See, this woman gets it.  Her faith sees Jesus as a sign of what’s to come.  This moment is, in effect, a turning point for Jesus.  (And we need to realize that that turning point is the reason we’re here.  We ARE the ones to which Jesus’ mission turned and broadened to include.)  I’m actually grateful the writer didn’t try to “clean up” the story.  This shows Jesus’ humanness, his searching, his exploring, his changing, his realization that there was something (and someone) more.  In this moment, there, in the wilderness, in the place that was not his, Jesus saw a broader vision of God and who God called him to be than even he had before.

I think that’s why Lent tends to be this sort of wilderness journey.  Traversing through places with which we are unfamiliar, places that perhaps do not feel like home, perhaps will never feel like home, gives us a new perspective.  Maybe we’re not called to make ourselves at home at all.  Maybe we’re rather called to continuously journey through newness, continuously open our minds and our hearts just a little bit more with each turn of the pathway.  I don’t believe that God calls us to stay planted where we are; otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many pesky wildernesses in the stories of faith and in our own lives.  The wilderness is where we change our course, where the road turns if only one small degree and, unsettled though we are, we turn with it and continue our journey with minds broadened and hearts opened.

We can’t hold on to the familiar.  We can’t just associate with those who look like us and think like us and believe like us.  That’s what’s wrong with the world right now.  That’s what’s wrong with our society, our country, our relationships with each other.  We need to hold fast to what we believe but not at the expense of relationships.  That’s what Jesus teaches us in this passage.  Jesus listens to the woman and backs away a bit.  He doesn’t retreat; he gets a different view.  He gets a broader view.  He looks at the world the way God does.  God made the world diverse.  Why in the world would we be meant to stay in our own little bubble?  And yet, we’re arguing over the use of DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion)?  I don’t get it.  We need to breathe out needing to surround ourselves with comfort, with those who are like us.  I mean, Jesus wasn’t even like us!  He was a dark-skinned immigrant who was Jewish.  What does that tell us?  So, we need to breathe in the way the world is—diverse and God-made—all of us.

He drew a circle that shut me out.  Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.  But Love and I had the wit to win.  We drew a circle that took him in! (Edwin Markham)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Just Make the Turn

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  Romans 4: 1-5, 13-17 (Lent 2A)

What then are we to say was gained by Abraham, our ancestor according to the flesh? For if Abraham was justified by works, he has something to boast about, but not before God. For what does the scripture say? “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.” Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due. But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness…For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation. For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, as it is written, “I have made you the father of many nations”) —in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.

We are creatures of habit.  We cling to our patterns of life sometimes for our very identity.  And it is no different with our faith.  Our ways of believing, our ways of worship, our ways of practicing our faith are, for most of us, virtually untouchable.  (If any of you have ever tried to make any changes in a worship service, you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about!)  We are open to change as long as WE don’t have to be the ones that change.  We are open to doing things differently as long as it doesn’t affect us.  Does that sound a little bit uncomfortably familiar?

The audience to whom Paul was probably writing were really no different.  They had grown up with norms of what was “right” and “righteous”, what made them acceptable before God and as people of faith.  For them, their revered patriarch Abraham was blessed because he followed God and did the right things (which also happened to of course be the things that they were doing or at least thought they were doing).  And now here is Paul daring to write that that’s not what it meant at all, that it had nothing to do with what Abraham did or whether he lived and practiced his faith in the right way but that he had faith in a God that freely offered relationship, in a God that freely and maybe even a little haphazardly offered this relationship to everyone (whether or not it’s actually deserved–go figure!).  Faith is not something that you define or check of your list of “to do’s”; faith is something that you live.

In this Season of Lent, we talk a lot about giving up old ways and taking on new patterns in life.  Lent is a season of re-patterning who we are and how we live.  Maybe it’s a time to let go of the things that we assume, those habits that are so ingrained in us that we don’t even realize that they are there, things that have somehow become so much a part of our lives that they have by their nature changed who we are.  Think of Lent as the season that asks us to drive on the other side of the road.  I remember the first time I did that.  It was in New Zealand.  Now if you’ve been to New Zealand, you understand that the miles and miles of rolling hills patterned only by sheep farms is a good place to learn to drive on the other side of the road (and the other side of the car!).  There is lots of room for “correction”, shall we say.  That wasn’t the problem.  The problem was the more heavily populated areas where we had to deal with other people’s habits and ways of being.  (As in when you had to worry about other people on the road, all of whom were driving on the “wrong” side of the road!)  And in the middle of every town was what they call a “round-about”.  It was sort of fun to get on but getting off was a completely different story.  My brain did not work that way.  I couldn’t make myself turn the right way (or the wrong way) while I was driving on what was to me the “wrong” side of the road (and driving on the “wrong” side of the car!).  So, I just kept circling.  Let me tell you, I circled MANY times.  I remember thinking that there was a distinct possibility that my life would end in that circle.  (And the other three people screaming at me that I had (again) missed the turn was just incredibly helpful, as you can imagine.)  It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done.

We are often traveling our faith journey on a similar roundabout.  We know there’s a place to go but getting there just doesn’t fit in with our lives, doesn’t fit in with what we’ve planned.  So, we drive in circles for a while.  After all, that turn is a scary thing.  So, we grip the wheel with our visions of righteousness and rightness and we keep circling.  The truth is righteousness isn’t just doing the “right” things or thinking the “right” way.  If it was, that would be easy.  We could just get the list of things to do and follow along.  This journey is hard.  It’s about relationships—relationship with God and relationship with each other.  It’s about being open to change, open to seeing things differently, open to being transformed.  Sometimes the turn is hard to make.  Sometimes we have to just breathe the circular, stifled motion out and breathe in the way that God is calling us to go.  And, yes, that means we have to change.  Breathe in the change God is calling you to make.

When we despair of gaining inner transformation through human powers of will and determination, we are open to a wonderful new realization:  inner righteousness is a gift from God to be graciously received.  The needed change within us is God’s work, not ours.  The demand is for an inside job, and only God can work from the inside.  We cannot attain or earn this righteousness of the kingdom of God; it is a grace that is given.  (Richard J. Foster)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Less Defined

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  Matthew 9:35 – 10:13

35Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness. 36When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. 37Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; 38therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

10Then Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to cure every disease and every sickness. 2These are the names of the twelve apostles: first, Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, and his brother John; 3Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; 4Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.

5These twelve Jesus sent out with the following instructions: “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, 6but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. 7As you go, proclaim the good news, ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ 8Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment. 9Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, 10no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff; for laborers deserve their food. 11Whatever town or village you enter, find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. 12As you enter the house, greet it. 13If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. 14If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town. 

This passage is not necessarily the account of a calling but rather a sending.  Jesus had already called his disciples, those who will stay with him for the next years, those who will serve him and offer support.  We are told their names—Simon Peter, Andrew, James, son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James, son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, Simon the Cananaean, and Judas.  I think the names are important.  What the names tell us is that Jesus did not just call random people.  He didn’t ask for volunteers.  He didn’t walk through a crowd and pick people out of it.  He called these specific individuals.  And I don’t think it was because they were all that talented or skilled.  In fact, you’ll remember that throughout Jesus’ ministry there was a lot of what we might call bumbling by the disciples.  No, Jesus just called ordinary people.  But he called these ordinary people.

They had different backgrounds.  What that tells me is that there was not some “ideal” person or “ideal” resume’ for the job.  Many were fishermen, a couple were business owners, one was a tax collector, one was a zealot, whatever that meant.  I think a zealot was what we would think of as an activist of some sort.  But they all came together even with all their differences.

And then Jesus gives them the authority to heal, to cure, to raise the dead, to cleanse, all in Jesus’ name.  And, if you read a little farther, he tells them not to take any money, not a bag, not even a change of clothes.  This always struck me as weird.  So, they go out into the world without really being prepared?  I think maybe Jesus didn’t want them to be weighed down.  He didn’t want them to rely solely on themselves because when we do that, it becomes about us.  And this was not about the disciples; it was about the journey on which they were called to go. 

Then (still reading farther) Jesus tells them that if someone doesn’t welcome them, if someone doesn’t listen, if someone doesn’t extend hospitality to them, if someone out and out rejects them, don’t worry about it.  Just “shake off the dust from your feet”.  That is hard.  When you feel like you’re right, when you feel like you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, it is really hard to walk away from rejection.  But it’s another reminder that it’s not about us.  Sometimes stuff just doesn’t happen the way we plan.  Maybe the person that comes to them next will get through.  Jesus even warns them in this passage that they may be in danger.  There may be people that want to come after them.  But Jesus tells them how to endure, how to keep going.

You know what Jesus doesn’t tell them?  Surprisingly, he doesn’t tell them what to say to people.  He doesn’t give them a set Biblical interpretation or a prescribed theological premise.  He tells them to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God.  He sends them out to tell the story.  He sends them out to invite others into that story—anybody, everybody, whoever they encounter who will listen.  And he tells them how to adapt, how to be nimble.  He reminds them that it’s not about them or what they think; it’s about the good news.  And he leaves room for them to wrestle with their own understanding.

That’s what it’s about.  I don’t think we’re supposed to memorize our beliefs.  I don’t think we’re meant to be ready to spit them out at a moment’s notice.  Do you remember a couple of years ago when the so-called evangelism gurus started telling you that you needed to come up with an “elevator speech”?  It was a 20 second speech that would somehow tell someone what you believed and convert them.  OK, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I always thought that was truly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.  Our faith is not about spouting pre-formed messages.  I’m not real sure that passing out flyers or practiced speeches is the way to win people over.  It is rather about relationships.  It’s about listening—listening to where people are, what people need, and maybe even what has turned them off before.  Jesus did that.  He didn’t spout theology sound bites.  He got to know people.  He listened.  He loved.

So, maybe our call is to be a little less defined, a little more open, to employ a little less “canned” theology and begin to listen, to learn, to love.  So, maybe we breathe out the definition.  Maybe we breathe out the canned speech.  And maybe we breathe in just being who God calls us to be—open, loving, maybe just shaking the dust off enough to be who we’re meant to be. 

Today we are bombarded with a theology of certitude. I don’t find much biblical support for the stance of “God told me and I’m telling you, and if you don’t believe as I do, you’re doomed.” A sort of “My god can whip your god” posture. From Abraham, going out by faith not knowing where he was being sent, to Jesus on the cross, beseeching the Father for a better way, there was always more inquiring faith than conceited certainty. (Will Campbell)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Unsettled

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  Genesis 12: 1-4 (Lent 2A)

Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” 4So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot went with him.

We are familiar with this story that our lectionary brings for this second week of Lent.  We know it well.  Abram is called to go forth, called to leave what he knows and become someone new.  We know that it will end with him becoming Abraham.  It is the beginning of Israel, the beginning of Judaism, and, ultimately, the beginning of us and our own faith story.  The story quickly moves from a broad sweep of humanity to a focus on one family and one person.  Perhaps it was a way of reminding us that humanity is not just a glob of no-name people but is rather made up of individuals, each children of God in their own right.

We like this story of our hero Abraham.  What courage, what persistence, what faith it would take to leave one’s home, to leave everything that one knows and to follow God.  It is that to which we all aspire and to which most of us fall incredibly short.  We struggle with what leaving would mean for us.  After all, what would it mean to you to just lock your doors and walk away, never looking back at the comforts and certitudes of your existence, never look back at all the stuff you’ve gathered and stored, never look back at this life that you have so painstakingly created? 

I’ve always wondered what Abram really thought.  I mean, he wasn’t young.  He and Sarai had been around a long time.  They had wanted children, a big family, someone to carry their legacy on, but it hadn’t happened.  But they were fine.  They had settled into a wonderful life.  Perhaps Abram had plans to spend lazy afternoons napping in the hammock and watching the sheep.  Maybe he had plans to get a couple of camels.  Life was not what they had wanted but it was good—really, really good.  And then, without warning, everything changed…

I mean, “Go”…Go where?  I’m not young.  I have arthritic knees.  Where am I supposed to go?  What is it I’m supposed to do?  I’ve got a lot of things going on.  Sarai needs me.  The sheep need me.  This is not a good time.  I have too much to do.  You have the wrong person.

Yes, I took liberties.  The Scriptures don’t focus on anything resembling this fight of wills.  But Abram was human.  Isn’t that what we would feel?  He was asked to just blindly go, trusting in the God in whom he fiercely believed.  But there had to be some reticence.  I mean, think about it.  The plan he was given was a little sketchy.  Why would God call this person who was settling into the end of his life?  Why would God tell him to go into the unknown, into the wild unpaved terrain, away from everything he knows?  And, really, he was just told to go with only a faint promise of legacy and greatness and history.  How in the world was Abram supposed to grasp that?

It’s probably even harder for us.  I mean, at least Abram was already part of a nomadic lifestyle.  And then there’s us.  We don’t just “settle” down.  We actually strive for it.  In fact, it’s our goal in life—family, home, a little money to spend, time with our loved ones, and some private time.  But maybe a little unsettling wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  But what would we do?  I mean, how big of a storage unit do I need to rent for all my stuff?  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we breathed out some of this settling, some of this way of life to which we hold, and breathed in the new pathway God is calling us to traverse.

I’ve always found it interesting that the season of Lent begins not in the Temple, not in the “settled” place, but in the wilderness, where the winds blow the pathways into changing patterns rather than roads and the sands swirl and blind us at times.  Maybe it is when we leave behind what we know that we can finally hear the way Home.  That is the Promise in which we trust–that somewhere beyond what we have figured out and what we have planned and that for which we have settled is the way Home.  I mean, really, would it hurt to unsettle your life a bit?  Because, otherwise, how will you be able to know when God is calling you to “Go”?

Let yourself get shaken up. What are you willing to give up to ensure your own unfolding, and the unfolding of what is holy in your life? Where you stumble, here is your treasure. (Joseph Campbell)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Chaos Theory

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Passage:  Mark 8: 31-38

31Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” 34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For 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. 36For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”

We are very good at imagining who we intend to be.  We are very good at attempting to write the story that makes sense for us.  So, what do we do when we find out that the story is about to change?  See, Peter had it all figured out.  His whole identity was wrapped up in who he understood Jesus to be and who he understood himself to be in light of that.  Sure, I think Peter got that Jesus was the Messiah.  He knew the words.  He had been taught the meaning probably from his childhood, the idea that this Messiah would come and bring victory and glory. Put yourself in his place.  Here is this great man who you have grown to dearly love.  This ministry that he has begun has been great.  He truly IS the Messiah for which you have waited so long.  What great plans for the future Peter must have imagined! 

But then Jesus starts talking about his own coming suffering.  This wasn’t the plan that Peter envisioned.  This wasn’t the way the story was supposed to go.  Most of us identify with Peter here.  This cannot be!  There is no way that it is time for Jesus to leave us.  This was our Messiah sent here to save us, the Messiah for which we have waited for generations upon generations!  Jesus’ harsh statement to Peter jolts us into reality, though.  For we do often limit our thinking to things of this world.  We want to protect and possess this Messiah.  We want a Messiah who will save us on our terms, someone to be in control, someone to fix things, someone to make it all turn out like we want it to turn out, someone to make our lives safer and easier. 

Now, contrary to the way our version of the Scriptures interprets it, I don’t think Jesus was accusing Peter of being evil or Satan or anything like that.  Who could blame Peter?  He’s just like us!  Listen further…If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  We’ve all read that verse before.  We’d like to make it read a little easier.  We would rather skip through the end of Holy Week and go straight to Easter morning.  That’s why this season of Lent is so difficult.  It won’t let us do that.  The cross is not something that we look to only in the past.  The cross is not something that we look to at the end of our lives.  This is not some goal for farther down the road. This is not some plan laid out for our lives.  This is here; this is now. It’s talking about the journey.  It’s talking about our listening to God’s calling us in our lives now.  It’s talking about letting your life go NOW! If this were easy, then we wouldn’t need Christ.  We’re not asked to just believe in Christ; we’re asked to follow…all the way to the cross.

I know what you’re all thinking.  I’m not so sure I signed up for this.  What happened to that Messiah that was going to take away all our troubles—you know calm all the storms and such?  What happened to that Savior that would solve all of our problems so that life wouldn’t be so hard?  Ooops! Wrong Savior! Maybe we don’t want a Messiah at all.  Maybe we were confused.  Maybe what we REALLY want is a superhero, you know…more of a “and they lived happily ever after” ending. 

That’s not how the story is written.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I in no way believe that everything has already been laid out for us as some sort of pre-ordained path.  I’m not that Calvinist.  It’s much more nuanced than that.  Some of you have heard me say this, but I once had the opportunity to be a part of a discussion group with John Irving (yes, THAT John Irving).  One question that was asked was predictable:  How did he write his stories?  But his answer was unusual.  He said that he writes the ending first and then rolls out the plots, themes, and chapters that will end the way he has envisioned it.

I think that’s a lot like the way this story is being written.  God has a vision.  We’ve been given clues and the small pieces of it that we can grasp.  But the story is still being written by God and by us.  God has invited us into this work.  But the story is not linear.  It’s not something we can predict or for which we can plan.  Instead, it probably more closely resembles chaos theory.  Chaos theory is a scientific and mathematical discipline that embraces patterns, rather than linear lines.  The assumption is that whatever happens is a product of multiple things, including choices, weather, science, and the things that came before.  You’ve heard of the “butterfly effect”.  That’s chaos theory.  It’s not random.  And it’s not chaos.  It’s ordered.  Isn’t that what God does?  God takes this veritable chaotic swirl of happenings and orders it.  And it is very very good.

Jesus had that vision.  Jesus knew the story.  He was trying to help Peter understand that the chapters that would unfold were not random.  They certainly weren’t chaos.  But they weren’t controllable.  They weren’t predictable.  They weren’t the story that we would probably pen on our own.  God is writing the story and invites us into it to help write it.  But we need to breathe out needing it to be predictable, needing it to be what we want or envision or write for ourselves.  Forget that.  Breathe in the story…the one that God is writing with you. 

God…leads us step by step, from event to event.  Only afterwards, as we look back over the way we have come and reconsider certain important moments in our lives in the light of all that has followed them, or when we survey the whole progress of our lives, do we experience the feeling of having been led without knowing it, the feeling that God has mysteriously guided us. (Paul Tournier)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

It WAS About Grace

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Psalm 32 (Lent 1A)

1Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.

2Happy are those to whom the Lord imputes no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

3While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long.

4For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah

5Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” and you forgave the guilt of my sin. Selah

6Therefore let all who are faithful offer prayer to you; at a time of distress, the rush of mighty waters shall not reach them.

7You are a hiding place for me; you preserve me from trouble; you surround me with glad cries of deliverance. Selah

8I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.

9Do not be like a horse or a mule, without understanding, whose temper must be curbed with bit and bridle, else it will not stay near you.

10Many are the torments of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the Lord.

11Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.

Well, you can tell it’s Lent when we keep talking about confession and repentance and forgiveness.  Most people in our modern-day society sort of squirm with those subjects.  I mean, can’t we just put these on the top shelf next to the hellfire and brimstone theology and the decree claiming that women can’t read the Scripture in church?  I mean, how about we talk a little about grace?  Isn’t that what we do?  We’d rather hide the shortcomings away or shift the blame to someone else or change the environment so what we did is perhaps now acceptable.  I mean, admitting we’ve messed up is hard.  It’s uncomfortable.  And what if everyone knows about it?  And so, we walk around full of guilt, full of questions, full of something that could just as easily be cleared away.

Let’s get this straight.  God is not sitting there waiting for us to confess, waiting for us to repent before God loves us.  There are those who will couch it like that (probably the same ones pulling the hellfire and brimstone material out) but, and this is me talking, I think that’s not the way it is at all.  Maybe God doesn’t even really care whether or not we do it.  Oh, but I think God does.  You know why?  Because God loves us.  See, confession, admission, breathing out the wrongs we have done, the people we have hurt, the ways we have blamed others for the peril of our lives is not to please God.  It is, rather, to make room for us, to clear a way so that we can grow and prosper and find a new way.  And because God loves us more than we can even fathom, God’s desire is that that happens—not for God but for us.

The psalmist warns against our silence, warns against us hiding ourselves away and not talking about it, not facing the truth.  And the psalmist exhorts us to confess, to admit our wrongdoing, to claim responsibility for our sins.  We no longer need to hide.  Because it is God who will step in, who will hold us in our discomfort, who will comfort us in our peril, who will stand with us as the consequences of whatever harm we have wrought, whatever hurts we have brought, rain down on us.

See, we know God forgives.  The part we miss is that God will stay with us through everything that comes after.  Breathe out your confession.  Make room.  And breathe in forgiveness and newness and the very presence of God through it all.

I must confess that I was not excited about writing this one.  I mean, it sort of sounded like a downer.  Now I realize that it WAS about grace.  Breathe out confession and breathe in grace.

In the Name of Jesus Christ you are forgiven…

Forgiveness is the act of admitting we’re like other people.  (Christian Baldwin)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli