An Act of Resistance

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Text: Matthew 21: 1-11 (Liturgy of the Palms A)

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, 2saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. 3If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And he will send them immediately.” 4This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, 5“Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” 6The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; 7they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. 8A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” 10When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” 11The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”

So, when I was growing up in the church, Palm Sunday was exciting.  I looked forward to it.  It was fun to wave the palm branches and sing the familiar hymns and re-enact the joyous parade that brought Jesus into the city and honors him as our King.  But, to be honest, we probably read a little bit more into this parade than is there.  I used to think that this was a big parade, maybe the whole town of Jerusalem, welcoming Jesus into their midst.  I used to think that Jesus entered the main gate of Jerusalem flanked by loving followers to a great celebration.  But then it didn’t make much sense as to why it went so badly so fast.  The truth is, Jesus was not “it” in Jerusalem.  Jesus was heading what was then a small fledgling movement on the outskirts of established religion and recognized society. 

Palm Sunday Road, Mt. Olivet

He was coming down a narrow road that winds down Mt. Olivet and was then entering through the eastern gate of Jerusalem, the “back door” of the city, for all practical purposes.  The Western gate was the main gate.  It was the one where all the military pomp and circumstance entered, a gate fit for royalty.  Hmmm!  It seems that Jesus makes a habit of coming in the back door—into forgotten grottos and wilderness baptisms and ministries that begin around a lake rather than a bustling Holy City.  So, this seems only fitting.  Maybe that’s the point.  God doesn’t always enter in the way we expect, doesn’t always show up when it fits the best into our schedule or our circumstances.  Instead, God slips in through the back door of our perfectly-planned lives when we sometimes barely notice and makes a home with us.

In their book The Last Week, Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan posited a sort of “two parade” theory that actually makes a great deal of sense.  What they propose was that since it WAS Passover, the holiest time in the city, there indeed would have been great celebration and so it makes sense that the Roman government would take advantage of that.  The book begins by saying, “Two processions entered Jerusalem on a spring day in the year 30. . . One a peasant procession, the other an imperial procession. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the Mount of Olives, cheered by his followers. On the opposite side of the city, from the west, Pontius Pilate, entered Jerusalem at the head of a column of imperial cavalry and soldiers.  Jesus’ procession proclaimed the kingdom of God; Pilate’s proclaimed the power of empire.”

The point was that the small (and it was small, particularly when you look at the size of what is now known as the “Palm Sunday Road” on Mt. Olivet) procession of Jesus and his band of followers was not the main event of the day.  It was, in essence, a parody of the other parade—a stubborn donkey and a small colt in place of grand steeds adorned with rich fabrics and jewels, palm branches laid on the ground in place of fine and expensive carpets, cloaks instead of royal accoutrements, and an honoree that had preached nothing that the grand processional stood for.  It was also an act of resistance.  It was the way (and a dangerous one at that) to say, “no…our king is this Messiah, our Way is the Way of Love.”  This King will bring peace rather than war, will bring mercy rather than rules and punishment, will bring life rather than death.  This King is the way of resistance to the empire, to the powers of the world.  It is the way of resistance to a government that doesn’t serve everyone equally, a regime that is more interest in power and riches than service.

So, the onlookers stay around for just a little while.  And then the back-door parade fizzles.  As the road goes by the Garden of Gethsemane and down toward Bethany and the outer walls of Jerusalem, many leave and go back to their lives.  Maybe they had something to do; maybe they didn’t want to contend with all the holiday traffic in downtown Jerusalem; or maybe they were afraid of what might happen. So, Jesus enters the gate of the city almost alone, save for a few of the disciples.

Where are we in this moment?  Jerusalem is here.  As followers, we know that the road is not easy.  It will wind through this week with the shouts of “Crucify him” becoming louder and louder.  We will experience pain and grief and even betrayal.  The road is steep and uneven.  And the shouting stones and clanging iron against wood will be deafening.  But this is the way—the way to peace, the way to knowing God, the way Home.  This is our road; this is our Way; this is the procession to life.  The way to the Cross, through the wilderness of this week is our Way to Life.

The truth is that all the breathing out and the breathing in that we have done to get us here was not for our health; it was to prepare us for this.  And now we have to decide.  Are we the ones running away or are we following Jesus?  The ahead will be hard and painful.  More than that, it will be dangerous.  We know that.  But it is the way to life.  The gate is just up ahead. We can no longer sit on the steps outside the gate.  Jerusalem awaits. And Jesus has begun his walk to the Cross.  Breathe out…then breathe in.

Eastern Gate, Jerusalem (Sealed in 1541 by Ottoman Sultan Suleimann)

Just outside Jerusalem we came to a gate called Truth.  We called to the gatekeeper to let us in.  “The latch is not on,” he replied.  “Anyone who will can enter.”  We went closer, but seeing how great and how heavy was the gate we looked for a way around.  There must be a way around. (Ann Weems, Kneeling in Jerusalem)

Eternal Rest, Grant Them O Lord

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Sanctuary

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Scripture Text: Luke 19: 41-44

41As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, 42saying, “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. 43Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. 44They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.”

I’ve come to this moment and this place. I understood what I was called to do.  It was what was needed. Everyone was so locked in, often misinformed, often following a way that was not good for them, a way that was pulling them away from God, away from each other.  Oh, they meant well.  They were trying to follow the laws, trying to believe in the way they had been taught, trying so hard to make the way for themselves. But what they missed was the God who was with them, who had always been with them.  What they missed was the God of Love. I so prayed to show them the God of Love.

I was called to show them a new way, a way that would allow them to see the beauty and the grace and the mercy that God had in store for them, a way that would show how much God loves them, how much God desires for them. There were times when I felt it happening. There were those times when the disciples followed me, timidly leaving their lives behind and hesitantly following in this new way. There was that afternoon on the side of the mountain when the excitement was palpable.  There were so many that day that seemed ready to follow a new path. There were so many that understood. There they were, talking and eating together and being the people of God.

There were times I did not expect that were so wonderful, so life-giving. There was the one that was healed that came back, that understood the mercy and the grace. There was the woman at the well that taught me that my mission was bigger that even I had thought, that God was calling me to the world.  I pray that her voice will always be heard. And there was Lazarus.  My friend, my confidante, the one who always supported me.  When he died, I grieved.  And when he was raised, it was such a celebration.  His resurrection was what I prayed everyone would understand.  Thank you, God, for that gift, for the rising and the life.

I hope I did everything I could. I pray that my time here was what was needed, that somehow the fruitfulness will sprout even after I am gone, that this new Way will be imprinted on your people and in your world. I pray that part of me, part of what I did, part of what I taught, and part of how much I loved them will remain. I pray that this will not all be for naught. I pray that they will continue the pathway I have tried to show them.

But, always, in the shadows, there seemed to be something pulling everyone away, convincing everyone that they had to put themselves first, that they had to fear others, that they had to preserve their way of life, that somehow the earthly kings were above You or that in some perversion of your Word, there was belief that you somehow had sanctioned what is being done in the world, that you had somehow blessed the warring and the madness and the hunger and the exclusion. I weep because they have forgotten who they are.  They have forgotten that they are your children, that they are made in your image, a reflection of your being and your Presence in the world. 

And so, in this moment before I enter the city, I weep.  I weep for you my children.  I weep that I will not have more time, that what I tried to impart to you may not have taken hold.  I weep at the thought that when I am gone, you will simply turn back to your own ways. I weep that God’s love and mercy and grace have eluded you. I weep for you, Jerusalem, that you might have become so inward-looking that you have missed the gracious dance that the Father offers each of you.

Dear Father, I weep these tears this day.  Thank you for the gift of these tears.  Thank you for not taking them away just yet because they are your tears.  This is your lament.  This is your city, your holiest of cities, the place of your presence, that has seemed to push away what you offer, that has seemed to push away your love.

I do not weep for me.  I know that I have done your work.  I know that you have called me to this time—just this time.  I know that there will be other children of yours that will carry your love, that will carry your message to the world.  I pray for their strength and their fortitude.  I pray that they will know how to love you like I do.  I pray that this Way of Christ will be theirs.

Go with me, dear Father.  Carry me into what is to come.  I am ready.  I do this for you.  I do this for your children.  I do this for your kingdom.  I pray for all that is to come.  I pray for the generations of your children that will follow in my name.  I pray that what I tried to do, what I hoped to do, what I prayed that I would do, was done.  Forgive them Lord.  Be with them Lord.  Let them know your love.  Let them be your sanctuary. Let them breathe out the ways of the world and breathe in all that You are.

1Hear my prayer, O Lord; give ear to my supplications in your faithfulness; answer me in your righteousness. 2Do not enter into judgment with your servant, for no one living is righteous before you. 3For the enemy has pursued me, crushing my life to the ground, making me sit in darkness like those long dead. 4Therefore my spirit faints within me; my heart within me is appalled. 5I remember the days of old, I think about all your deeds, I meditate on the works of your hands. 6I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land. (Psalm 143)

Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair. (G. K. Chesterton)

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli

      If You Love Me…

      shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , , ,

      (part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

      Galilee, near the Mt. of the Beatitudes

      Scripture Text: Matthew 22: 34-40

      34When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, 35and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 36“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” 37He said to him, “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38This is the greatest and first commandment. 39And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

      This passage is familiar to all of us.  Maybe it’s too familiar.  Maybe we’re good at reciting it and not that great at living it.  But all that Jesus was—the annunciation, the birth, the teaching, the welcoming, the healing, the miracles, the calling, even the turning of the tables—all of it came down to this.  THIS was the message that Jesus was trying to impart to us.  Oh, it’s not that it’s more important than everything else that Scripture holds, everything else that Jesus taught.  It’s that it IS everything else, all wrapped up into these words—love God and love neighbor.  It is the story of our faith.

      This passage tells of the last in a series of encounters that Jesus had with the Pharisees and the Sadducees over the issue and challenge of Jesus’ authority, over the question of who Jesus was.  In the context of the Gospel by the writer known as Matthew, this is Jesus’ final encounter with those who saw it as their role to protect the tradition of the first century Jewish religion.  After this, the Gospel moves into the judgment of Jesus and then on toward the Passion and Resurrection of Christ.  In a way, this was Jesus’ final answer, his way of summing it all up for us before the judgment began.

      The lawyer who stepped forward could be considered an expert on the Torah, the professional theologian and the resident authority on all things of the faith tradition.  And his purpose was to test Jesus, to trap him into giving an answer that would finally prove that Jesus was not who he had made himself out to be.  For the writer of Matthew, this was a test of the kingdoms pitted against each other—the Kingdom of God against the powers that were in play on earth.

      The rabbis had counted a total of 613 commandments in the Torah, the “Law”.  (I’m sure you have all of those memorized and follow them to the letter!—or not!) And even though it was acceptable for rabbis to give summaries of the Law itself, the view was that each one of these commandments held equal value with all the others.  By asking Jesus which law was the greatest, the lawyer was setting a trap.  If Jesus singled out any one law above the other, it would be like dismissing the other 612.  It would be a violation of the Law of Torah.  It would be the final blow.

      But Jesus, in true Jesus fashion has an answer that they were not expecting.  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”  The first commandment that Jesus cites is part of what is known in Judaism as the Shema, the central prayer of the Jewish faith.  It would be hard to refute.  Found in the 6th chapter of Deuteronomy, the commandment that Jesus gives is part of what is found in a mezuzah, the holy parchment affixed to the doorframes of Jewish homes.  From the Tanakh translation, which is a traditional Hebrew translation, the prayer goes like this:

      “Hear, O Israel!  The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.  Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.  Impress them upon your children.  Recite them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up.  Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead; inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

      It declares not only the belief in the One and Only God but also calls us to a deep and abiding relationship with God.  We are called to love God with our whole heart, a pure and absolute devotion to God as our one and only maker and redeemer.  We are called to love God with our souls, to long for a passionate and engaged love for the One who nurtures and sustains us.  We are called to love God with our minds, not a blind and uninformed faith but one that questions, and learns, and grows into what God envisions us to be.  And we are called to love God with all our strength, every fiber of our being, a full and engaged life lived in the name of Christ our Lord.

      But then Jesus comes back and tells us that we “shall love our neighbor as ourself.” (Found in Leviticus 19:18) In essence, it seems that Jesus was asked for one commandment and responded with two.  But the writer of Matthew’s Gospel depicts the second as “like” the first.  The Greek word for this does not mean merely similar; it means, rather, that is of equal importance and inseparable from the first, linked and dependent upon each other.  The great command to love God has as its inseparable counterpart the command to love neighbor.   One cannot understand true and abiding love without a loving relationship with God.  But one cannot realize that relationship with God without loving one’s brothers and sisters and realizing that we are all children of God.  From this standpoint, our mutual and shared humanity becomes part of our relationship with God, as we are swept into the coming of the Kingdom of God for all of Creation.  We are called to love our neighbor as deeply as we love ourselves, to meet our neighbor’s needs as readily as we meet our own, and to seek to understand our neighbor’s dreams and passions just as we vie for what we believe.  We are called to love our neighbor because we love God.  The two commandments are intrinsically intertwined, inescapably linked to one another.  They become reflections of each other in true Trinitarian mutual relationship.  They are of one essence and being.  Our love and compassion for others gives visibility to our love and compassion of God. 

      Jesus did not just invent this “greatest commandment”.  It was a way of talking about all of the commandments that were known (including those “Top 10” that politicians seem so intent on placing in every school room).  In fact, if you look at the Ten Commandments, they are neatly summarized in the Great Commandment.  The truth is that none of them are a list of “do’s and don’ts”.  They are this—this greatest commandment, summarized into Jesus’ final message.  It’s not a set of rules; it’s a way of being, to live a life loving God and neighbor.

      So, here we are, coming so near to the gates of Jerusalem, so near to the end.  We Christians walk this Lenten journey with Jesus.  We probably walk it with only a modicum of the attention it is due because, after all, we know how it all turns out.  We know that in a matter of days, we’ll go to church and bask in the perfume of Easter lilies and go on with our lives.  But the truth is that living this Greatest Commandment means more than just paying attention, more than just remembering.  Loving God is about entering this Holy Walk and loving God so much that you can’t walk away.  And loving neighbor means that we are called to love the Pontius Pilates and the callous townspeople and the corrupt court and the disciples who stayed and the disciples who fled.  Loving our neighbor means that we love the thieves on the cross, both the penitent and the impenitent, as ourselves.  Because they are us—all of them.  They are the times that we choose to ignore our neighbor or make excuses for our action or try to justify something that is not just.  They are the times that we bear the cross to die to what we should not be. 

      John 14:15 reminds us that Jesus said, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.”  Keep here is not just “obey”.  It means more to watch over them, to preserve them, to guard them, to become them.  So, as we begin to turn toward the gate to enter Jerusalem, breathe out…breathe out the excuses, breathe out walking through this as history or a distant memory that is not yours.  Breathe out want to avoid the grief and the gore and the despair because it is uncomfortable.  Breathe out thinking that the walk is not yours because Jesus did it for you.  (OK, at the risk of being thrown off the team, I’m not really a substitutionary atonement kind of gal.  Jesus invited us into being with God through Christ.  Jesus invited us to this walk—all of it.  We must experience a death, of sorts, a dying and letting go of what was so that we might live.) And breathe in remembrance—the remembrance that is love.  Breathe in this commandment to love God and love neighbor, two inextricably linked parts that if you keep, if you preserve, if you become, you will know resurrection—not only Jesus’ but also yours.  You will know how to begin to practice resurrection.

      Love God with all you are and love your neighbor as yourself…love enough to walk this Way of the Cross. 

      Humanly speaking, we could interpret the Sermon on the Mount in a thousand different ways.  Jesus knows only one possibility:  simple surrender and obedience.  He does not want it to be discussed as an ideal; he really means us to get on with it.  (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

      OK, a little bit of housekeeping…we are nearly to Holy Week.  I’m doing something just a little bit different this year.  Beginning Monday, these posts will be a walk through Holy Week via the Stations of the Cross.  The Via Dolorosa marks the path Jesus traveled as he carried the cross from the place he was sentenced to the place of his resurrection.  Through the years, 14 Stations developed as early pilgrims honored places where events were likely to have taken place.  Many of these stations are only a guess since the Jerusalem of Jesus’ day was almost completely destroyed by the Roman armies in 70 AD.  But since the majority of Christians throughout the world could not journey to Jerusalem to walk the Via Dolorosa, the Stations became a spiritual tool that would give them an opportunity for a “mini-pilgrimage”.  It became a way for every Christian to enter that Holy Walk, the “Way of the Cross”, the way that takes us through the sorrows and despair of Holy Week that we, too, might emerge victorious in the glory of the Resurrection.  I hope this will be as meaningful to you as it is for me.

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli

      Seized By the Power of a Great Affection

      shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , , ,

      (part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

      Scripture Text: John 12: 1-11

      12Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” 9When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 10So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, 11since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.

      We are getting closer.  Jerusalem is upon us.  We have walked this Way of letting go and picking up, of feeling both despair and hope, of lament and joy, of breathing out and breathing in.  But, still, the ending is beginning to loom bigger than we imagined it would be. What is it, exactly, that we’re supposed to do with it all?  How do we walk with Jesus to the place where he is handed over?

      This passage is usually read on Holy Monday.  It is part of the walk that we walk during Holy Week that ends with Jesus’ crucifixion.  It includes Palm Sunday, the Anointing, the description of the Cross (the wheat passage), the account of Judas, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday.  But this passage is part of the “taking stock” that we are doing this week, the walk with Jesus through his life.

      The truth is that we are not used to a Christ who does nothing, who just surrenders. We are, rather, more comfortable when Jesus is showing us how to do what we’re supposed to do as followers. We like a Jesus who is strong and confident leading our team.  We are not accustomed to such a passive Christ. I looked up the word “passive” in an etymological dictionary. The root is the Latin passiuus. And then, surprisingly, it says “See Passion.” The etymological root of passion, the term that we use to describe Jesus’ suffering journey to the cross, is the Latin passionem, or suffering. And it says “See Passive.” The two words are related. The “Passion”, this time of suffering and letting go and being “handed over”, is a movement from planned and intentional action to no longer being in control. All of Jesus’ actions are accomplished. It is finished. It is a time of waiting—waiting for others’ response.  Jesus has shown us how to let go, how to surrender.

      In the passage, we find this passive Jesus. He visits the home of friends, the home of those whom he had served, those for whom he had done things. And, it says, they give a dinner for him. Jesus is the guest of honor. After all the doing, after all the action, after all the stuff, he now spends time with friends. And they serve him. And then the passage tells us that Mary takes a pound of costly perfumed nard, breaks the seal, and lavishly pours it onto Jesus’ feet. Then as the oil runs down his feet and begins to drip onto the floor, she bows and wipes his feet with her hair. The whole house is filled with this overwhelming fragrance, sort of a combination of mint and ginseng, sickeningly sweet.

      Well, the disciples just couldn’t leave it alone. What in the world was she doing? Here is this man who has worked for years to bring peace and justice to the world, to heal others, to end poverty and oppression and you waste this oil by pouring it out on him! That oil could have been sold. Things could have been done with that money! We could have done great ministry with what you just poured on his feet! But you have wasted it! You have squandered it!

      Jesus responds. “Leave her alone,” he says. You see, she gets it. She understands. I do not have long to be with you. She knows where I am going. And she responds. This woman loves Jesus. In fact, she loves Jesus so much that she defies the expected, shuns her role as the subservient female, and instead pours out the abundance of her life and anoints Jesus for his burial. This is not the time to talk about budgets or the ways things are normally done. This is the time of Jesus’ waiting and her response. As she anointed Jesus, Mary entered Jesus’ Passion and understood what it meant to have a personal relationship with Christ.

      There are those in our society that would describe that breakthrough as being “born again”. But that phrase, commonplace and probably overused and misused as it is today, was not even around over a hundred years ago. Instead, the words that were used to describe this coming into who Jesus is was to say that one was “seized by the power of a great affection.” Isn’t that an incredible phrase—to be “seized by the power of a great affection”? You see, we 21st century folks usually think we have it all figured out. We know what we’re called to do to make disciples of Jesus Christ. We live our lives as best we can within the framework of what God wants us to do. And we do what we can for others by reaching out in the name of Christ. All of that is wonderful. But are we truly “seized by the power of a great affection”? Why do you think Jesus did everything that he did while he was on this earth? Was it just to show us what it is we’re supposed to do? No, Jesus was more than merely an exemplary human being put here for us to emulate. Jesus came to reveal God’s love, to show us how much God loves each of us and how much God desires us, to make known once and for all the affection that God has for all of God’s Creation and for us as children of God. Jesus was God made known, Emmanuel.

      There is a story from the Sufi mystical tradition of a disciple that comes to an elder for direction.  “Where shall I find God?” the disciple asked the elder. “God is with you,” the Holy One replied. “But if that is true,” the disciple asked, “why can I not see this Presence?” “Because you are like the fish who, when in the ocean, never notices the water.” It is not that God is not with us; it is that we are unaware of that incredible Presence.  When we finally stop doing what we think we should be doing, let go, and listen for that which God is calling us to be we will become aware of that extraordinary Presence that is God. And in that becoming, we enter the anointed Christ-life.

      We are about to enter the week when we come to the end of all our doing. This is the wilderness week when we let go and walk with Christ through the suffering of the Cross. This is the week when we finally realize that we can do nothing else. And on that final day, as the passive Christ is handed over, there is nothing more for him to do other than wait for our response. Who will follow me? Who will come to me with all your misery and your sins, with all your trouble and your needs, and with all your longings to be loved?  Who will follow me through the wilderness? Who will hand over their lives just as I have done that you too might be raised to new life? Because it is then that the oil will be poured out for you in much the same way as you are immersed in the waters of your Baptism.

      I have read several modern interpretations of the theology about Mary that posits that Mary of Bethany and Mary of Magdala were actually the same person, the sister of Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised.  There is also the belief that Martha was possibly a later edition to the narrative.  In other words, Lazarus only had one sister in this interpretation.  I’ve read some of Professor Elizabeth Schrader-Polczer’s work and Diana Butler Bass also writes about it.  Most of the work is based on the earliest existing texts including the Gospel of John (before the Western translators got hold of it) as well as some non-canonical texts (including The Gospel of Mary Magdalene).  So, I’m not completely convinced yet but I find it extraordinarily fascinating.  Because what it does is place Mary right in the story—the whole story.  It shows us that Mary confesses Christ, serves Jesus, anoints him for burial, witnesses his death, and proclaims the first Easter message. 

      What I find fascinating is that IF this is the case, it means that Mary was doing everything at that dinner.  She was serving (as women did and even do) AND she was engaged, sitting at the feet of Jesus and anointing him for burial.  Mary got it.  Mary understood it enough that she did not allow herself to be strapped by the ways of the world, to be limited by her gender or her role, to be told the “proper” way to do something.  She allowed herself to be truly “seized by the power of a great affection”.  And, in that moment, Jesus was everything to her.  In that moment, she gave herself to him.  In that moment, the connection that they shared was the human connection that God calls us all to share—to love each other without distraction.  So, breathe out…breathe out all those things that pull you away from paying attention to each other, from engaging.  I have a handful of friends (one is a cousin) with whom I have regular or semi-regular lunches.  We do not engage with our phones.  We do not read anything but the menu.  We just spend time together.  We talk.  We share.  We ask advice.  We talk about books and theology and family and memories.  The point is that we breathe out the world and engage with each other.  That’s what Mary did.  I envision that if there WAS no Martha, then the dirty dishes were left in the sink for a while (the scandal!).  And then we breathe in…we breathe in Jesus.  We become seized by the power of a great affection.

      Mary breathed out.  She breathed out what was expected.  She breathed out everything that would be said about her.  And then she knelt down and lifted the cup and poured out the oil until nothing was left.  It dripped down Jesus and onto the floor and seeped into the floor boards.  She tried to wipe it up with her hair.  And then she breathed in.  She wanted to remember this moment.  Days later would be too late.  Now was the time to engage.  In this moment she knew.  And she breathed in the presence of her Lord.

      Jesus is Christ because he is truly human…He is the true Human because of his maturity, because of the way he showed us, beyond and inclusive of morality, the way to be a human being.  He tells the disciples that they will always have the poor with them—and that today he is here and he wants the friendship, he wants the spice, he wants the life…He is also telling us one thing more—that life is good, that its hidden design is goodness, that we may and should be sure to enjoy life.  Dig down.  Dig deeper.  Get intoxicated.  Smell the spices.  Jesus did.  So may we.  Even if we aren’t there yet. (Donna E. Schaper)

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli

      The Way

      shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , ,

      (part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

      Lake of Galilee from Capernaum

      Scripture Text:  Mark 6:1-6

      He left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. 2On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! 3Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. 4Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” 5And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. 6And he was amazed at their unbelief.

      The account of Jesus early in his ministry speaking in the synagogue before his hometown is found in all four Gospels.  It is the beginning of the story of Jesus we know as the teacher, as the community organizer, as the one that pushes people beyond their own boundaries.  In the Lukan Gospel, the passage from which he read is included. 

      So, as was the custom, Jesus stood in the synagogue to read.  He unrolled the scroll and began.  But something happened in the midst of the reading.  He saw himself differently after reading the lyrical words from the scroll.  Hear the Scripture that was read: (Isaiah 61)

      The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me;
      he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives,  and release to the prisoners;
      2to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour,  and the day of vengeance of our God;    to comfort all who mourn; 3to provide for those who mourn in Zion—to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.  They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. 4They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.

      The truth was that Jesus wasn’t seen as a prophet or a Messiah by this crowd.  He was just one of them, this little kid that had made good and of whom they were very proud.  This was the kid that they had helped raise.  They probably thought that his ministry would be a reflection on them.  But Jesus was not cooperating.  And when they looked at him, they did not see a reflection of what they were expecting but a dim view of something that was a tad unfamiliar.  Jesus was standing there, calling them to change, calling them to look at things differently, to step out of their carefully constructed boxes and away from their earthly temples of who they thought they should be and actually become the people of God. So, who did he think he was?  God?

      The truth is, Jesus was asking them to go beyond what they knew.  As hard as it was for them to fathom, God was not some far-off inaccessible entity to which they could go when it was convenient and from which they could turn when it was not.  This ordinary, earthly man standing before them was God—Immanuel, God-with-us—calling them to serve others, to put themselves out there, and to unlock those gates that we all so carefully build around our lives.  They were being called to look into that reflection to see not who they were but who they were supposed to be.

      And the passage says that they “took offense at him”.  In Greek, the word offense is “skandalon”, from which we get the word “scandal”.  Jesus was scandalous because he had the audacity to imply not that these learned people who had worshipped so faithfully for so long were wrong but that the religion that they practice, the boundaries that they had built, were not the whole thing.  

      Albert Einstein once said that “we cannot solve our problems with the same mindset that created them.”  This world that God created is always changing, always growing, always alive.  There’s sort of a wildness to it, not to be tamed or fixed, but to be embraced and entered.  We are called to go out into the world and change it.  But, more importantly, we are called to move to where God is leading us and allow ourselves to be changed.  The world is different than it used to be—and so are we.

      Jesus got that.  I think he knew in this moment that the ministry he was beginning was not a recap of the “usual” way.  No, it was the Way of Christ, the Way that God calls us to go.  And as much as the world still tries to sanitize that image of Christ, still tries to make him “acceptable” to the ways of the world, as much as those in power try to present a version that is on their side and affirms what they are doing, the truth is that the Way of Christ doesn’t look like this world or this theology that we have so carefully constructed.  It is rather one that shakes us up, turns us around, and heads us in a new direction.  We cannot follow the way that has been paved over and we can’t live in a world that has been safely fenced off against those who we are called to serve.  The pathway ahead is wild and untamed.  So, breathe out…breathe out the usual way.  Breathe out the way the world tells you that you should go.  Breathe out the usual and the comfortable and the way that won’t get you, I don’t know, killed or something.  And breathe in.  Breathe in the Spirit of the Lord that was breathed into the human we call Jesus.  And follow the path that calls you to build up ruins, raise those place that are devastated by our world, and repair the cities that the world has chosen to forget.  Breathe in the very image of Jesus Christ.

      I think Jesus knew in this moment that the pathway would not be easy, that people would be “offended”, that there were those who would try to stop him.  Perhaps he knew how it would all end.  Jesus was not just placed in the world to become yet another historic footnote.  Jesus came to invite us into the Story, a story that at times would be difficult, a story that would take us on a difficult journey to the Cross, but, ultimately, a story that would end where it all began—with Life.  And God saw that it was very, very good.

      He comes to us as One unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lakeside…He speaks to us the same word:  ‘Follow thou me!” and sets us to the tasks which He has to fulfill for our time…And to those who obey, whether they be wise or simple, [God] will reveal {Godself] in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings which they shall pass through in this fellowship, and, as an ineffable mystery, they shall learn in their own experience Who [God] is. (Albert Schweitzer)

      Lyrics: “Jesus” (Ashley Cleveland)

      Jesus
      They say You walked upon the water once
      When you lived as all men do
      Please teach me how to walk the way You did
      Because I want to walk with You

      Jesus
      They say you taught a lame man how to dance
      When he had never stood without a crutch
      Well here am I Lord holding out my withered hands
      And I’m just waiting to be touched

      Jesus
      Write me into Your story
      Whisper it to me
      And let me know I’m Yours

      Jesus
      They say You spoke and calmed an angry wave
      That was tossed across a stormy sea
      Please teach me how to listen how to obey
      ‘Cause there’s a storm inside of me

      Jesus
      Write me into Your story
      Whisper it to me
      And let me know I’m Yours

      They drove the cold nails through Your tired hands
      And rolled a stone to seal Your grave
      Feels like the devil’s rolled a stone onto my heart
      Can You roll that stone away?”

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli

      Water Into Wine

      shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

      (part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

      Remains of first-century city of Capernaum, February, 2010

      Scripture Text:  John 2: 1-11

      On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” 4And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” 5His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 6Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. 8He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. 9When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” 11Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

      So, more taking stock…remember this day?  Remember the wedding where the newly-baptized Jesus who had not yet really started doing all the things he did suddenly performed his first miracle?  But, in an infinitely obvious clue that Jesus was human, his mother made him do it.  That was always a little odd and somehow refreshing to me.  I mean, Jesus didn’t just walk out of the manger and begin being Jesus.  He was fully human…growing up, probably getting in trouble, worrying his parents, and obeying what they said or at least fulfilling what they desired.  Jesus was the Messiah.  But he was also Mary’s son.  So, he had to go get more supplies for the gathering. Because that’s what good sons do!

      So, a little background…According to the Mishnah (which is sort of the oral tradition of Judaism based on the understanding of Scripture), a wedding would take place on a Wednesday if the bride was a virgin and on a Thursday if she was a widow. The bridegroom and his friends made their way in procession to the bride’s house. This was often done at night, when there could be a spectacular torchlight procession. There would be speeches and expressions of goodwill before the bride and groom went in procession to the groom’s house, where the wedding banquet was held. It is probable that there was some sort of religious ceremony, but we have no details. The processions and the feast are the principal items of which we have knowledge. The feast was prolonged, and might last as long as a week (so, OK, that would be quite a lot of wine!).

      So, Mary, the mother of Jesus, is at the wedding, although her role seems to be more than that of a guest. She seems to at least have some responsibility for everything that is going on. Perhaps the couple was an extended family member or something.  But she seems to be one of the first to know that the wine is running out. She instructs the servants to do whatever Jesus tells them to do, and they appear willing to take her instructions.

      Now you have to understand that this was an embarrassing situation.  The wine has run out, and there appears to be no solution.  Either no more wine is available, or there is no money to buy more wine. The guests seem unaware of what is happening. If something is not done, all will be embarrassed. Some commentators even inform us that litigation was possible in such cases. (Can you imagine being sued for not providing enough food and drink at a marriage ceremony?)  But, regardless, it is clear that Jesus’ mother expects Jesus to do something out of the ordinary.  She expects him to fix the problem.

      But I think there’s something else in this story.  Think about the wine itself.  It begins as ordinary grapes.  Well, not really.  If you go even farther back, you start with water.  Remember, everything starts with water.  And then those ordinary grapes with just the right amount of water, the right amount of sunlight, and the right amount of nutrients fed to them from the rich, dark earth begin to seed.  And then we wait, we wait for them to grow and flourish and at just the right time, they are picked and processed and strained of impurities and all of those things that are not necessary.  And then they are bottled and tucked away while again, we wait.  They are placed in just the right temperature, with just the right amount of light, and just the right amount of air quality and environment, and we wait some more.  We wait and until it becomes…well, a miracle.

      So, using wine to depict a miracle is not all that unusual.  The Bible is full of wine.  In fact, no single plant or product is mentioned more frequently than the vine and its fruit.  There are over 200 uses of wine itself.  It is used as a symbol of abundance and blessing.  When Moses pronounced God’s blessing in Deuteronomy, the words were “[God] will love you, and bless you, and multiply you; [God] will also bless…the fruit of your ground, your grain and your wine and your oil.”  The Book of Isaiah talks about the vineyard and its grapes to depict the world as it should be, as God envisions it.  And often a surplus of wine is taken to depict the coming of the Messianic Age, such as the words from Amos, “The time is surely coming, says the Lord, when…the mountains shall drip sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it.”  Wine is used to talk about sharing, about hospitality, and even about peace.

      And Biblical theologians have over and over pointed to the relationship that this story has with the Eucharist.  Think about it.  We take ordinary bread and ordinary wine, and through what we can only describe as a Holy Mystery, a veritable miracle, those ordinary things become holy.  They become for us the body and blood of Christ, the very essence of Christ to us, for us, and in us.  It’s not a magical conversion.  We still believe that they are bread and wine.  But God’s Spirit has made them this incredible sustenance that we need.

      And remember that when the wine ran out, Jesus did not conjure up fresh flagons of wine.  A miracle is not about fixing something or turning something into what it was not; a miracle is about making something new.  So, Jesus took what was there, those ordinary, perhaps even abandoned vessels of ordinary, everyday water and turned it into a holy and sacred gift.  Water and a miracle…

      So, this story of wine makes a little more sense.  Wine is water—plus a miracle.  It is a story of Jesus fulfilling even the smallest of needs, of God infusing grace into our ordinary lives if we will only trust that that will happen.  But there’s more.  In case it is lost on us, remember that our own bodies are roughly two-thirds water.  Do you remember that from biology?  No wonder the ancient sages always used water as a symbol for matter itself.  Humans, they taught, are a miraculous combination of matter and Spirit—water and a miracle—and thus unique in all of creation.  No wonder that wine is such a powerful, sacramental, and universal symbol of the natural world—illumined and uplifted by the Divine.  Wine is water, plus spirit, a unique nectar of the Divine, a symbol of life.

      And we, ordinary water-filled vessels (remember, we’re like 80% water or something) though we are, are no different.  God takes the created matter that is us, those incredible bodies that have been created from in the very waters of life, and, just as God has done before, moves over the water and breathes Spirit into us, breathes life into us.  We, too, are water plus a miracle.  Christ’s Spirit is infused into us, living in us.  13th century German mystic Meister Eckhart said that “every creature is a word of God.”  It’s another way of reminding us that we are water plus a miracle.  So, breathe out the you that was, the you that you thought you should be, that the world told you to be.  And breathe in the miracle that is you.  After all, you are water plus a miracle—created matter plus the Spirit of God.

      So maybe this story of Jesus’ first miracle is not as odd as we thought.  Our lectionary places it immediately following the remembrance of Jesus’ baptism and the remembrance of our own.  It is the point where God’s Spirit, where the holy and sacred itself, was poured into each of us.  So, yes, we are a miracle, created matter, Spirit-breathed.  We are the good wine that God has saved for now.  We are water plus a miracle.

      And, notice, this passage begins with a very familiar phrase: “On the third day…” On the third day, there was a miracle…I don’t know, I guess God knew what was going to happen all along.  It’s water, the very basis of creation, plus a miracle.

      “We hear of…water into wine…as a miracle.  But this conversion is, through the goodness of God, made every day before our eyes.  Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, and which incorporates itself with the grapes, to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” (Benjamin Franklin)

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli

      Remember

      shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , ,

      (part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

      Scripture Text:  Mark 1: 4-11

      4John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

      9In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

      Whenever I write daily during Lent, I am always wondering what to do with this week before Palm Sunday.  After all, the Lectionary passages for this coming Sunday ARE Palm Sunday.  So, maybe it’s a good time to sort of “take stock” as we come closer and closer to the Cross, as we walk with Jesus through those last days.

      My grandmother lived to be over 100.  She developed a plethora of physical ailments but she never lost her sharp mind and her memory.  In those last few years before her death, I had wonderful times of just driving around our hometown with her (the one we had BOTH grown up in) and sharing her memories.  I knew what she was doing.  She was “taking stock”.  She knew that the end of her earthly life was imminent and this was her way of making sure she left what she needed for us, that we knew from where we’d come.  So, together, we sat on a road that used to be “out in the country” as she recounted where the family farmhouse had been and down the road from there where the Stockdick School was that my great grandfather had built.  (Those are now covered with suburban homes, grocery stores, and a really cute wine bar.) 

      On one of the trips, we went to the old cemetery where there are relatives back to my great-great grandparents (on two sides of the family…yeah, we don’t get out much).  My grandmother wanted to find the gravestone of her dad’s younger brother who had died as a child to get the year he died.  She called him Little Roy.  So, I remember kneeling down in the mud scraping on a more than hundred-year-old tombstone (he died in 1899) to get the death date while my grandmother stood there on her walker watching me.  I ended up going back to the car and digging in my purse for a pencil and a piece of paper and I did a rubbing of it. We were “taking stock” of those important moments–together.

      After my grandmother died, we found all these notes where she had tried to recount all the family stories.  I also found the pencil rubbing of Little Roy’s tombstone.  I took all those and put together a book of sorts.  They were the important things that my grandmother “took stock of” before she died.  They needed to be remembered. 

      Don’t you imagine that Jesus was doing some of that?  I mean, he knew things did not look good.  He knew where things were going.  So, he began to take stock of his life. Had he served God in the way he was called to?  Had he shown his followers what they needed to see?  Had he left something that would take hold?  Jesus was human.  Of course he was asking himself those questions.  (That’s why it’s OK for US to ask those questions!)

      And so, he remembered his baptism.  He remembered with love his cousin John, who had baptized him in that cold murky water of the Jordan.  John was gone now.  Only beautiful memories remain.  He remembers that point where he knew it was time to begin his ministry, to walk the walk that God had called him to.  He had gone to John to be baptized.  Even Jesus couldn’t baptize himself!  It was what he would call his followers to do so it was his to do also.  He knelt down and John had bent over him.  And it was then the heavens opened up and the Spirit emerged in the form of a dove.  We read of the heavens being “torn”, violently ripped apart so that they could not go back together in the same way.  The Greek word there is a form of the verb schitzo as in schism or schizophrenia. It is not the same word as open. I open the door. I close the door. The door looks the same, but something torn apart is not easily closed again. The ragged edges never go back together as they were. The Gospel writer known as Mark wasn’t careless in using that word: schitzo. He remembered Isaiah’s plea centuries before when the prophet cried out to God, “Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down to make your name known to your enemies and make the nations tremble at your presence.” In other words, at this moment, God’s Spirit on earth became present in a brand new way.  A new ordering of Creation had begun. 

      It was at that moment that the heavens opened and spilled onto the earth.  The Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus like a dove.  And we heard what the world has always been straining to hear: “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  In this moment, Jesus knew his ministry had begun.  This is the moment toward which all of Creation has been moving.  This the moment for which we’ve been waiting.

      And we remember in this moment that it had begun.  And at the same time we remember our own baptism, that moment when the heavens are torn apart and spill out into the earth.  Breathe…breathe out wanting to hold back.  Breathe out wanting to keep things the way they were.  Breathe out the reticence you may have.  And breathe in…breathe in your baptism, breathe in what God is calling you to do, breathe in the Spirit that spilled out of the heavens.  It is yours, meant for you.  The heavens will tear again soon.  The temple curtain will rip in two.  Perhaps this tearing was a foretelling of what was to come.  For now, we take stock.  And we remember.  And we follow Jesus on this journey.

      Jesus was still wet with water after John had baptized him when he stood to enter his ministry in full submission to God.  As he stood in the Jordan and the heavens tore apart and spilled into the earth, all of humanity stood with him.  We now stand, wet with those same waters, as we, too, are called into ministry in the name of Christ.  As we emerge, we feel a cool refreshing breeze of new life.  Breathe in.  It will be with you always. Submit your life, empty yourself, so that there will finally be room for Christ in this world.  Then…it is up to you to finish the story.  This day and every day, remember your baptism, remember that you are a daughter or son of God with whom God is well pleased and be thankful. You are now part of the story.  Take stock of it all. 

      The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens. (Rainer Maria Rilke)

      Grace and Peace,

      Shelli