As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”
Go and wash. It sounds so simple. So there must be something fishy about it, right? Inherently, we are just distrusting creatures, are we not? It’s interesting that the first thing that people address here is sin. The man has been apparently blind from birth and their first thought is sin? Did he commit the sin? What an odd question! Was he supposed to have committed some sin in the womb that was apparently terrible enough to blind him for life? Or did his parents sin? It’s an odd line of questioning to us. They see a man that has missed out on so much of what life holds, that has never seen what you and I take for granted every day, and they immediately want to know what he did wrong or what his parents did wrong to deserve that. (Ok, now don’t get too self-righteous about our own reaction. We do the same thing. I mean, what went wrong in that person’s life? It must have been SOMEONE’S fault.)
But Jesus doesn’t see a sinner; Jesus doesn’t even see a blind man; Jesus sees a child of God. And so he reaches down into the cool dirt and picks up a piece of the earth. He then spits into his hand and lovingly works the concoction into a sort of paste. And then, it says, he spreads the mud into the man’s eyes and tells him to go wash in the Pool of Siloam. And the man’s eyes were opened and he saw what had been always hidden from his view.
We love this story. But there are so many that ask why we don’t hear accounts of healing such as this. Maybe it’s because we’re looking for miracles with ordinary eyes, with the eyes of our world that need to explain and extract. Maybe it’s because we do not see something new. At the risk of destroying the story for you, does the blindness have to be physical? It never says that, nor does it say that the blind man was “fixed”‘ or “cured”. If it wasn’t a physical healing, would that lessen the story? How miraculous it is for someone to see in a different way, to open one’s vision to what God has envisioned for us.
I couldn’t help (again) but think of the Wizard of Oz. You see, everyone imagined what they would find–courage, heart, mind, and home–imagined what it would look like, how it would come. But the curtain was torn back and revealed that the miracle-worker was part of this world. He was just an ordinary person. So how could he give them courage, heart, mind, and home? It had to do with seeing what is hidden from view.
This season of Lent is as much about showing us our blindness, our darkness, as it is about bringing us light. For that is the way we see as God sees. It is a way of seeing anew, seeing beauty we’ve never seen before, seeing the Way of Christ. Rainer Maria Rilke said that “the work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.” That is the work of Lent—to release us from our spiritual blindness, from our old way of seeing, frozen in time, and to light the way for a vision of eternity. We are called to see that which is hidden from view. It is the work that allows us to see, finally, what has always been hidden from view. You see (pun intended), it is time for the heart-work.
There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle. (Albert Einstein)
Much of this Lenten journey is about seeing, about seeing through our spiritual blindness, our own often self-imposed darkness. Now is the time for our heart-work. What does that look like? What heals you from your won spiritual blindness?
Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.
Patience…probably not my strong suit! And isn’t waiting something that we talk about in Advent? I thought Lent was supposed to be a journey, a time forward. But journeys also include standing still, contemplating, thinking, perhaps waiting on change (or at least the traffic to clear). You see, most of us probably not only want to know where we’re going but we also want to get there fast. Waiting is not part of our make-up. We’re programmed to keep moving, even though some of the steps may be painful. We’re rather traverse the jaggedness of the path than stand and wait for something that we do not control. It’s as if when we keep moving, we think we have some control, a sense that we are somehow responsible for changing things.
So I wait.
The Scripture talks about the farmer waiting for the crop. We probably understand that better than in most years. This winter has been hard. I’m still wondering if some of my plants will come back from the cold pain of the freezing temperatures. I’ve done what I can. Now I just wait. It’s hard. I like to know what direction things are moving. But I wait. My crepe myrtles in my back yard are always good for building patience. They seem to take forever to come back, almost taunting me with their bare limbs. I find myself looking to see if crepes are blooming around the neighborhood, wondering if there’s something wrong with them–or maybe something wrong with me.
So I wait.
Standing still–our lives don’t really encourage that–exposed, out of control, just waiting. Maybe this vulnerability reminds us of our place or, more importantly, makes us appreciate the journey. Part of this season and part of life is indeed about standing still. A journey is seldom completed with constant motion. We are just not made for that. (You can look up that seventh day concept when you have time! You know…on the seventh day…) Sometimes we are meant to move; sometimes we are meant to stand still and savor what God has shown us. Behold! There is the cross. There you are. And if you stand still long enough, you will be able to see where you are headed. We are not called to walk blindly into the unknown, never looking, never questioning, never contemplating where we are or where we’re going or where we’ve been; we are called to journey toward that which God has illumined in our lives.
So I wait.
We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us. (Joseph Campbell)
By my count, this is the 20th day of the season (remember, not counting Sundays!). We are halfway through. Stop. Wait. From where have you come? What have you learned about the journey that you can take forward?
Long-exposure Star Photography, by Lincoln Harrison
Scripture Text: Ephesians 5: 8-14 (Lent 4A)
For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. Try to find out what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly; but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, “Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
This passage essentially contends that to “walk in the light” means that we are no longer naïve. It is not about being happy or “blessed” in terms of how this world sees “blessed”. The world is illumined by our faith. We now must own a commitment to justice and compassion for all of Creation. Light is goodness and justice and truth. It is not about merely living a moral and righteous life; it is about witnessing to the light that is Christ. Light and darkness cannot exist together. As the passage says, light makes all things visible and then all things visible become light. The Light of Christ makes that on which is shines light itself. The passage exhorts us to wake up and see the light and then live as children of that light; in essence, we are called to become light.
I don’t really think of this light of Christ as a bright, blinding spotlight. It’s really much more nuanced and subtle than that. Think illuminating, rather than blinding. And it doesn’t dispel or destroy the darkness but rather illumines it. It casts a different light, a light that illuminates all. God, with infinite wisdom, gave us the power and the desire to see through the darkness and glimpse the light shining through, to see the Light that is Christ. It is a light that is always present regardless of our view, that exposes all that is visible and makes that on which it shines light itself. There is a Maori proverb that says “turn your face to the [light] and the shadows will fall behind you.” They are not consumed; they are still there, light streaming into their midst. Shadows do not exist without light. Light is what makes them visible. We are like that. Exposed by the Light of Christ, we become visible; and by becoming visible, we become light, children of light, images of the Light that is Christ, the Light that is God.
Light exposure changes the thing that is exposed. When something is exposed to light, it takes on some of those light particles. Colors lighten and change. We are no different. Faith is about light exposure. When exposed to the Light that is God, we change. We take on part of that Light. We become a ray of that Light, a light that becomes visible to all. We are not meant to live in darkness. We are created to be children of Light. We are created to be changed. There is still darkness. There are still injustices and prejudices and suffering and pain. There are still parts of the world begging for Light. That is where we come in, those who have been exposed, forever changed, and who can do nothing else but shine forth.
I cannot create the light. The best I can do is put myself in the path of its beam. (Annie Dillard)
On this Lenten journey, there is darkness all around. Go and be Light. Be that to which you have been exposed.
He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”
Teach us to pray…we still ask that. Prayer seems to elude us. We know that it is part of our spiritual journey but, yet, we still ask how. When I was in Jerusalem a couple of years ago, I was struck by the Muslim Call to Prayer, Adhan, in Arabic, that rang out across the city five times a day. I remember thinking that these people seemed to pray a lot more than I do, so I started praying at those times. It was meaningful to feel a part of that rhythm, that call to return to God in the midst of life’s ritual and to journey with others who are called to the same thing. I’m afraid that many of us tend to limit our prayers to our needs and the needs of others. Our lives are wanting for prayer. We want to know how to pray. We want to have a deep and abiding prayer life that connects us with God and makes our lives richer and fuller. How do you pray? Who taught you to pray? Why do you pray? What makes your prayer meaningful? Maybe that’s our problem. We’re trying so hard to bring meaning to our prayer life that we’re not allowing our prayers to bring meaning to our life. We’re trying so hard to find God that we don’t expect to experience a God who is already there. God does not need our prayers; we do. God does not have to be invited into our lives; we just have to open our eyes to God’s Presence that is already there.
The truth is, Jesus knew that. He knew that people struggled to experience the real Presence of God and because of that, they also struggled with how to acknowledge and live with that Presence in their lives. He knew that we struggled continuously with doubts about God and about what God wanted from us. He knew that we struggle with what prayer should be. So he begins where we are—in the midst of that silence that is God. He began by showing the disciples what was at the very core of his own life—his relationship with God. Because remember that Jesus had made prayer an integral part of his life. How many times do we read of him “withdrawing to a deserted place to pray” or “going to the mountain to pray” or “spending the night in prayer with God?” He prayed before he chose the disciples, when he fed the five thousand, and on the night before he was led to his death. He even prayed on the cross, a prayer of centering and forgiveness.
The prayer that Jesus taught us to pray has nothing to do with knowing the right words. It really is more about persistence. Jesus continues in this passage by reminding us to keep asking, keep seeking, and keep knocking. Far from characterizing God as some sort of celestial Santa Claus who always brings good little boys and girls the things for which they ask, Jesus seemed to assume that God is already in motion, that God has already answered every prayer, and that God has already opened every door that needs to be opened and is standing at the threshold inviting us to enter. So praying opens our lives to the presence of the God who is always and already there and gives us the realization that God provides life’s minimum daily requirements so that all we need to do is open ourselves to being with God.
The truth is, most of us starve ourselves for God. We search and search for meaning and neglect to realize that there is but a bountiful feast laid before us for our consumption. And yet, we continue to live on the junk food that we have created in our lives. We just have to become aware of how badly we need nourishment. And we need to pay attention to the rhythm that is part of us all. Prayer is becoming a part of that rhythm, part of that creative Spirit that is God. Prayer is more than words; prayer is being with God.
To pray is to go down into a deep well where the sound of the voice of God echoes in the darkness. (Joan Chittister, in Listen With the Heart)
This Season of Lent is about re-patterning our lives to that Rhythm that is God. Prayer is part of that. As part of your Lenten discipline, why not set up your own “call to prayer” schedule. Feel the Rhythm that it holds.
The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king over Israel. Fill your horn with oil and set out; I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons.” Samuel said, “How can I go? If Saul hears of it, he will kill me.” And the Lord said, “Take a heifer with you, and say, ‘I have come to sacrifice to the Lord.’ Invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show you what you shall do; and you shall anoint for me the one whom I name to you.” Samuel did what the Lord commanded, and came to Bethlehem. The elders of the city came to meet him trembling, and said, “Do you come peaceably?” He said, “Peaceably; I have come to sacrifice to the Lord; sanctify yourselves and come with me to the sacrifice.” And he sanctified Jesse and his sons and invited them to the sacrifice. When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, “Surely the Lord’s anointed is now before the Lord.” But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” Then Jesse called Abinadab, and made him pass before Samuel. He said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” Then Jesse made Shammah pass by. And he said, “Neither has the Lord chosen this one.” Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel, and Samuel said to Jesse, “The Lord has not chosen any of these.” Samuel said to Jesse, “Are all your sons here?” And he said, “There remains yet the youngest, but he is keeping the sheep.” And Samuel said to Jesse, “Send and bring him; for we will not sit down until he comes here.” He sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy, and had beautiful eyes, and was handsome. The Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.” Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward. Samuel then set out and went to Ramah.
In this Lenten season, what would change about our journey if we knew where we would end up, if we thought that we might end up in a place that we didn’t plan? And what would change about our life if we knew how it was all going to turn out? I mean, think about it…the boy David is out in the field just minding his own business and doing what probably generations of family members before him had done. Perhaps his mind is drifting off in daydreams as he sits there with the sheep. Perhaps he is thinking about what his life will be, where he plans to go, what he plans to do. He sees his brothers leave and go inside one by one, probably wandering what in the world is going on. Finally, he is called in. “You’re the one!” “What do you mean I’m the one?” he probably thought. “What in the world are you talking about? Don’t I even get a choice?” “Not so much.” And so David was anointed. “You’re the one!”
What would have happened if David has just turned and walked away? Well, I’m pretty sure that God would have found someone else, but the road would have turned away from where it was. It would have been a good road, a life-filled road, a road that would have gotten us where we needed to be. But it wouldn’t have been the road that God envisioned it to be. We know how it all turned out. David started out by playing the supposed evil out of Saul with his lyre. He ultimately became a great king (with several bumps–OK, LOTS of bumps–along the way!) and generations later, a child was brought forth into the world, descended from David. The child grew and became himself anointed—this time not for lyre-playing or kingship but as Messiah, as Savior, as Emmanuel, God-Incarnate. And in turn, God then anoints the ones who are to fall in line. “You’re the one”.
Do we even get a choice, you ask? Sure, you get a choice. You can close yourself off and try your best to hold on to what is really not yours anyway or you can walk forward into life as the one anointed to build the specific part of God’s Kingdom that is yours. We are all called to different roads in different ways. But the calling is specifically yours. And in the midst of it, there is a choice between death and life. Is there a choice? Not so much! Seeing the way to walk is not necessary about seeing where the road is going but knowing that the road is the Way. So just keep walking and enjoy the scenery along the way!
See, we are no different. We are all chosen, all, on some level, anointed to this holy work. We can ignore it. We can cover our ears and cover our eyes and shroud ourselves with excuses and keep walking the way that we would like. It will get us somewhere, perhaps somewhere that is good and wonderful and makes us feel good. But what happens when God calls us from the fields and interrupts our daydreams? What happens when God has something else in store for us? Each of us given specific and unique gifts. We are all called. It’s not a goal to pursue but a calling to hear. Our lives are the way we live into that call. This is the one. We are the ones. We are the ones for which we’ve been waiting.
You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour. Now you must go back and tell the people that this is The Hour. And there are things to be considered: Where are you living? What are you doing? What are your relationships? Aare you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your Truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for the leader. This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart, and they will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. See who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. (The Elders Oraibi, Arizona Hopi Nation)
Lent is a time of holy questioning and holy listening. Where are you living? What are you doing? Where is your water? For what are you being called? For what are you the one?
From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
So what does that mean to no longer look at others or even Christ from a human point of view? I mean, how can we do anything different? We ARE human. And we are meant to be human, human as Christ was human, fully human. It means that, once again, we are called not to jump away from this world but to look at things differently, to bring this perspective of this “new creation” into not only our lives but the lives of others as well. We have been reconciled with God through Christ, according to Paul. The Divine presence of God has come to dwell with humanity for all. We have been given that which will sustain us beyond what we perceive as our wants, our desires, and even our needs.
I think that most of us sort of pretend to be human. We know what is right and good and we try but fear and our need for security seeps in when we least expect it. So we once again don our masks so that we will look faithful and righteous. But we read here that we are called to look at everything with a different point of view, something other than a “human” point of view. It’s about a change in perception. That’s what this journey does. It changes our perspective. Where we once believed in Jesus as the one to emulate, the one who came to bring us eternal life, we now view Christ as the Savior of the world, the one that has ushered the Kingdom of God into everything, even our humanness. It changes not only the way we view Christ, but also the way we view the world. We live as if the Kingdom of God is in our very midst–because it is. Our change in perception means that we unmask, that we find our real self, that self that sees Christ’s presence even now and sees all of God’s children as part of that Presence.
Andre Berthiame once said that “we all wear masks and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of own skin.” In other words, sometimes it is hard and perhaps a little painful, but it is the way to reveal who we are called to be. No longer do we live our lives with some faint vision of a “someday” or a “somewhere” that is out there and to which we’re trying to journey. God’s Presence, God’s Kingdom, is here, now. And as God’s new creation, we see that the air is thick with its presence. And as God’s children, our very lives are so full with God’s Presence that we can do nothing else but journey with it.
In his book, “Simply Christian“, N.T. Wright contends that “Christians are those who are already living “after death,” since Christ has raised us from the grave. We ought more properly to speak of the world to come as “life after life after death.” This is the change in perception. It is looking beyond, living “as if” the Kingdom of God is here in its fullness, because that is how it will be. It means that we live open to what God is showing us rather than walking through life with our eyes masked because we already know the way. There is a story from the tradition of the 4th century Desert Mothers and Fathers that tells of a judge who goes into the desert looking for Abba Moses, who could provide him spiritual direction. But he returned disappointed, complaining that the only person he met was an old man, tall and dark, wearing old clothes. And he was told, “that was Abba Moses.” He had been so affected by his perceptions, his view of what he should find through his human view, that he wasn’t open to all that the Kingdom held for him to learn. That is what we are called to do on this Lenten journey–change our perceptions, unmask, begin to view our life “as if”, as if the Kingdom of God were already in our midst (because it is.)
There is no creature, regardless creature, regardless of its apparent insignificance that fails to show us something of God’s goodness. (Thomas A’Kempis)
As you journey through this Lenten season, begin to look at things differently. Rather than limiting yourself to a human view with your pre-conceived perceptions, open yourself to what God is showing you and begin to live “as if”.
So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph.Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.”(His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” The woman said to him, “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). “When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”
In this season of Lent, we have already read several stories of journeying and movement from one place to another. We have read of people that have all been called to something new. Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to lead a discussion with the Tuesday UMW Circle on “Immigration and the Bible”. It’s based on a book with that same name by Joan Maruskin that was published to be a 2013 UMW study. Now, that “immigration” word is, for us, probably nothing less than a lightning bold word. It is so politically charged nowadays that most of us shy away from it. But the truth is, it is what the Bible is about. The Bible is about movement. It begins with God’s Spirit moving across the face of the earth and ends with a depiction of a city, a New Jerusalem, moving from heaven to earth. And in between, we read stories of people continuing to be uprooted. They move from one place to another seeking safety and sanctuary and we are continually given reminders of how we are called to welcome the stranger into our midst. The Bible is a story of movement and a story of welcome. And along the way, the call is not to build and prosper but to encounter each other and enter each other’s lives.
But each of us in this world works hard to preserve our perceived image of what that world should be—a world where our political views, our boundaries we have drawn, our wealth and possessions we hold, our standard of living and our understanding of who God is remain intact. The problem is that our need to preserve ourselves usually gets in the way of our ability to connect with others, our ability to encounter the rest of God’s children. Because if each of us is waiting for the other to respond in love first, then love will never be the response and the walls of hatred become stronger and more difficult to tear down.
Take the relationship between the Samaritans and the Jews. Both believed in God. Both had a monotheistic understanding of the one true God, the YHWH of their shared tradition of belief. But where the temple of YHWH for the Jews existed on Mount Zion in Jerusalem, the Samaritans instead believed the Scriptures supported the worshipping of God on Mount Gerizim near the ancient city of Shechem. And with that, a new line of religious understanding was formed. The Samaritans believed that their line of priests was the legitimate one, rather than the line in Jerusalem and they accepted only the Law of Moses, The Torah, as divinely inspired, without recognizing the writings of the prophets or the books of wisdom. These differences between the two peoples probably began as early as one thousand years before the birth of Christ and what started as a simple religious division, a different understanding of how God relates to us and we relate to God, eventually grew into a cultural and political conflict that would not go away. The tension escalated and the hatred for the other was handed down for centuries from parent to child over and over again.
So here is this woman depicted as a stranger, an outcast, a Samaritan. And here is Jesus breaking all of the boundaries of traditional and accepted Judaism. First, he, unescorted, speaks to a woman. In the Talmud, the rabbis warned that conversing with women would ultimately lead to unchastity. In fact, Jose ben Johanan, of Jerusalem, who lived around 160 B.C., wrote, “He that talks much with womankind brings evil upon himself and neglects the study of the Law and at the last will inherit Gehenna (or the destination of the wicked). ” Secondly, Jesus speaks to a woman of questionable repute. Now, in all probability, this woman was probably just a victim of some form of Levirite marriage gone bad, where she had been handed in marriage from relative to relative as her husbands died, leaving her penniless and out of options. And, finally, Jesus speaks to the so-called “enemy”. The truth is, there is nothing about this woman that is wrong or sinful or anything else that we try to tack on her reputation. The woman was just different. Her life had been difficult. She lived in darkness. And the most astonishing thing is that this seemingly low-class Samaritan woman who is not even given a name in our Scriptures becomes the witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Because, you’ll notice, Jesus did not just ask her for a drink. He engaged her in conversation about spiritual matters. Once again, the Gospel is found not in Jerusalem and not on Mt. Gerizim but in our shared existence as part of this “new humanity”. The Gospel is found in our encounter with each other. Here, too, Jesus enters a new phase of his ministry. Up until this point, Jesus’ encounters have been pretty ethno-centric. But, here, the Gospel begins to spread to other ethnicities and other peoples. It begins to include an encounter with the world.
For most of us, our problem is that we are always waiting for someone else to make the first move toward acceptance and reconciliation. But Jesus did not wait. Jesus stepped into encounter. That is what we are called to do. We are called to go forward on an unpaved road to meet the other. We are called to somehow reach through our prejudice and even our fears and take each other’s hand. We are called to cross boundaries, rather than constructing them. We are called to reach through our differences and find our common, shared humanity, all children of God, all made in the image of God. That is the way that peace is found—one hand at a time. And that is the way that we encounter Jesus Christ.
Putting this study of “Immigration and the Bible” together, I began to see a new pattern emerge in the Scriptures—well, new for me as I read the Scriptures through a different lens. The Biblical story is a story of God calling us to go forth and our drawing borders, walling ourselves off, protecting who we are and what we have. God calls us to go and we draw borders. God calls us to go and we construct gates. God calls us to go and we build walls. But we are called to encounter the stranger. It is more than being welcoming. It is more than letting them into our carefully-constructed lives. It means entering their life and completely opening ours to them. It means that they become us and we become them. It means that we encounter each other.
We are in the middle of this season of Lent. It IS the season of wandering, the season of the wilderness journey. We always begin Lent with Jesus going into the wilderness, leaving what he knows, leaving the comforts of home. And I think that part of the reason for that, is that we are called to be wanderers, aliens, and sojourners. We do not stand in one place waiting for others to come to us. The Christian journey is always moving us toward something, so we go the way that God calls us to go and along the way, we gather the children of God. We encounter each other. As Jesus once said, “Go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.” In other words, go and encounter each other because that is how you encounter Christ.
I live my life in ever-widening circles that reach out across the world. I may not complete this last one but I give myself it it. I circle around God, around the primordial tower. I’ve been circling for thousands of years and I still don’t know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song? (Rainer Maria Rilke)
We are more than one-third through our Lenten journey. At this point, where are you circles drawn? Which ones need to be widened?
Dancing to God 