Kingdom of God

A Ritz Cracker and a Run-On Sentence

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Romans 1: 1-7 (Advent 4A)

Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God, 2which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures, 3the gospel concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh 4and was declared to be Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord, 5through whom we have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles for the sake of his name, 6including yourselves who are called to belong to Jesus Christ, 7To all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

First of all, and I realize that this is totally irrelevant, but does anyone else notice that this passage is just one sentence?  Perhaps Paul was not one for taking lots of breaths.  Or was he almost in a panic-state trying to get the words out?  It was as if his audience was somehow drifting away, heading down a road that he did not think was good, leaving Paul behind in a sense.  So, Paul, seemingly breathless and with more words than a sentence should hold, went chasing after them.  Whatever it is, Paul is reminding his hearers to whom they belong.  Maybe it was his way of trying to call them away from the lure of the world, from what Paul saw as an almost competing society, a competing way of living and being.  See, these people probably had no problem seeing themselves as belonging to Christ, as part of Christ’s kingdom.  I mean, they were new believers.  They were excited.  They were still pumped up from that first evangelical moment that they had experienced.  And yet, there was the Roman Empire looming large around them.  It was hard to refuse.  Who are we kidding?  It was dangerous to refuse.  One could quickly lose everything.

Now I don’t think Paul really wanted them to leave it all behind.  After all, his own identity as a Jew in the Roman Empire was important to him.  He just wanted them to see something different.  He wanted them to see something bigger, something beyond where they were.  He wanted them to realize that it was not that the Roman Empire was where they belonged now and the Kingdom of God was where they were going; but rather, the two existed together.  He wanted people to understand that the Kingdom of God was not the “other way”, not the veritable opposite of the way they were living but rather the “Thing” that encompassed the “thing”.  And maybe they belonged to both things.  (I mean, in our own context, patriotism is not anti-God; it just has the possibility of developing into sort of a misplaced devotion that competes with our spiritual selves.)  All that we are and all that we have and all to which we belong belongs to God.  It is the way God lays claim on us, bursting into our lives as we know them, pouring the very Godself into each and every crevice of our lives until all (yes, ALL) is recreated in the Name of Christ.  We are called not to choose between Christ and the world but to bring Christ to the world.

I once baptized a young child that was eating a Ritz cracker through the whole thing. Now, we don’t usually pass out hor’dourves with the Sacraments, but, really, did that change God’s Presence in that moment?  For that matter, who’s to say that it didn’t make that Presence more real?  (OK, so maybe I’m not as much of a sacramental purist as you thought!)  God’s presence and God’s promise comes wherever one is.  Our calling is to respond to that presence in the midst of the lives we lead.  But that entails learning to see and listen in a way that many of us do not.  We need to appreciate how God calls others into being so that we might be able to better discern our own unique way that God is entering our lives.  And the Ritz?  Well, who hasn’t eaten a Ritz? (And, for me, a little peanut butter) It is not part of the “other” way of living.  All that we have and all that we are belongs to God.  And, you know, that little bit of water that I sprinkled onto that child’s head does not exist in a vacuum.  The choice is not to choose the water or the Ritz.  The choice is not to choose God or empire.  The choice is to follow God through all that is and all that we encounter, to open oneself to becoming new not instead of the old but as even it is made new.

So, here we are one week from Christmas Eve.  I don’t know about you but this whole waiting on the world to change thing is, well, it’s exhausting!  Our world is exhausting.  Sometimes it seems like the “empire”–the power-hungry, money-hungry, allegiance-hungry, affirmation-begging ones that have put themselves in charge—just doesn’t leave a lot of room for the change we so desperately need.  And so, we stay mired in global wars and national gun violence, in acceptance of prejudice and homophobia and racism, in our refusal to allow others into our society.  Journalist and writer Tina Brown (in her Substack Letter “Fresh Hell”) says that we’ve been “liberated to be our worst selves”.  Don’t you think that’s the way Paul felt sometimes?  Don’t you think there were those in that group of first hearers of his Letter to the Roman that felt the same way we do?  I think so.  I want to feel differently than I do.  I want to see and feel that “peace that passeth understanding”.  But, for now, we’re here.  And so is God.  God calls us to be who God calls us to be even in the midst of the empire, even in the midst of our worst selves.

I think that’s the point of Advent—not to lift us out of where we are but to remind us that there is another way to be where we are, that we are not destined to be mired in this, that we are destined to lift it up with us as we journey beyond the muck and the mire.  Maybe God’s Presence is not some big, flashy extravaganza like we’ve been expecting.  Maybe it’s been there all along, sort of like a little bit of water and a Ritz cracker, or maybe more like a baby born into a world that was not ready, that was never ready, a world that couldn’t move over and make room.  Advent is not only about welcoming a King; Advent is about making room for a God who comes into our ordinary lives as an ordinary person into an ordinary (and, yes, very flawed) place and makes it all extraordinary.  Advent is a lot like eating a Ritz cracker through a Holy Sacrament or a run-on sentence that only makes sense when you figure out the context.

There must be always remaining in every one’s life some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathlessly beautiful and, by an inherent prerogative, throws all the rest of life into a new and creative relatedness, something that gathers up in itself all the freshets of experience from drab to commonplace areas of living and glows in on bright white light of penetrating beauty and meaning —then passes.”(Howard Thurman)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

This House That We’ve Built

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

2 Samuel 7: 1-16

Now when the king was settled in his house, and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him, 2the king said to the prophet Nathan, “See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent.” 3Nathan said to the king, “Go, do all that you have in mind; for the Lord is with you.”

4But that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan: 5Go and tell my servant David: Thus says the Lord: Are you the one to build me a house to live in? 6I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. 7Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, “Why have you not built me a house of cedar?” 8Now therefore thus you shall say to my servant David: Thus says the Lord of hosts: I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep to be prince over my people Israel; 9and I have been with you wherever you went, and have cut off all your enemies from before you; and I will make for you a great name, like the name of the great ones of the earth. 10And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant them, so that they may live in their own place, and be disturbed no more; and evildoers shall afflict them no more, as formerly, 11from the time that I appointed judges over my people Israel; and I will give you rest from all your enemies. Moreover the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. 12When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. 13He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. 14I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me. When he commits iniquity, I will punish him with a rod such as mortals use, with blows inflicted by human beings. 15But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. 16Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever.

The Bible is a story of a journey, a movement from one place to another, one time to another, one way of being to another.  It is full of stories of going beyond and coming home. And woven through those stories are stories of us building and constructing and attempting to wall off our understanding of God.  (And it’s often also the story of us destroying what is built.)  Throughout the Scriptures, God sends us forth, we begin to walk, and then we build something, then God sends us forth, we begin to walk, and then we wall something off, on…and…on…It has continued for thousands of years and continues today.  See, we understand the notion of God being everywhere, of God not being limited to what we build and what we wall off.  But most of us still find ourselves in the midst of building projects throughout our lives.  Some of those projects are for houses, some are for churches or grand cathedrals, and some are for ourselves, our traditions, our ideals, and our own lives.  Does it make it seem better?  Does it bring God closer?  Or does it just make us a little more comfortable?

This poor Scripture doesn’t get a whole lot of Advent attention because it shares the fourth week of Advent in Lectionary Year B with Mary’s story and, not surprisingly, most people would not choose Nathan and David over Mary and the angel in the middle of Advent.  I’ve never preached it.  I’ve barely written on it.  But it’s still a great story and reminder for the season.  And it’s important.  Dr. Walter Brueggemann once made the claim that this chapter was the most important chapter in the Samuel saga and was one of the pivotal chapters in the entire Old Testament.  Think about it.  It seals the Davidic dynasty and it turns the entire human story toward God’s vision of it.

The text we read sort of wraps up the promise that God made to Abram in the twelfth chapter of Genesis.  The people have a home and they can live in peace.  And David’s reign as king has been pretty much legitimized. Things seem to be going well.  (Well, for the most part.  I mean, it’s David, right?)  And so, David envisions now a more permanent structure to house the ark of the Lord.  In other words, David now desires to build a temple in Jerusalem. I don’t know if he feels a little guilty that HE has a house and God doesn’t (as if God isn’t IN the house of cedar already and as if the moveable tent that had “housed” God for so long as the Ark of the Covenant moved from place to place was somehow no longer sufficient.).  Maybe he really felt that God needed to be given God’s due, that a grand and glorious structure would show honor to God (as well as perhaps raise David’s reputation).  In a shamefully cynical view, perhaps David wanted to just know EXACTLY where God was, as if he could once again wall God off into a limited space, thereby protecting God or maybe even himself.  In other words, he wanted to know that there was a place where he could go where he KNEW God would be.

But that night the Lord intervenes by way of Nathan with a promise not necessarily of a permanent “house” but, rather a permanent dynasty, an everlasting house of the line of David.  David has risen from shepherd boy to king and has apparently felt God’s presence through it all.  He now sits in his comfortable palace and compares his “house” to the tent that “houses God” in his mind.  God, through the prophet Nathan, responds by asking, in a sense, “Hey! Did you hear me complaining about living in a tent? No, I prefer being mobile, flexible, responsive, free to move about, not fixed in one place.” God then turns the tables on David and says, “You think you’re going to build me a house? No, no, no, no. I’M going to build YOU a house. I’ll build you a house that will last much longer and be much greater than anything you could build yourself with either wood or stone. I’ll build you a house that will shelter the hopes and dreams of your people long after ‘you lie down with your ancestors.’” And God promises to establish David and his line forever. 

The truth is, we all desire permanence; we want something on which we can stand, that we can touch, that we can “sink our teeth into”, so to speak.  We want to know the plan so that we can fit our lives around it.  Well, if this was going to make it easier to understand God, go ahead.  But Franciscan Fr. Richard Rohr warns us that “God is always bigger than the boxes we build for God, so do not waste too much time protecting your boxes.”  (from Everything Belongs) (That’s actually one of my favorite quotes!)  The truth is, this is a wandering God of wandering people.  This is not a God who desires to or can be shut up in a temple or a church or a closed mind.  This is not a God who desires to be (or can be) “figured out.”  This God is palatial; this God is unlimited; this God will show up in places that we did not build. (and sometimes in places that we really wouldn’t go!)  This God does not live in a house; this God dwells with us—wherever we are.  This God comes as a traveler, a journeyer, a moveable feast.  And this God shows up where we least expect God to be—such as in a god-forsaken place on the outskirts of acceptable society to a couple of scared people that had other plans for their lives.  This God will be where God will be.  And it IS a permanent home.

So, here’s the problem with David’s thinking.  God has made and stood by lots of promises.  But God’s promise of a home, God’s promise of permanence, God’s promise of a “place” that the people of God can call their own came with another directive.  With that promise of home, was the exhortation to “go”, to leave this place with which your familiar and go to the place to which you’ve been called.  It doesn’t mean we’re homeless; it means that we’re journeying with God.  I think part of the reason God never really told anyone to build a “house” (sorry, David) is that when we start DOING for God, when we start building and hammering and making noise, things have a tendency to get out of control.  The “house” becomes about us and we forget why we built it in the first place.  So, God doesn’t call for a permanent house; God calls for one that exists within us, a place where God can sit with us, and eat with us, and make plans for the future.  It’s the place where we make room for God. 

So, returning to our ongoing theme of “waiting on the world to change”, I’m going to ask a hard question.  Are we waiting for the world to become what God wants us to be, to become that holy vision about which we’ve talked and dreamed?  Or are we just really mad right now that people seemed to have come into our house—the house that WE built—and moved the furniture around?  It’s hard.  I’m not sure I like the answer.  Because, remember, when God promises us a place, God also tells us to “go”.  I guess this Advent waiting is a way of beginning to move, starting to follow the journey, the Way of God. 

Advent both makes us aware of a God who is beyond our reach and opens us up to a God who is present and immanent among us, to the God who desires to dwell within us.  The mystery of God is that One who cannot be contained in the largest of cathedrals, One who is beyond our reach, beyond our knowing, beyond our understanding, comes to us as one of us, as a baby, in a seemingly godforsaken place for which the world had no room or on a cross on the outskirts of town.  God indeed makes a home for us.  Sometimes it’s in a packed cathedral with a candle pointing us beyond what we know.  And sometimes God comes to us when we are alone, perhaps when we wish we could be somewhere else, perhaps when there is no room, and makes a home in us.  That is the mystery of God.  But you have to make room.  Transcendence is sometimes hard to attain but immanence, the notion of God dwelling with you, dwelling within you, is even harder.  I think God DOES want a sanctuary.  But it doesn’t look a temple or church.  This Advent, make room for the God within you.  While you’re waiting on the world to change, God’s vision of the world is waiting for you to go out into it.  Don’t worry about the furniture.  You can fix it later.

If indeed we love the Lord with all our hearts, minds, and strength, we are going to have to stretch our hearts, open our minds, and strengthen our souls, whether our years are three score and ten or not yet twenty.  God cannot lodge in a narrow mind.  God cannot lodge in a small heart.  To accommodate God, they must be palatial. (William Sloane Coffin)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

The Turning of the World

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Luke 1: 46b-55 (Advent 3A)

“My soul magnifies the Lord, 47and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, 48for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; 49for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. 50His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. 51He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. 52He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; 53he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. 54He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, 55according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” 

We love this passage.  It is Mary’s Song, the Magnificat, the poetic rendering of her realization that she has truly been blessed, that she has been called to do what no one else has done, what no one else will do.  She has been called to give birth to God in this world, to deliver the promise that her people have always known.  But don’t get too lost in the poetry and the familiarity. For one thing, from Mary’s standpoint, this is turning her world upside down.  American Methodist missionary E. Stanley Jones called The Magnificat “the most revolutionary document in the world”.  It is said that The Magnificat terrified the Russian Czars so much that they tried to dispel its reading.  More recently, it was banned in Argentina when the mothers of the disappeared used it to call for non-violent resistance.  In the 1980’s, the government of Guatemala banned its recitation.  It is an out and out call to revolution.  Less subversive language has started wars.  Edward F. Marquart depicts it as God’s “magna carta”.  It is the beginning of a new society, the preamble to a constitution that most of us are not ready to embrace.  We’d rather chalk it up to the poetry of an innocent young woman and keep getting ready for Christmas.  But we can’t do that.  It’s something much, much more.

See, this is God’s vision for the world. It is not a world where the best and the brightest and the richest and the most powerful come out on top. It is not a world that we can control. It is not a world where we can earn what we have and deserve who we are. It is rather a world where God’s presence and God’s blessings are poured onto all. But it comes with a price. Those who have, those who are, those whose lives are filled with plenty are called to change, to open their lives to God and to others. Because God will scatter the proud, those who think they have it figured out, those who are so sure of their rightness and their righteousness.  In other words, those of us who think that we have it all nailed down will be shaken to our core.  The powerful–those with money, those with status, those with some false sense of who they are above others–will be brought down from their high places.  The poor and the disenfranchised, those who we think are not good enough or righteous enough, will be raised up. They will become the leaders, the powerful, the ones that we follow.  The hungry will feel pangs no more and those who have everything–the hoarders, the affluent, those are the ones whose coffers will be emptied to feed and house the world.  God’s vision of the world is not fair in the terms that we are used to considering; it is, rather just, a justice that is nothing like we’ve ever known. 

God is about to turn the world upside-down.  Look around you.  This is not it; this is not what God had in mind.  And God started it all not by choosing a religious leader or a political dynamo or even a charismatic young preacher but a girl–a poor underage girl from a third-world country with dark skin and dark eyes whose family was apparently so questionable that they are not even mentioned and whose marital status seemed to teeter on the edge of acceptable society.  God picked the lowliest of the lowly to turn the world upside down.

But this is not some isolated poem in the middle of Mary’s story.  These words are the Gospel. Let me say that again.  These words ARE the Gospel.  If you were to put the Gospel into its Cliff Notes version, I would think you could take the words of The Magnificat, Matthew 22: 37-39 (love God, love neighbor), and Matthew 28:20b (“I am with you always until the end of the age.”) and have a pretty good idea of what Jesus was trying to say—love God, love each other, know that I am there, and let my vision be your world. 

I know, that doesn’t fit with the direction we’re going now in our society.  In fact, there seem to be factions everywhere that are explicitly fighting AGAINST this turning, dismissing its ideal as some sort of utopian socialist notion.  Is it a misunderstanding of the Gospel?  Is it fear?  Is it something else?  There are those that would indeed call this socialist or communist or some other “ist” that they don’t like.  But the turning of the world, the gentle, but intentional act of taking what is and making it be what should be, is painful.  It’s painful for us all.  It means we have to let go of everything to which we’re holding.  Even in our current discomfort with what is happening, we are way too comfortable.  We have raised Mary to something that is inaccessible, donning her with golden statues and painted masterpieces.  We have forgotten who she was and what she gave up—for us.  And then we allow those with pride and power and wealth to pursue their own interests and then hold on to their place.  We chalk it up to free capitalism and we forget that pride and power and wealth have often been earned on the backs of the hungry, on the backs of those whose lives are hard, on the backs of those that our society often dismisses.  The turning of the world is dangerous business.

Because when you’re turned upside down, things tend to spill. No longer can we hold onto what we know. No longer can we rest on the laurels of our past. If we’re going to be part of God’s vision of the world, we have to give up those things that are not part of it. We have to change, learn to live a new way, look upon the world and others not as competition, not as threats, but as the very vision of God pouring into the world. So, THIS Advent, what are you willing to let go of so that you will have room to offer a place for God? How willing are you to turn your world upside down? How are you being called to give birth to Christ in this world?  Mary did it.  Now it’s our turn.

Into this world, this demented inn, in which there is absolutely no room for him at all, Christ has come uninvited. But because he cannot be at home in it, because he is out of place in it, and yet he must be in it, his place is with those others who do not belong, who are rejected by power, because they are regarded as weak, those who are discredited, who are denied the status of persons, tortured, exterminated. With those for whom there is no room, Christ is present in this world. (Thomas Merton)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Community Pool

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Isaiah 12

You will say in that day: I will give thanks to you, O Lord, for though you were angry with me, your anger turned away, and you comforted me. 2Surely God is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid, for the Lord God is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation. 3With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.  4And you will say in that day: Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known his deeds among the nations; proclaim that his name is exalted. 5Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously; let this be known in all the earth. 6Shout aloud and sing for joy, O royal Zion, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.

This passage speaks of redemption, of God’s always-present faith in us.  Yes, that’s right.  Faith is not just a one-way thing.  We have faith in the faith that God has in us.  We love this passage.  We love to say it.  We love to sing it.  It brings us joy.  It is our affirmation that we trust that God will save us and that we rely on that.  And we wait and watch for those lovely flowing waters of salvation.  The writer’s vision is one of liberation—to the exiles, to the world, to all of Creation, to us.  The destiny is clear.  God is walking us all toward salvation and offering us healing waters and that is indeed something about which everyone should be joyful.

But notice, it’s not just about you and me; it’s about us—all of us.  It’s always odd for me when the language of prophets begins to sound like it’s intended for just one individual (i.e. the reader), as if it is called to direct the relationship that one person has with God.  That’s not usually the way prophets talked.  Their exhortations tended to be more collective.  They tended to talk more to the community rather than to just one individual.  So, I often find myself wondering if there’s some translation problems with some of the pronouns or maybe some confusion with the antecedents to which they refer.  I mean, what if God was OUR salvation.  Oh, wait, God is!

Faith is really meant to be more of a communal thing, don’t you think?  It’s not as if we’re in some sort of game to see who can come the closest to God.  After all, there’s that whole image of God thing.  If we are made in the image of God, then we are called to be trustworthy—for each other.  We are called to be the ones to draw waters that quench both physical and spiritual thirst–for each other.  We are called to be there for each other.  We don’t have individual wells. (Even if you HAVE an individual well, you’re still susceptible to the ground water from which you’re drawing).  The water is all of ours.  The well of salvation is a communal well.

And, yet, we still tend to wall ourselves off from each other and pull ourself into our own lives.  I think that is part of the reason that our society seems to be drowning.  You can’t wall off the water.  You can’t permanently hold it.  You certainly can’t choose who gets it.  It’s offered to us all.  You can’t quit trusting each other.  You can’t quit offering to each other.  God is in our midst, not to see if we’re doing everything right (because we’re probably not) but to show us the Kingdom of God—you know, the one for all of us.

When I visited the River Jordan (which is not the ACTUAL place of Jesus’ baptism but rather a part of the river where humans have again seen fit to wall it off and charge admission for the experience.  I’m not really sure if that’s what God had in mind.), I collected my perfunctory water to bring home.  All I had was a small pill bottle.  Yes, it made it home.  But it didn’t last.  Because water cannot be held.  (And apparently the seal on pill bottles is not all that reliable). It is shared whether we want to admit it or not.  I once was preparing to do a baptism and the mother of the child passed me on the stairs as I climbed to the next floor with the baptismal bowl (to go get water out of the sink in the lady’s bathroom).  She asked where I was going and my immediate response was “the River Jordan”.  She laughed and replied, “well as long as it’s clean.”  It was funny.  But think about it—water molecules don’t disappear.  They drain out, they evaporate, the return in as some form of water over the earth.  It continues forever.  Maybe some of those molecules in the lady’s bathroom HAD once been in the River Jordan.  Maybe some of those molecules were there with Jesus that day.  The point is, we’re really just swimming in a community pool all the time.

God IS our salvation.  God offers us the waters of salvation—over and over and over again.  There is no water destined for me.  There is none destined for you.  We really are just swimming in a community pool.  And while we wait for the world to change, the water remains.  Get out of yourself.  Even if it’s hard right now, realize that we are in this together—all of us.  We have the water, offered to each of us, to quench our thirst and clean our very being.  But it really is a communal well.  So don’t hold on so tightly.  Just let it refresh you and bring you peace.

One cannot step twice in the same river, for fresh waters are forever flowing around us.  (Heraclitus of Ephesus, c. 500 BCE)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

A Reordering

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Psalm 72: 1-7, 18-19 (Advent 2A)

1Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son.

2May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice.

3May the mountains yield prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness.

4May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

5May he live while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.

6May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth.

7In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more.

18Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things. 19Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen.

This psalter is part of a Psalm that was probably read at the occasion of a royal liturgy.  The words are the petition for a leader, a good leader, a worthy leader, a leader that will bring the nation into righteousness and peace, a leader that will answer injustice with hope and promise.  It is a prayer not just for a redeemed people but a redeemed nation.  It is a prayer that the vision of the nation might be reordered into that vision that God holds for all of us.

During Advent, we talk a lot about God’s vision.  We talk a lot about the Kingdom of God becoming what it should be.  And we hope and we dream and we look for it to happen.  But do you think sometimes we’re not looking through the right lenses? I mean, I pray for this to happen.  You pray for this to happen.  And when we live in a time such as this, we wait, we wait for the world to change.  But are we hoping that will happen for us or are we hoping it will happen for the world?  I know that’s a weird question.  What if we’re so shaped right now by the difficulties we are experiencing that our view of God’s vision has become an end to those difficulties, a way of moving ourselves into a better scenario.

Years ago, in one of the large meeting rooms at Lakeview Methodist Assembly in Palestine, TX, hung a huge poster.  When you went up to it, it was this wonderful mosaic of maybe 100-125 pictures of people doing ministry, of the church being the church, of Christians being Christians.  It was inspirational.  But if you went to the other side of the room and looked back at it from a distance, you couldn’t see the individual pictures.  What you saw instead was an image of Christ.  All of those tiny pictures came together into an image of the Holy.  It was powerful.  I’ve spent years trying to find that picture.  But I’ll never forget it.  When you quit looking at the individual pictures, together they become a picture of the Holy.

Another metaphor…have you ever sang in a choir?  I’ve recently gone back to singing in a choir after “doing other things” for about 25 years.  Learning to sing in a choir is not just about learning to sing.  It’s more than that.  It’s almost kind of practice for God’s Kingdom.  Because a choir is not just a conglomeration of individual voices.  At its best (when the choir is truly at its best), you can’t hear the individual voices.  You actually hear what sounds like one multi-layered voice.  There are no individual “solos” sticking out over the music.

That’s it.  The Kingdom of God is not about me or you; it’s about us—all of us.  So, we have to back away from ourself.  We have to back away from those things that make us uncomfortable, those things that make life difficult, those things that we want desperately to control.  The Kingdom of God is not a fulfillment of all the things for which we wish.  God is not Santa Claus.  Rather, God’s vision is a reordering of Creation, a re-creation of everything. 

So, I had an interaction on Facebook yesterday.  (Yeah, I know…)  Anyway, the person wanted to give people money for food but do away with systemic programs, such as SNAP.  In other words, SHE wanted to pick and choose who deserved her money rather than at least attempting to create a system that helps that along.  Here’s where we need to back away.  Here’s where we need to see that outline of Christ.  Here’s where we need to tone our “solo” voices down and become a choral ensemble.  I don’t think God’s vision is one that gives us everything we want; I think it’s a vision that fulfills everyone’s need.  Remember that whole manna thing?  The manna came.  They ate.  And then the manna left.  The Daily Bread is given over and over.  It’s not for us to decide who gets is.  It’s not something that some will be given more.  It’s God vision—a vision where everyone is filled and no one has too little or too much–a picture that we have to sometimes back away to see.

No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. (John Donne)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Within

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(part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Psalm 122 (Advent 1A)

1I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord!” 2Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem. 3Jerusalem—built as a city that is bound firmly together. 4To it the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, as was decreed for Israel, to give thanks to the name of the Lord. 5For there the thrones for judgment were set up, the thrones of the house of David. 6Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: “May they prosper who love you. 7Peace be within your walls, and security within your towers.” 8For the sake of my relatives and friends I will say, “Peace be within you.” 9For the sake of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek your good.

So, we’re four days into Advent, four days into waiting on the world to change, and, as far as I can tell, there have not been any huge changes made.  I mean, wouldn’t it be wonderful if this was the year, if this was the season, when peace came to be?  Wouldn’t it be grand if this was when people began to recognize that each of us is a child of God?  Wouldn’t it be terrific if this was when poverty and hunger and racism and xenophobia and gun violence and global warming and all those things that clutter our world were resolved?  Wouldn’t it be the most incredible thing if all of us could lay down our weapons and our power and our need to preserve the status quo?  Wouldn’t it be something if we didn’t have to wait anymore for the world to change?  What if we discovered that we really were standing within your gates?

But we all know better.  There is so much that needs to change, so much that needs to happen before the Kingdom of God, the vision that God intended all along for us comes to be in its fullness.  And so, we wait.  And, today, we’re given this psalm.  It is a “Song of Ascents”.  It describes the pilgrim throng entering the “house of the Lord”.  It’s the invitation.  Let us go to the house of the Lord.  It is the eternal peace, that vision that we’ve been talking about.  It is the Kingdom of God in its fullness. 

Advent is indeed a season of waiting.  But it is also a season of imagining.  It is a season of beginning the ascent.  It is the season when we journey to the House of the Lord.  And in this way, our waiting, our waiting for the world to change, begins with us.  For within us, is that peace.  Within us, is that vision that God holds for us all.  The waiting on the world to change begins within us.  It begins with us imagining it and journeying toward it.  Our feet are indeed standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.  Peace be within you.  It’s right there….

A dreamer is one who can find [his or her] way in the moonlight, and [whose] punishment is that [he or she] sees the dawn before the rest of the world.  (Oscar Wilde)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Armor of Light

shelliwilliams Uncategorized , , ,

                                (part of the “Waiting on the World to Change” Advent Series)

Romans 13:11-14 (Advent 1A)

11Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; 12the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; 13let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. 14Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

Waiting is all about timing.  It is about knowing when to wait, when to awake, and when to start moving forward.  So, Paul tells us to lay the works of darkness aside and put on the armor of light and, well, start moving.  I actually find that a rather odd notion—an armor of light.  What exactly is that?  After all, an armor is solid, deflecting, a protective shield against that which comes against it.  Honestly, sometimes I find the military language a bit off putting, as if we are somehow taking those wonders of faith and pulling them down into our secular language, the language of empire.

But, remember, this was written right in the middle of an empire to people who lived in and were subjects of that empire.  It was what they understood.  Think about it.  You know all those military soldiers that you see so often, the ones that are marching for the emperor through the streets of Rome and its subject cities?  Think about the armor they wear.  And don an armor that is different.  Because God’s entry into the world in the form of Jesus Christ did not affirm and ratify the empire.  In fact, it was inherently ANTI-earthly empire.  The coming of Christ was the beginning of the end of the earthly empires. 

In its place, we were given a vision of a New Kingdom, a Kingdom where peace reigns, where poverty is filled, where the excluded are welcomed, and where we all stand together.  It’s not a pipe dream.  It’s that armor of light that Paul told us to don.  But it’s not an armor that protects us or hides us; it’s an armor that we become.  And that is what we are called to do now, even in the midst of this earthly empire—to become light, to reflect light.

Imagine looking into a dark sky away from the city lights, a sky filled with stars.  But they’re not covering the sky.  Darkness is still there, still prevalent.  But the stars peek through as if someone punched pinholes into the sky mass—just enough for the light to get through.  And that is where we come in, we, the armor-wearing reflectors of the light of God shining into the world as we imagine God continuing to punch those pinholes into the darkness. 

But if you remember your astronomy lessons, some of that light has taken hundreds of thousands of years to get to us.  The Light has already shined into our midst.  But sometimes it takes us awhile to see it.  But it’s as near as what we see.  Yes, waiting is about timing.  We are waiting for us to catch up to the Light.  So, this is the moment when we must awake from sleep and start looking toward the light.  The Kingdom of God is coming to be.  It is happening as fast we can see.  So, open your eyes.  It’s there.

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. (Desmond Tutu)

Lyrics:  “We Shall Be Free” (Garth Brooks)

This ain’t comin’ from no prophet
Just an ordinary man
When I close my eyes
The way this world shall be
When we all walk hand in hand

When the last child cries for a crust of bread
When the last man dies for just words that he said
When there’s shelter over the poorest head
Then we shall be free, yeah

When the last thing we notice is the color of skin
And the first thing we look for is the beauty within
When the skies and the oceans are clean again
Then we shall be free

We shall be free, we shall be free
Stand straight and walk proud
‘Cause we shall be free

When we’re free to love anyone we choose
When this world’s big enough for all different views
When we all can worship from our own kind of pew
Then we shall be free, yeah (oh, oh, oh)

We shall be free, we shall be free
Have a little faith, hold out
‘Cause we shall be free

And when money talks for the very last time
And nobody walks a step behind
When there’s only one race
And that’s mankind, then we shall be free

We shall be free, we shall be free
Stand straight (walk proud)
Have a little faith (hold out)
We shall be free (oh, oh, oh)
We shall be free, we shall be free
(Stand straight) stand straight
(Have a little faith) walk proud
‘Cause we shall be free (oh, oh, oh)

We shall be free, we shall be free
Stand straight, walk proud
‘Cause we shall be free (oh, oh, oh)
(We shall be free)

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Stephanie Davis / Troyal Brooks

We Shall Be Free lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Grace and Peace,

Shelli