The complexity of St Patrick's Day

On my Facebook feed there are many, many posts about today being St Patrick's Day. Green-colored profile pics, wishes for a good day, plans for tonight, poem sharing, and a few that offer cautions. 

Christmas has loose ties to St Nicholas, but St Patrick's Day is about the only day in the Western world where we have such a big event connected to a specific saint. St Patrick's Day is famous for parades (we even have one here in Irish-lite Bellingham), green beer, green rivers, Irish accents, four-leaf clovers, leprechauns, and funny hats. 

Many people know a little bit about St Patrick: he was some regular 5th-century, British-born Roman teenager who was kidnapped by Irish bandits and served as a slave shepherd for years. That is, until he made a daring, courageous escape and eventually made it back home with great difficulty. While he was a shepherd slave he spent a lot of time in prayer and gave his heart to God. A few years later he had a vision of Irish people beckoning him to return, to which he responds by becoming a missionary to the land of his enslavement. According to legend Patrick is attributed with converting many of the wealthy and powerful in Ireland, forever changing the way of life for this island.

That's the story, and it's a good one even though there are a lot of sketchy and missing details. In light of the story, it's hard not to wonder what St Patrick would think about our modern-day recognition of his day? The fact that he even has a day is remarkable enough (there are loads of interesting, self-sacraficing missionaries in our history), but the traditions that we celebrate don't exactly match with the efforts and life of the man himself, do they?

Two Facebook posts of note today mention the darker side of Ireland and St Patrick's story. In one, my friend Michael Lee recounts the memoir Angela's Ashes along with a caution that our modern celebrations of March 17th are soaked in drunken, abusive masculinity. This poster is not drinking tonight. He writes, "Today, perhaps it would be better to celebrate the heroic actions and lives of the women of Ireland and the children, the sometimes-quiet suffering of family life with an alcoholic leak in the income stream, to standing up to those in power with only words, your wits, and a will to somehow survive. I think I'll leave the bottles on the shelf and in the store today, sorry Family Guinness and Jameson." I thankful for this thoughtful, challenging critique.

The other post is a blog by Roger Wolsey (whom I do not know personally, but certainly appreciate!), in which he highlights Patrick's history as a slave. Wolsey note that there are more slaves today than there were at the peak of the U.S. slave trade in the 1800s. Encouraging his readers to honor St Patrick by working toward ending slavery (link for specific donation-worthy agencies), he sees larger opportunities in this festive day than green beer and poorly-done Irish accents. After watching a phenomenal TED talk with Echoes last month on the topic of our current justice system, it's clear that we've got a whole lot of opportunities for change within our own race-penalizing sentencing systems, not to mention our neck-deep issues with sex-trafficking (did you see how high Seattle recently rated in this industry??). If Patrick was about holistic freedom (spiritually, physically, etc.), then could there be a better way to recognize his work then seeking ways to bring freedom to those who are captive and oppressed?

I'm grateful for these reflective voices today. While I plan to enjoy our first-ever game night tonight with Echoes, I'm also looking forward to some discussion regarding who Patrick really was and how we can be bearers of freedom, too. 

 

We lied. Tomorrow isn't Echoes' first worship experience.

Widely touted as "Echoes inaugural worship gathering!", tomorrow night's service is actually a sham. Oh, it IS a gathering for worship, that's very true. The sham is the "inaugural" part. True confession: this isn't really our first time to gather to worship. 

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The first official event that Echoes ever did was last year, on Sunday, July 14th. I got a banner made, put together a little cardboard display board, picked up some tootsie rolls, and met another Echo-ite at the Farmer's Market area in order to host a table at the Bellingham Pride Parade. My companion had suggested glitter tattoos as a way to bring people to our table, and seriously, it was genius. Let's face it, most of us look for freebies at events like these. We scan the table, see if there is anything good, then move on. Our tattoos became a "must-stop" for those riding the table circuit. Each tattoo took several minutes and required us to actually place our hands on strangers, and to get into their personal space (most chose the tattoo to go on their cheek; don't go all gutter here...).

We had opportunities for small conversations, for getting to know a person a tiny bit, and to offer a free gift that made someone feel good. 

And this was worship. Some people asked about God while we leaned into their face to wipe off the wayward glitter flecks, but most didn't. Each person, though, was honored as an image of God, each person was welcomed to the table, each person was given our attention. 

No hymns, no formal liturgy, no offering plate, no Lord's prayer. But this was undoubtedly worship. 

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Tomorrow night we start a new chapter by offering a monthly worship gathering to Bellingham. This might be the place that many Bellinghamsters connect to us, but I hope it's not the only avenue for involvement. It if were, then people would be missing out on the chance to worship at Theology Pub, around a dining table, with gloves and rakes at a work party in affiliation with local non-profits, blessing animals, and honoring the goodness of both Solstice and Advent. I don't think God waits for us to attend an official worship service in order to check off a "went to church this week" box. Instead, I think God smiles at the infinite opportunities we have to worship in lesser recognized ways.

Please don't think tomorrow night is the pinnacle or the goal of what we're doing with Echoes. It's not. I'm greatly looking forward to it and I think it's going to be awesome, and yet it's not the be-all, end-all of who we are or what we do. How do I know? All you had to do was see the smiles of our Pride booth visitors, or look at the bags of trash that we hauled up from Locust Beach, or consider the deep connection that was made over a Brene Brown TED talk and a potluck. Worship is all around us. Tomorrow night it'll be front and center. I can't wait, and I also can't wait for more worship opportunities to emerge from this creative community.


Ghost Cats

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My parents' cat hates me. Whenever I visit she stays well clear of me, giving off the "don't even think of petting my glorious fur," vibe. When I ignore the signals, succumbing to my need to connect with her, my hand inevitably gets shredded. It causes me great angst, and it causes her monumental annoyance.

Which is why it's not terribly hard to believe that I came to the conclusions I did last night at my parents' house. Well, maybe it is, but at I feel a little haughty about it.

It took a while for me to get to sleep. I was in my sleeping bag because whenever I stay as a guest for only a night or two I like to simply bring my sleeping bag so sheets don't have to be washed. Besides, being in my sleeping bag is kind of bringing a part of my home with me. Anyway....I was woken in the middle of the night. I kid you not, it felt like a cat walked on my sleeping bag. But when I opened my eyes there was nothing there! I tried to explain it away, "Oh, my sleeping bag must've shifted, oh, you didn't just feel that." But I was positive I had felt it, and I was positive that it felt like cat paws on my sleeping bag. It couldn't have been a bag shift because when I awoke I was as still as Mt. Rushmore, and I knew no other mammal was in the room because the door was firmly shut.

So, my conclusion? "Oh my God my parents have a ghost cat!!" 

It was the only logical conclusion I could come to. A cat had walked on my sleeping bag + a cat wasn't there = invisible ghost cat. Right?

My mind went a little haywire then, imaging what a ghost cat would look like, and I got all this adrenaline worked up. Ferocious and evil looking was at the top of the list. Yes, yes, it could be meek and could be the ghost of a wonderful, well-loved, cat who was forgotten to be looked after by the neighbors when the owner was out of town and starved to death and occasionally visits people on its quest for love. But my fear leaped over the Hallmark-version cat ghost and it took a long time for me to get back to sleep.

Unbelievably (as if anything is believable in this story), it happened again!! As I felt the sensation of cat paws on my sleeping bag the second time my brain screamed as my emotions jolted awake, "See, it's true! And I'm never going to be able to sleep in this room again!" When my eyes opened this time, though, I caught sight of a cat form fleeing from the bed. 

Not a ghost cat. My parents cat. The cat who hates my guts, the cat who takes pleasure in drawing my blood, had pulled the biggest cat prank ever. She had gotten herself locked in my room and taken her skillful, cunning, manipulative cat-time to twist me into a loony mess. The feline guild of Oregon has just nominated her for "most innovative act of retribution."

Looking back on it for all of these 15 hours or so, it seems to strange that I really thought my parents had a ghost cat. But it wasn't at the time. The facts: 1) I expect to be hated by cats in that house, 2) I didn't have my best thinking capacities in a dark room in the middle of the night, 3) I really do believe that ghosts might exist. I've never considered a ghost cat before, but it certainly made sense last night. The fact that I decidedly did NOT know was that 4) my parents' cat would actually let herself be locked in with me.

A lot of things can make perfect sense, a lot of things can be believed as "logical" conclusions when we don't have all the facts. A lot of things can be looked at as absolutely insane in the after-thought, or when more facts come in. The thing is, though, sometimes we don't have access to all the facts, and sometimes we make conclusions from a series of other "facts" that renders us incapable of calling a fact a fact.

We can do this with ghost cats (okay, I can do this with ghost cats), we can do this with academics, we can do this with parenting, with statistics, with investments, with career choices, and yes, we can do this especially with theology, belief systems, and Scripture interpretation.

I was humbled a bit last night by jumping to a strange conclusion and then experiencing the emotions as if it were true, because for me, at the time, it was. My desire to embrace mystery when it comes to things to God is due in large part to my suspicion that I can actually discern "right" answers when I have a three-and-a-half pound brain and God is, well, God. 

Do I know what happens to people after they die? Do I know how salvation works? Do I know exactly what happened cosmically at the moment of Jesus' death? Do I know what on earth is going on - really - in the act of communion? Do I know how to explain Scripture that disagrees with itself? 

No. 

For me the Rapture is a ghost cat. For me a church that only welcomes certain people is a ghost cat. And these ideas/theologies/Scripture interpretations remain very logical conclusions for many. I'm positive that I believe in all sorts of ghost cats, but either I'm so invested in them, or they are so taken for granted that it's almost impossible for me to see a live cat, and so change my conclusions. 

It's a good thing we've got grace to receive from God, and grace to give to others. The trick is knowing how and when to call a ghost cat a ghost cat for others when you do know it's a false conclusion. Some of those ghost cats can simply live on without harming anyone, and some, well, they can do undue damage. The other trick is having enough humility to know that we all see ghost cats, and live within that reality. 

The secret words of the manger

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As I lie in bed this night my heart and mind are tuned to the words that caught in my throat during tonight's Christmas Eve service. Who knew "Away in a Manger" could be so powerful? This beloved carol, so often ridiculed for espousing an un-crying Jesus, as if God incarnate wouldn't wail with hunger or the need for sleep, held words for me tonight. 

It's the first half of the last verse: "Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask you to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray," that broke me open. If you've known the song for years the tune comes easily, without effort. Those last five words, though, have slid by me for decades. 

"And love me, I pray".....I pray that you love me, Jesus. 

When I was in a college ministry I first heard the term "Jesus is my boyfriend music," which referred to a whole genre of worship songs that was singer-centric. "I love you, God. You are the best, Jesus. Hold me close, never let me go. Whisper sweet nothings, etc., etc., etc. After becoming aware of this trend the words started to creep me out a little bit. Not that there isn't precedent for it, some of Christianity's most beloved mystic-saints had rather erotic visions/experiences of Christ. Yet it can seem a little far-fetched to sing country-esque lyrics to the Creator of the Universe, especially when I don't often feel romantic love toward God.

A hymn that asks Jesus to love me seems rather extraordinary. First, it's not expressing that God already loves me. That God loves this earth and its inhabitants is often sung (probably to help us believe it), but not many hymns or songs ask God to love us. Second, it's incredibly vulnerable. To ask someone to love you is putting yourself on the line. What if they say no? To state that God loves me is one thing, to ask God to love me is quite another. 

As extraordinary as the words are, though, this plea seems more congruent with my inner world than either blathering about my undying love for God, or God's steadfast love for me. In my heart of hearts I just really want God to love me. That meek, squeaky, desperate request, "Lord Jesus, love me, I pray," is my inner cry, my inner desire, and is too oft unspoken. The words tonight allowed me to get in touch with this soul-level angst. Hearing my voice break at this phrase gave me the opportunity to actually ask God to love me....to realize I needed to ask.

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In 44 minutes, on Pacific time, it will be Christmas Day (I could add some wonderful humor about Jesus being born at 12:01am on Dec. 25th, but I'll resist). This is the day that light came into the world. Not that light wasn't already here! But this light was in the form of an infant, born into a lowly social position, in a lowly cave, in a lowly town, in the presence of lowly shepherds. God didn't come with a lot of fanfare (simply compare Jesus' birth with this year's royal baby), and so God became accessible to all life. It became possible for me to ask Jesus to love me.

A few days ago thirty-five people gathered to recognize the coming of the light in a ceremony that honored both Solstice and Advent. We acknowledged the reality of darkness, and looked toward the coming of the light. It was a beautiful, sacred time (even with the labyrinth being too dark to see the path clearly enough!). Participants were asked to reflect upon where they hoped to see light in the upcoming year, and since I was leading I didn't do much reflecting.

Tonight, though, it's pretty clear: I want to acknowledge that inner whimper, that holy longing that just wants Jesus to love me. I don't even need to hear back that God does, indeed, love me. I just need to recognize and speak the request, and find God in the asking. 

Merry Christmas, my friends. 

Silencing the carols (and honoring Solstice | Advent)

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During Advent many churches do not sing Christmas carols. Advent, the roughly four weeks leading up to Christmas day, is a time of preparation, of waiting with anticipation for Jesus to come on the scene. Christmas Day itself, the birth of Christ, is the catalyst to unleash all the joy of the Christmas carols that church goers, and even non-church goers, have come to expect and enjoy during this season.

So, in accordance with the Christian calendar, we're supposed to sing Christmas carols from Dec. 25th (or on Christmas Eve) until Jan. 6th, which is Epiphany. These days are known as the "twelve days of Christmas," and they start after Dec. 25th, not before. Advent is Advent, Christmas is Christmas - there is a time and a season for everything.

But. 

But I like singing Christmas carols before Christmas. Those carols build up anticipation for me!

Contrary to assumed thought, these songs have not been sung since time immemorial. The faith-based carols with which we're familiar were mostly written in the 1800s; they're not that old (as compared to some of the church's liturgy). St Francis (13th century) is attributed with starting the first Christmas pageants, which included live animals and singings songs that used local, happy drinking tunes. Christmas is festive (in fact, in 1647 Christmas was banned altogether in England because it was too merry!), and the songs we sing reflect the joy of the birth of our world's redeemer.

With all the preparation that goes into Christmas Day (most notably the gift-giving, travel plans, and meal preparations), it makes sense to me that the songs start early. We're already making plans, why not sing of what we're planning for?

Many of my colleagues disagree, for very good reasons. The delay of the carols highlights the waiting to which Advent calls us. I get that. I really do. Maybe I'm the ultimate Christmas consumer in that I want all the joy we can get in Advent and also during the 12 days of Christmas. 

What I DO like about squelching the cheer until Christmas Day is the acknowledgement that we live in a world that has certainly not seen the defeat of evil. December can be a month of crushing sadness for many, compounded by the long, dark days. Singing exuberantly in the midst of pain can make some people want to whack off goofy grins and hark the herald angels to kingdom come. Waiting to sing is respectful, it recognizes honestly that Jesus' work has not yet vanquished all sorrow, and that the story is not yet over. 

Echoes will be honoring the reality of the darkness on Dec. 21st. At 4:16pm (when the sun goes down here in Bellingham). We'll gather at Fairhaven Park to celebrate Advent and Solstice. Both Solstice and Advent attest to the reality of the darkness. Dec. 21st has the most darkness of any day of the year, but the light is coming. Light is coming. Light is coming. Light is coming," during some of my darkest days I had to be told this over and over again until I could finally believe it. The religious season, and the position of our planet relative to the sun, combine to make a fantastic opportunity to state what is now, and what is to come. We stand in solidarity with those who cannot sing yet, and we call forth the coming light that is so invisible to many.

As far as singing carols, I'm going to sneak in a few. Appropriately, with respect, the goofy grins restrained when needed. 

Why the church will fail you

A friend and I were having a conversation yesterday about how a church had failed a mutual friend of ours. This mutual friend has been experiencing considerable difficulty, the church has become aware of this, and yet has not reached out to her. It's a failure that causes distance, suspicion, and disillusion.

I was reminded that the offended friend has a phenomenal group of co-workers who have been an outlet for socializing, empathizing, and all-round excellent camaraderie. I'm so thankful for this! A loose comparison was made to the lack of attention given to our friend, versus the embrace she has received from her friends. 

It's true, there is a disappointing difference here. The church, the very people who are supposed to care for their own, have not done well in this case. They should have checked in. They should have inquired. They should have offered support. But they didn't. For whatever reason(s), they have failed her.

I have been told, "it must be tough to be a pastor." And it is. While pastoring a congregation is a life-giving vocation in so many ways, it is set up for failure in a myriad of ways, too. (At least in our current conceptions of how a church and pastor should function....but that's for another blog.)

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The comparison between the group of friends and the church isn't really a fair one. Mutual support is only one aspect of a church community. For a group of friends mutual support is often the only aspect that keeps them together, and when it's done well it keeps them coming back for more. The group gives the individuals validity, companionship, social outlets, and much needed encouragement.

A church is supposed to do this, too. But, the difference lies in all the other things a church is supposed to do, too. A church is also supposed to plan and execute meaningful worship, take care of its finances, visit the sick, reach out to others, advocate for the marginalized, provide service for the community, be involved in social justice, have good theology, grow in membership, model servant-leadership, and have a healthy organizational structure that makes appropriate, astute decisions on behalf of the group. 

This creates a crazy amount of arenas for dissatisfaction. And a church is not like a business where one can separate out one's own soul from the business itself. No, our place of worship helps to create or maintain a sense of personal identity, and who we think we are in relation to God. A well-running church, then, is necessary for an individual's sense of who they are personally, how God works in the world, and how humanity is to live out our mission. So, not only are there a myriad of arenas in which a congregant can find dissatisfaction, a sense of self and our perception(s) of God are also on the line in regards to how well or how poorly a church functions. A kitchen that is habitually left messy by the youth group becomes a theological statement that we don't care enough about God's house, that YOU don't care enough about God's house, which then reflects poorly on me because you and I are in the same group that is choosing to follow God together. 

So yes, there's a heckuva lot to contend with as a church group and as a pastor. And rest assured, the church will fail you. In big ways or in small ways. As the church is trying to work on being a good support system to one another, it's also trying to do all those other things at the same time. The failure might not even happen in the personal support system, it might happen on a theological level, or a we're-not-doing-enough-for-the-poor level, or we're not offering enough alternatives for youth, or the pastor's preaching sucks, or the worship music is too hard to sing, or, or, or...

So for those of you who are checking out Echoes and finding yourselves reading this distressingly depressing blog I want to say: you are loved. This small group of non-conforming Jesus-followers will probably let you down somehow. We won't mean to, and we'd rather talk about it than have you be frustrated alone. Give us a try, and help us shape this community organically, to be a place where we can fail and learn from those failures in the hopes of learning to be a group that can disagree well together, while also working well together.

Who's self-obsessed? Me! Me! (includes cat video)

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A number of weeks ago I blogged about the brand-new GoPro Hero3+ and the human desire to achieve more, do more, be more. 60 Minutes has taken notice of GoPro, too. As much as I'd like to think that Anderson Cooper read this blog, the billion dollar industry that GoPro has established probably speaks for itself.

As Cooper says, it's the perfect camera for a self-obsessed generation. Now that we have cameras on our phones, we're never without the possibilty of documenting where we are, what we're doing, and letting the world know how much fun we are. Google Glass is basically the GoPro on steroids, but they don't have the massive vault of footage and real-live "proof" that their gadget can make you look so extreme/clever/daring/courageous/heroic (and maybe way more than you really are).

Camera phones, Google Glass, GoPros. They're wonderful inventions that illuminate this need for so many humans to be on display. "Look at me!!!," is essentially what the photo and video posters are saying. It's like we regress to our inner four-year-old who constantly requests the attention and affirmation of others, "look at me twirl!", "look at me jump!", "look at me in my pirate suit!", "look at me throw sand!" 

This is a gross generalization, of course. Some of the stuff that people are capturing with their capable cameras is truly remarkable, and I really, really enjoy watching it. The good stuff and the banal stuff point to a human need for recognition, to be noticed, to be counted worthy. This desire might not manifest itself in everyone by the need for posting selfies and GoPros videos, but it's in just about every one of us. 

And it's not bad. Shoot, we were made in the image of God. Humans really are glorious, and most of us know it - at least about ourselves. Oh, we might struggle mightily with a hideous self image, or some form of neurosis or crippling PTSD, but we ARE glorious, and it's in us to want to receive some sort of recognition for that. And for those of us who absolutely cannot believe there is glory in us, it's probably a deep longing for which we hope secretly.

Sure this innate glory can get horribly confused with ego, and unfortunately a good chunk of selfies and selfy videos highlight this confusion. How many times have you wanted to complain about a Facebook friend for posting yet another photo of their dinner, or uploading an entire vacation album so that you are subjected to 150 crappy pictures instead of the eight good ones that offer a nice summary? With all this media out there it's easy to get annoyed at others for "wasting my time" with the less-than-perfect submissions. Another's ego (or less-refined social media skills) can become my own ego trip. It's so easy to shed all that glory and simply become selfish, self-absorbed, and petty.

In addition to showcasing our innate gllory, there is another other glorious aspect of the GoPro and instant camera availability: it cure does increase opportunities for creativity. A number of theologians have suggested that the crux of the "Imago Dei," or being made in the image of God, is the human capacity to create. God the Creator enabled humand to create, too, and so engage in divine work. 

To be sure, some work that is done by amateur camera phone enthusiasts, and GoPro dabblers certainly teeters on the divine. As Nick Woodman, GoPro CEO, said in the 60 Minutes interview that these cameras allow the average person to capture what only professionals could in the past. Instead of requiring exceedingly costly equipment and extra people to use the gear to capture footage, one person can now document some amazing feats - all on their own, with a $400 camera and a few accessories. And, as a person who's been in a lot of commercial videos, the editing itself can be glorious.

Examples I like:

Dog Faces

The Dolomites

The "look at me" prototype

Paragliding with your eagle (this is the same guy who strapped his camera onto the eagle; that video has over 6million views)

And, to show how easy it is, today I got my cat in the action (alas, it's shot on the "old" original GoPro Hero). This video took less than two hours to set up, shoot, and edit. Daisy's quick adventure:

We have a lot to be thankful for in this GoPro world. We can share in other's experiences, see things we'd otherwise not see, glory in the Imago Dei, push the boundaries of artistic limits.....and yes, be completely self-absorbed. Light and shadow: it's in us all, and on display everyday in our selfies and GoPro videos on Facebook, Google+, Tumblr, the revamped MySpace, YouTube, Vimeo, and others. We can't seem to get enough of our glorious selves.

 

 

 

"Death does not cause me sorrow"

(In honor of All Saints Day) 

1945: He was retrieving his camera gear with the rest of the photography team, when a Master Sargent told them they were being assigned a different task. Handing them a mirror and a tube of lipstick, their instructions were to approach the corpses and put the mirror up to lips of each body. If the mirror fogged, place a "L" on the forehead with the lipstick and a medical team will follow-up. No fog earned an "X" on the forehead. With thousands of bodies, they had an excruciating task.

"James" is a former soldier who was present at the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp. Several months ago he told me story after story of the war, memories that have been flooding back in the past six weeks as he lay in a hospice bed. Thinking about how technology has advanced war I said, "War is scary," to which James replied, "If war was scary I could handle it. War is terrifying. Terrifying. There was no place to hide." Tears streamed down his face.

Stories of the deaths of his son and wife followed. Claustrophobic, not able to bear an MRI chamber, his wife died of a brain aneurysm. "She died of fright," he said. He lost his son as a result of poor health choices, but even more difficult he says, is the loss of one of his daughters. Still alive, but estranged from the family, she's been "lost to hate."

James knows sorrow, he knows loss, and his life is waning. In considering his own mortality, he says, "Death does not cause me sorrow like most people." In spite of the horrific memories of war, James is at peace. He is ready for it. "Death, which we don't have to think about very often, is a byproduct of living." I am deeply impressed by James. In these memories he is conjuring up long-forgotten people; in the remembering he is honoring them and preparing to join them.

James was somehow not able to let tragedy defeat him.   He went on to live a productive life in which he helped a lot of others. In his reflections upon his own death he is helping even more. Like me.

I wonder about my own feelings about death. My death. It's hard to think about when I have a (mostly) healthy body, with years of work and adventure ahead. But it's coming. It's a physical reality that waits. I hope to have the peace that James does. I hope to be able to let thing be as they are, and to accumulate few regrets. 

Since James has gained a fair bit of wisdom in his years, I asked for some sage advice for life. He gave me two suggestions: 

1) "Don't push things". For instance, if you want a new car, and all you can think about is getting a new car, don't push through with your desires. Wait for the universe to provide. It may not be as fast you'd like (I'm not sure if he meant the car itself, or the speed with which it is acquired), but it will happen. 

2) "Keep your feet dry". Because when your feet get wet and stay wet, you'll eventually not be able to walk. 

Thank you, James, for teaching me about life, death, peace, and gratitude. 

The tiger within

Recently I gave a presentation on Echoes at a local Lutheran church. At the end I showed this illustration: 

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It's how I envision this as-yet-fairly-small gathering. We are little, we are a bit unassuming, but there is a lot in us. Not that I'm expecting we'll turn into a massive, fearful killing machine (have you seen the power of tigers?). I think we're a vegetarian tiger, one that can celebrate life and mourn with those who suffer. 

But the truth is we're also that little cat doing some painting. Who knows what we'll find when our creativity is unleashed? We're looking for more artists, dreamers, non-conformists, and curious onlookers to help shape this unique community. Rawr. 

 

Revolution in six words: "Your faith has made you well"

The two Scripture passages for this sermon:

2 Kings 5:1–3, 7–15c

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Aram, was a great man and in high favor with his master, because by him the LORD had given victory to Aram. The man, though a mighty warrior, suffered from leprosy. Now the Arameans on one of their raids had taken a young girl captive from the land of Israel, and she served Naaman's wife. She said to her mistress, "If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy."

….When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, "Am I God, to give death or life, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Just look and see how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me." But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent a message to the king, "Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come to me, that he may learn that there is a prophet in Israel."

So Naaman came with his horses and chariots, and halted at the entrance of Elisha's house. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, "Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean."

But Naaman became angry and went away, saying, "I thought that for me he would surely come out, and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy! Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?" He turned and went away in a rage.

But his servants approached and said to him, "Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, 'Wash, and be clean'?" So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean. Then he returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, "Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”

Luke 17:11–19
On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" When he saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well."

In both of these Old Testament and Gospel readings people are healed from leprosy. In both occasions the healing is, let’s be honest, rather strange. In the Old Testament, Namaan, the army commander from Aram, is asked to go wash himself in the Jordan River seven times. He’s not terribly happy about this – he could wash in his own river at home! - but he goes anyway ONLY because his servants reason with him (“how hard could this be, Namaan, give it a try!”) So he gives it a try, and lo and behold, Namaan is cleansed from his skin disease!

In the Gospel story, Jesus tells ten lepers to go show themselves to the priests to be clean. Jesus and the disciples are on their way to Jerusalem, and they are in this odd region, being between Galilee and Samaria – not really totally in either land, but in the middle. A group of ten people who have a skin disease, called leprosy in the Bible, are hanging out together (there’s nothing quite like an affliction to create community). As a group they call out respectfully to Jesus, calling him “Master”, and asking Jesus to have mercy on them. That’s all they ask, “have mercy”.

The text doesn’t say that Jesus even approaches them. Instead, he tells them to go show themselves to the priests. That’s it, just “go show themselves to the priests,” but he doesn’t say why or what will happen.

That’s about as odd as asking Namaan to go dip in the river. It’s odd because, as far as we know, the only purpose that lepers would have had to go show themselves to the priest is to be reinstated to their community when they are literally clean, free of disease – which they decidedly were NOT when they started on their journey to see the priests. Going to the priests would have meant that they were no longer unclean, but healthy, and ready to be back in their “normal” lives as “clean” followers of their God. And they weren’t that when they started their walk.

So all ten of these lepers had to have faith to begin with to even make the journey to see the priests – maybe not the faith to know that they were going to be cleansed as they walked, but faith enough to go and at least do what Jesus says to see what would happen. Kind of like Namaan dipping in the river.

It’s the one guy, the individual who steps away from the pack, who gets particular notice. At some point before they get to the priests, this one guy returns to Jesus and receives the very special words, “your faith has made you well.” Not just clean, but “well.”

Washing in a river seven times, going before priests when you’re unclean – these are not “normal” healing techniques. And what’s more, these aren’t “normal” people for the Israelites to see healed. Namaan was from Aram, the leader of the army of a conquering nation. He received mercy from Israel’s prophet Elisha, when Elisha told Namaan to go wash in the Jordan. Namaan, after his healing, pledges allegiance to the God of Israel. He radically changes his religious devotion – a pretty big deal for a guy in his position.

Luke refers to this story of Namaan. Luke tells us in chapter 4 that at the time of Elisha the prophet there were lots of lepers in Israel, but only Namaan was healed. Isn’t that interesting? The only one healed during this amazing prophet’s time, in all of Israel, we’re told, is not an Israelite at all, and in fact is the army commander of an opposing people group.

Those words of Luke, and the actual story of Namaan that we find in 2 Kings, are a backdrop to the story of Jesus’ encounter with the ten lepers.

A lot of folks assume that the other nine lepers, the ones who didn’t turn around to thank Jesus, were Israelite. But we don’t actually know that. This region was in between Samaria and Galilee, so the group could’ve been much more diverse than we imagine. Regardless, at least one of them was a Samaritan.

Just like with Namaan, our attention is brought to the fact that this guy, the one who turns back, is not an Israelite. He’s a Samaritan. He is not one of the chosen ones, one of the people who is to bring light to the nations. He’s an outsider, a “foreigner”, as Jesus calls him. But he’s healed, and he “gets” the magnitude of that. 

Samaria is an interesting place. We know there is animosity between these two people groups in the Bible. At times in the 1st century they were physically attacking one another. Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan is such a shock because the Samaritan is the only one in the story who has kindness on an Israelite!

The last time Samaria was mentioned in Luke, Jesus and his disciples had been refused hospitality by a Samaritan town. As a result of this rejection, the disciples wanted to command fire to rain down on them and destroy the whole town in revenge (Lk 9:52-53). Not exactly good blood there. So what was it between the Samaritans and the Israelites? What was this rift all about?

Religion. The rift was about religion, not surprisingly. The Samaritans claim that their faith is essentially the true faith of Moses. They’re not some pagan sect, they worship the same God. Moses is their only prophet, and they only have the five books of the Old Testament as their Scripture. To them, it’s the Israelites who have distorted the true faith.

So they feel they’ve actually held on to the true faith. They are trying to be faithful to the law of Moses. It’s the same scaffolding of faith as the Galileans, the Israelites. A big difference, though, is the “true” center of worship. For the Israelites true worship only happens in Jerusalem at the temple. For the Samaritans true worship happens at Mount Gerizim.

The Israelites believe that Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac on Mt Moriah, which is the temple mount in Jerusalem, and the Samaritans believe that the near-sacrifice happened on Mt Gerizim, which is their temple mount. If a Samaritan converted to Judaism they had to specifically renounce their belief that worship belonged at Mt Gerazim. It’s a big deal in their differences; the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 even refers to it.

So, as Dennis Hamm writes, this puts the Samaritan leper in our story in a bit of a bind. To go show themselves to the priests meant that these lepers had to go to their respective temples. There weren’t churches on every corner like there can be with Christianity. Priests were found at one spot: the temple. In this case, priests were in two spots: either in Jerusalem for the Israelites, or at Gerizim for the Samaritans. Regardless, it’s a LONG walk that would take a LONG time.

And what do you do as a Samaritan? Do you go to Jesus’ temple, which would be in Jerusalem, which your people say would be heretical, or do you go to your own temple? And where are your compatriots going?

So what does he do?

He turns around and goes to the unquestionable source of his healing – to where he has seen the work of God.

The question of what temple to go to is moot in the presence of Jesus, because clearly God resides here – with him! – and that is where he goes. He goes to Jesus. And he throws himself at Jesus’ feet to say thank you. And Jesus says “your faith has made you well.” Not just clean, but “well.” Not only clean, but “well”.

Do we blame the other ten for not turning back? No. They’re following directions, they’re obeying what Jesus told them to do. It’s just that this one guy turns around. He recognizes where he wanted to place his worship. This “foreigner.”

This word that Jesus uses of this Samaritan, “foreigner,” is only found here in the New Testament, it’s found in no other place in the New Testament. Where it IS found in Israel at the time of this story is in the dividing line in the Jewish temple.

The word is “allogenes”, and it’s written in stone in the temple in Jerusalem, marking the line between Gentile and Israelite. The “court of the Gentiles” was as close to the temple as the Gentiles could get, and that word “allogenes” denoted where they belonged. If they ventured into the Jewish-only area of the temple, closer to the inner sanctum of God, they could be put to death.

This barrier didn’t exist with Jesus. This foreigner recognizes who Jesus was and Jesus didn’t push him away, Jesus didn’t say, “foreigners can’t come to me,” instead he pronounced an even deeper cleansing: his faith had made him well. He and the other nine might have been cleansed from their diseases, but this guy, this one foreigner, recognized where the cleansing came from, and in so doing found a deeper healing, a more holistic healing, than the other nine.

“Get up and go on your way, your faith has made you well,” Jesus says. Notice that he DOESN’T say, “Get up and go to Jerusalem to worship, because then you prove that your faith is on the right track and you are truly well.” Presumably Jesus doesn’t ask this man to stop being a Samaritan, to convert to the “right” belief of the Israelites. Even though the Jews and the Samaritans war about where they should worship this is not an issue for Jesus. 

The Samaritan turned around to find his Savior. What temple did he need to go to? What does it matter when he had Jesus to go to?

This story of the ten lepers is about way more than giving thanks. But digging into it, we find that thanks is the only posture to take.

We find that we have a God who does not take stock in human divisions.

We find a God who lifts up the broken, whoever they may be.

We find a God who fully reinstates the so-called unclean, and draws them close, to Godself.

We find a God who honors faith, as little and as uninformed as that faith may be.

We find a God who draws us to Godself.

We, who most likely would be the “allogenes”, the foreigners who are kept out of the temple, we – you and me – are brought near to God simply because that is the heart of God.

To bring humankind close, to show Godself in suffering, to restore the broken and the brokenhearted, to make us “well.”

Where is God found? Where is worship found? In this man Jesus.

With the little, ill-formed, or odd faith that we may have.

Amen.

POSTSCRIPT: So, I wonder: what if the Church, if the followers of Jesus had grabbed onto this posture of Jesus of not correcting people's belief, and instead affirmed inclinations to give thanks to Jesus? Would the world be a different place? I think it would. I think the entire face of the planet would be different. Colonialism would be gone, the majority of denominationalism would be gone, holy wars involving Christians would've been greatly decreased.

The leprous Samaritan had a belief system, and it didn't line up with Jesus,' but this didn't fuss Jesus. He doesn't even mention it. Could we live with the messiness of a  faith group that didn't have to have perfectly aligned beliefs? I'd love to try, and I'd love to see it spark a revolution.