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Last Epiphany B(RCL)
2 Kings 2:1-12
Psalm 50:1-6
2 Corinthians 4:3-6
Mark 9:2-9

The Last Sunday after the Epiphany, before the beginning of Lent, always includes a reading of the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration from one of the Synoptic Gospels. This year, we hear Mark’s version, the first written of which we have a record. I suppose the lectionary is set up this way to give us a glimpse of Jesus’ glory before we enter the long season of Lent — to give us courage to wait for the outcome. There is a general consensus among biblical scholars that the Transfiguration is a displaced Resurrection appearance, anyway. So we catch a glimpse now of what we will see on Easter.

But why displace a resurrection appearance in the first place? Mark surely knew what he was doing. The Transfiguration seems to me to fit into a larger section that runs from 8:27 (Peter’s confession of Jesus as the Messiah) through 9:33 (the second passion prediction) or even 9:37 (who is greatest in the Kingdom). Peter confesses Jesus the Christ, and then as soon as Jesus tells them he must suffer, Peter says, “Never you, Lord!” Jesus rebukes Peter, and then says that the true disciple of Jesus must be ready to lose his or her life, or the Son of Man will be ashamed of that one when he comes in glory. Then comes the Transfiguration. As they are coming down the mountain, the disciples ask why people say Elijah must come before the Son of Man comes in glory. Jesus replies that Elijah has already come (on the mountain? or as John the Baptist?). When they reach the bottom of the mountain, the rest of the disciples have been unable to exorcise a demon from a young boy. Jesus does it, and then predicts the passion a second time.

When Elisha accompanies Elijah out across the Jordan, he witnesses Elijah’s ascension into heaven in a chariot of fire. Elijah, that great prophet, was too important to God’s purposes to be allowed to die. Likewise, Moses after ascending Mount Nebo to see the promised land dies, but no one knows where his body is — a tradition grew up by the time of Jesus that he had been assumed into heaven. So, Moses and Elijah, both taken directly to God, appear with Jesus on the Mountain. Also, both Moses and Elijah had heard the voice of God on the Mountain; Moses in the volcanic eruption, the storm and excitement, and Elijah in the still voice of silence. Jesus also hears the voice on the Mountain from the overshadowing cloud.

I believe that Mark’s Gospel was written as a course in Christian formation. Its purpose is to nerve up potential martyrs. Those who read the book know they might have to suffer just as Jesus did; Jesus makes the good confession, which Peter fails to make. Imagine studying this book during the period before your baptism (say 40 days), and then hearing read cover to cover in the night before you are baptized on Sunday at sun-up. The story of Jesus would map your own story. You are about to be baptized (and driven into the wilderness?). Your tomb likewise will be empty.

The voice comes to Jesus the first time at his baptism before he is driven into the wilderness, to be tested. Matthew and Luke tell us Jesus was tempted by Satan in exactly the same way God’s people were tempted: all the food he needed by turning a stone into bread (when Israel entered the promised land, and the manna ceased, they had all they needed, and forgot God); invulnerablility (as long as the Temple stood, Israel believed God would never let them be defeated); power (Israel wanted a king, just like the nations around). In the wilderness, Jesus, like the convert, learns that he is not God, is not to change the world in a blinding, magic flash, but by patiently living within its constraints.

The voice comes a second time on the mountain, when Jesus is transfigured. Imagine the baptisand hearing this: the voice will come at my baptism, so I, too, must be transfigured. But unlike Moses and Elijah, Jesus doesn’t just zip off to heaven unharmed. He comes back down the mountain to deal with a demon his disciples haven’t been able to cast out, and of course ultimately, to make his way to Jerusalem, where we all know how the story ends.

We have been (and are) transfigured, but still walk toward Jerusalem. No wonder Peter wanted to stay up there on the mountain — a lot easier than coming back down. How, in our daily journey, do we reflect the transfiguring glory of God? What demons are we to cast out? Why do we have such a hard time believing that we are “little Christs” (Christianoi)? We are not called to change the world in a blinding flash (turn stones into bread, convert the nations by having them bow down to us, be impervious to harm). We are called to transfigure it from the inside. The image of God restored by baptism is precisely the vulnerability necessary to live in community. We forgot that even God had to make the divine self vulnerable in order to be in relationship with us, so we can’t think we are above that. Those heart-breaking moments of real connection one to another transfigure us.

Epiphany 6B (RCL)
2 Kings 5:1-15
Psalm 30
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Mark 1:40-45

This story of healing is very strange. Jesus feels compassion for the man with leprosy, and heals him with a touch. That makes Jesus unclean. Then after healing the man, Jesus “snorts in anger at him and immediately casts him out and says to him, ‘See to it that you say nothing to anyone, but go and show yourself to the priest and offer concerning your cleansing the things arranged by Moses as a testimony to them.'” The word that the NRSV translates ‘sternly warning’ is the word used for horses snorting, and when applied to humans means to snort in anger. Why is Jesus angry at the man?

Jesus comes away from the encounter himself unclean, even though he sends the man to the priest to be declared clean. We are told that Jesus, because of the man’s testimony, can no longer enter towns openly, but instead stays out in ‘desert places.’ Desert places are where the action is in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus crosses the sea twice into desert places, and there feeds two multitudes, one 5000 people and one 4000. Maybe he is angry with the man because he wants to go back into settled places, into the town, into the temple. For Jesus, God and God’s intentions for the world are to be discovered in desert places.

Naaman, the Syrian, also has leprosy. He desires to be healed (is there a little bit of irony here, that he is a commander in the Syrian Army — in Israel, he would be outside the camp, not the general). A slave girl taken captive in Israel, a nobody, knows how he can be cleansed. The King of Aram make the whole thing into an international incident. The King of Israel tears his robes when he learns that he is expected to cure Naaman’s leprosy. Finally, word gets to Elisha. Naaman come to the dwelling of Elisha, outside the city, outside the structures of society (a prophet doesn’t live at the Temple). Naaman is angry that God hasn’t done something more impressive through the prophet. Finally, his servant convinces him that he should try, and Naaman “is baptized seven times” (LXX) in the Jordan, and is made clean.

The Jordan, of course, is in the wilderness. The people crossed it to enter the promised land. Elijah crossed it on dry ground on his way out into the wilderness to be taken up by the chariots of God. Elisha crossed it on dry ground on his way back in. John baptized in the Jordan, and after Jesus’ baptism, he was driven out into the wilderness for forty days.

Many people come to Jesus out in the wilderness. The wilderness is a place where community can be structure by trial and error. One is not constrained by existing social forms and structures. That’s why the hermits went into the wild places. They could re-create themselves, and recreate community.

It’s interesting that in the midst of our current economic crisis, we are looking to the same old structures to solve the problem. Congress, the Treasury, the President, Wall Street — these are going to save us. Jesus might be angry at us wanting to go back into existing structures. What would it look like to form a different kind of economy? What wild places should we try inhabiting?

Epiphany 5B (RCL)
Isaiah 40:21-31
Psalm 147:1-12
1 Corinthians 9:16-23
Mark 1:29-39

One day in Lui, about our third day there, Deb and I were walking over to the hospital to begin our assessment of its present state. On the path, we met a man in shackles. He wasn’t poorly dressed, though a little disheveled. He had shackles around his ankles, so he could not take very large steps. A bicycle chain ran from the shackles to a set of hand cuffs around his wrists. He was holding the bicycle chain in his hands so it didn’t drag on the ground. As we came nearer to him, he smiled and greeted us enthusiastically (people in Lui pretty much greet every white person they see enthusiastically, we’re such a novelty). He let go of the bicycle chain in order to shake our hands (a requirement in Moru land). We in our turn greeted him, and then walked on our way. No one seemed to pay him any mind, but we were puzzled by the whole exchange and wondered what it meant. Was he a prisoner? Was he a danger to himself or others? Should we have been cautious of him?

Later in the day, we had the chance to ask someone who this man was. It turns out he was the brother of John Noel, the steward of the guest compound. He was being treated for sleeping sickness. Sleeping sickness can make people a “bit mad,” we were informed, and he was shackled so he wouldn’t run away and not finish his treatment. Several days later, we met him again, this time without the shackles, when he came to visit his brother at the compound. He did not evince any shame at having been shackled. It was just a matter of course for the treatment of sleeping sickness.

It strikes me how much of what we consider sickness or illness or disease is in fact social. Certainly, in sleeping sickness, there is a physical pathology at work, but the “madness”, while part of the pathology, is also socially experienced. When we were at Lozoh, a young woman with nodding disease began “fitting” during the church service. The people around her simply laid her carefully on the floor, and the pastor came down from the chancel and sat on the floor with her so she wouldn’t hurt her head. Deb took his place, and the service went on. If that had happened at Advent, we would have had our own fit, or quickly rushed her from the Church so her fit wouldn’t disturb anyone else.

I was surprised by the number of people with river blindness, nodding disease, sleeping sickness and other illnesses just at large in the population. Everyone knew them and knew their illness and the madness that sometimes accompanied it. At the Cathedral, we laid hands on several people with nodding disease or sleeping sickness. One young man, who was quite mad, prayed by leaping during hymns, even coming into the chancel to leap before the cross. No one seemed the least bit perturbed by him (except maybe myself). They would just move him off to the side a little so he wouldn’t step on anyone.

Jesus cures many with weaknesses, demons, and illness, all crowding around his door. In fact, that seems to be the content of his teaching “with authority.” These would have been people moved out their proper social context by either a physical pathology (illness) or a social dislocation (demon possession).

But then, he does something startling. He moves on. He hasn’t come to be a chaplain to his hometown. He’s not there to make everyone feel good. He is there to bring the socially marginal back into community, and then leave the community to deal with them, while he goes on to the next place to announce the kingdom. We’re supposed to “get it” and keep up the work. We are supposed to see the marginal brought in, and then make sure they continue to stay in.

I also get know why Peter’s mother-in-law gets up to serve after her fever has left. Several days, Christina came to the compound complaining of ‘flu’, but she wasn’t about not to cook for us. It was not only an obligation, but a privilege. To have been so sick as not to be able to cook would have been a source of shame and a source of displeasure for her. Jesus makes it possible for everyone in that social world to fulfill their roles, to fit in their places.

Paul talks about become a slave to make a gain for slaves, a person under the law to make a gain for persons under the law, lawless to make a gain for lawless persons. He is willing to make himself the locus that holds the disparate aspects of a fractured community together; to become ‘mad’ so that the ‘mad’ ones can be included. Paul is not concerned about his own status in the community, but the status of everyone else.

Isaiah speaks of God strengthening the weak, probably in the context of holding out hope for the Exiles, or for the beseiged and beleagured of Zion. And it is not just any God, but the God who created the stars of the universe and calls them out each night. What a magnificent image. Sitting under the spectacular Milky Way in really dark Sudan nights, imagining God calling each one of those stars to appear boggles the mind. That God strengthens each person to take his or her place in community, even the mad and shackled. How poorly we approximate that community.

Epiphany 4B (RCL)
Deuteronomy 18:15-20
Psalm 111
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Mark 1:21-28

I always find reading Mark’s Gospel frustrating. He is not very fair to those assumed outside his audience. In this passage, Jesus shows up at the synagogue at Capernaum to teach. It is the first instance of Jesus’ teaching in Mark’s Gospel, aside from the first sermon, “The time has arrived, repent and believe the good news.” This provides the readers with our first view of the substance of Jesus’ teaching, the meat of his message. And what do we get? An exorcism. And after the exorcism, all the people in the synagogue are asking, “What is this? A new teaching? But with authority.” We get exactly none of Jesus’ teaching, but plenty of Mark’s: Mark is teaching us that people who go to synagogue are often demon possessed, and that the demons (and not those they possess) recognize Jesus. Remember, even the demons believe. These few short verses set up a tension that will run throughout Mark’s Gospel, between Jesus’ followers (on the inside) and those who go to synagogue, on the outside. Jesus’ teaching is directed only to those on the inside and intentionally encrypted against those on the outside — not what I would call effective evangelism.

So, how to redeem Mark? One has the feeling Mark is shouting into the wind at a debate partner who has already walked away: “Oh, yeah?! Well, who needs you, anyway?!” We’ve seen it on playgrounds. If we are to take anything away from Mark’s Gospel, we will have to hear that taunt directed at ourselves. What demons need exorcising in our own congregations. Certainly, we spend a lot of time talking to those on the inside, and not a lot of time figuring out how to translate the message, “The kingdom is already arriving” into language others will understand.

It is interesting to back up and read a few chapters before the passage we read from Deuteronomy. The deuteronomists define the roles of four kinds of officials within society: judges, kings, priests and prophets. Some scholars believe that these chapters in Deuteronomy were written after the crisis of 579 BCE in Jerusalem, i.e., after the Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians, and after they had installed their own client king. The future of the monarchy is in grave question. Kings, we are told, come from among the people — that is, they are not divine. They should not amass too much wealth, or have too many wives. They are to read daily from the book of the law (i.e., Deuteronomy). This is a very scaled back understanding of kingship from the excesses of people like David and Solomon — a sort of constitutional monarchy. Priests are to come from the levitical class, and any levite who wants to come to the place of God’s worship are to be accorded an equal share in the priestly living. That certainly never happened while the Temple stood, when priests were rather more like royal functionaries, administering the royal tithes. Judges are to come from the priestly class, and are to decide cases based on deuteronomic law, favoring orphans, widows and sojourners. Kings are to execute their judgments.

All of this could get pretty rigid in a bureaucratic society. So, the deuteronomists give us prophets, which had always been a fixture of Israelite and Judaic society. Prophets formed a completely uncontrolled and uncontrollable medium for God’s word to enter into the social life of Israel and Judah. They were troublesome, especially to kings and also to priests. But kings rarely had the courage to kill prophets, if we are to judge by the books of the prophets. They often attracted large followings. But the guideline the deuteronomists give us for deciding who is a true and who is a false prophet is singularly unhelpful: If what the prophet says comes true, he is from God. By the time his warning comes true, it will be too late to heed it. By the time it doesn’t come true (if you’ve heeded it) it will be too late to unheed it. What to do? Of course, this guideline will be helpful for deciding on which prophets’ works to include in the canon, but no real help when you need it.

How do we look for God’s word bubbling up in unexpected places in our social life? What old patterns need to be changed? It’s risky to step out — much more comfortable to stay with the tried and true. We don’t have the luxury of waiting to see how it turns out to decide. It will be too late. We have to do our best to assess what is the heart of the message (the kingdom has arrived, turn around and trust the good news), and trust God. In the Episcopal Church, we have probably relied too much on bureaucratic forms of government (offices and orders), and not enough on prophets. But we need prophecy that will address the world outside the doors, rather than shout at the wind.

Second Sunday after Epiphany, Year B (RCL)
1 Samuel 3:1-10
Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17
1 Corinthians 6:12-20
John 1:43-51

After the prologue of John’s Gospel, the gospel writer gets down to business with the calling of Jesus’ first disciples. John the Baptist points to Jesus and says, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.” Two of John’s disciples are intrigued and follow Jesus. He turns and says to them, “What do you seek?” They reply, “Rabbi, where do you remain?” (or “Where are you staying?”). This seems to me to be the central question of John’s Gospel — where shall we find God, now that the Temple has been destroyed; where is God staying? Jesus replies, “Come and see.” It’s the readers’ invitation into the Gospel. Come and see the community where Jesus resides.

In the passage we hear today, Nathaniel is sitting under a fig tree, a good place to be studying Torah. Philip says to him, “We have found the one of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote, Jesus bar Joseph, from Nazareth.” Nathaniel says, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” to which Philip replies, “Come and see.” When Jesus meets Nathaniel, he calls him an Israelite in whom there is no trickery — the antithesis to Jacob, whose ladder he will see. Nathaniel is startled that Jesus knows him, and calls him “Son of God; Emperor of Israel” — quite treasonous. Jesus then turns to the readers of the Gospel and says, “Truly, truly, you all will see the heavens opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the human being.”

The human being has become the new Bethel, the throne room of God. Where does God take the decisions that influence the way the world goes? In human community. But notice that the call of all these disciples is not a call to do anything, to change the world, to feed the hungry, to fish for people, to right the wrongs. It is a call to see, to witness what God is doing. All we have to do is “come and see.”

Proper 21A (RCL)
Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
Philippians 2:1-13
Matthew 21:23-32

The authorities ask Jesus by what authority he is doing these things. One might ask, “What things?” Immediately preceding this interchange is the cleansing of the Temple and the cursing of the fig tree, both signs of the judgment of God on the existing order of things (for the fig tree, cf. Isaiah 5 — I looked for fruit but found sour fruit, for justice and heard an outcry). The parable of the vineyard will follow.

Jesus refuses to answer, and instead poses a question: Was John’s baptism from God or from humans? This implies Jesus’ authority will be from the same place — however you answer one question, you will answer the other. Then the parable of the two brothers, again working in the vineyard, God’s community of justice (Isaiah 5). Tax collectors and prostitutes will be lead into the Kingdom of God before you. Notice, not into heaven, but into the Kingdom of God, where justice is done.

Who are the tax collectors and prostitutes? They have been pushed to the edge by the economic circumstance. Tax collecting and prostitution are never vocations of first resort. No one chooses them. They are driven to it. John comes preaching repentance of the sins of the nation, and these marginal ‘get it.’ They are living with the consequences of those sins, foreclosures, dislocation and all the rest.

Those people pushed to the edge might very well ask, like the nation at Rephidim, “Is God with us, or not?” Sure, he has shown us wonderful things in the past, but here we are dying of thirst, pushed to the edge. And God makes water to flow from the rock. God is with us. The first son does his father’s will, even though he had said no, he goes to work in the vineyard. He remains faithful, even after refusing. John preached to those who might question whether God is with us, and they repented. How do we learn to see things from the perspective of those on the edge, the tax collectors and prostitutes? What does God’s justice, God’s vineyard look like to them? Paul encourages us to have the same mind as Christ, who did not count equality with God as a prize, but took the form of a slave. Where is the community that does righteousness? Probably not among the Wall Street executive who earn 275 times what the average worker in their company earns. Who will go into the Kindgom first?

Proper 18A (RCL)
Exodus 12:1-14
Psalm 149
Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20

Psalm 149 has always bothered me. We read it on All Saints’ Day, among other times. “Let the praises of God be in their throat and a two-edged sword in their hand; to wreak vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples; . . . to inflict on them the judgment decreed; this is glory for all God’s faithful people.” Really? Seems odd to sing those lines.

The twelfth chapter of Exodus describes the preparations for the passover meal, before the Hebrews leave Egypt. God will come through Egypt and kill all the first born males, animal and human, except in the houses with blood on the lintel. With that as a foundational story, a group of people would be inclined to see the world in terms of us against them. God save us, but not them.

I noticed a couple of weeks ago, in the reading of Peter’s confession in Matthew’s Gospel, that Matthew’s Jesus seems to be making a distinction between the Christ and the Son of Man: Who do people say the son of man is; who do you say that I am; to which Peter confesses, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” If the Son of Man is the figure who returns at the end of time to wreak God’s vengeance, then Matthew’s Jesus is saying the Christ is some other figure. The very next week, Jesus helps us figure out the distinction: The Christ will suffer and die. Peter of course tempts Jesus not to (get behind me Satan).

And this week, we run into that very rare word again: Church. Jesus tells Simon he is Peter and on that Rock (the rock of Peter’s confession), Jesus will build his church. Now, in the only other occurence of that word anywhere in the Gospels, Jesus tells us that if a brother or sister sins against you, try to work it out between the two. But if not, then eventually lay it before the Church. If things work out, you have re-gained your brother or sister, but if not, then be cut off from them. This follows the teaching about refusing to be a stumbling block for one of these little ones, and the shepherd who leaves the 99 to search for the single sheep.

I believe Matthew intends an inclusio with these two occurences of the word church, and the saying about binding and loosing. It is, after all, Peter who asks how many times I must forgive a brother. The foundational story about the church is not how we are distinguished from them, but how we are to treat one another. If two or three are united in something, then it’s done. Whose sins do we bind to them, and whose sins do we loose for them? In Matthew’s Gospel, and no where else, Jesus, at the last supper, says that the cup is his blood of the new covenant shed for you and for all for the forgiveness of sins. The blood isn’t about distinguishing the saved from the not-saved, but for the saving of all, the bringing of all inside.

That, I think, is what Matthew means about saving one’s life and losing it. If we think this is about making us special, we’ve got it wrong. The vocation of the church is to loose the sins of all — not that we can just let them go; it has to happen through reconciliation. But we are to be about the work of reconciling each to God and all to all. If two or three . . .

Proper 17A (RCL)
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

Reading last week’s Gospel, I was struck by the distinction Matthew’s Jesus draws between himself and the Son of Man. He asks, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” and then, “But, you, who do you say I am?” Two distinctions: between “people” and “you” and “Son of Man” and “me.” Peter’s confession, of course, is “You are the Christ, the son of the living God.” So, for Matthew, Christ and Son of Man are not the same.

This week, Jesus predicts his own passion, and Peter scolds him, “Mercy. Let it never be this for you.” Mercy, meaning “God have mercy.” Jesus in turn rebukes Peter, saying, “Come behind me Satan (which is the same vocabulary just a sentence or two down, “if any wish to come behind me.”). Satan shows up three times in Matthew’s Gospel: here, in 4:10, and in 12:26. In 12:26, Jesus asks, “If satan cast out satan, how will his kingdom stand?” In 4:10, after the three tempations, Jesus says, “Get away, Satan.” The word for “get away” is the same word as for “come” in “come behind me satan,” in 16:23. These two occurences are connected. Peter is tempting Jesus in the same way satan did.

Then comes the teaching on discipleship: if any wishes to come behind me, let that one. Peter is not intending the things of heaven, but the things of earth. And then, Jesus closes out the saying with the statement that there are those standing here who will not taste death before they see the son of man (or the human being) coming in his kingdom. If this is not Jesus, who is it?

The Son of Man means two things in the Gospels: the human being (as in, “foxes have holes, and birds have nests, but the human being has no place to lay his head”), or the one like the son of man from Daniel, the eschatological figure who reestablishes God’s reign. Or both things together.

If Peter is tempting Jesus, he is tempting him to understand “the Christ, the Son of the Living God,” an identity revealed, after all, by God, in human terms. You are setting your mind on things of earth, not of heaven. So, how do we understand God’s favor, being sons and daughters of the living God?

Jesus, as the Christ, establishes his church on the rock of Peter’s confession, the recognition of him as the Christ. But this is not the same as the apocalyptic figure who gives to everyone their just deserts, who punishes the wicked and vindicates the righteous. The Church is not an eschatological reality: it is a present reality. It’s purpose is here and now, in the interim. It’s not our business to set things to rights (to weed out tares), but to muddle along as best we can, with our eyes on heavenly things, in the meantime. The church’s business is forgiveness, binding and loosing, gathering up the lost and broken. The Son of Man will take care of things at the end — not our deal. But some of us standing here won’t taste death until we see the human being in his kingdom. The Church is to look for the royal dignity of every human being. We catch glimpses. But in the meantime, we are to give our lives to that pursuit. And it won’t look like success, or anything humanly defined for that matter. If we set out for success, for establishing the realm of God the way it is intended to be at the end of time, we will lose our lives, just as Jesus would have lost his if he had accepted Satan’s dares in the wilderness.

Moses encounters God in a burning bush. What a puny theophany! Why not in an exploding volcano? Why not in a hydrogen bomb? Why not in a supernova? A bush using oxygen to produce ash and heat. Don’t all bushes ultimately turn to dust? God is not going to set things to rights in any flashy way, overthrow Pharaoh and put the Hebrews (or Moses) in his place. Instead, God initiates a long process that will culminate in the formation of the Hebrews into a people, the people Israel, their entry into the promised land and eventually the monarchy and its overthrow.

God sets up an interim reality. We want the final reality, and God gives us a way to live together in the meantime — I think that’s what the Romans passage is about. For Paul, the death and resurrection of Jesus is God’s downpayment on the way things are supposed to be, but we have to live in meantime. And it’s not all victorious. There may be a son of man out there yet to come to set things to rights; in the meantime, following the Christ, the son of the living God involves us in looking for the royalty in all.

Proper 15A (RCL)
Genesis 45:1-15
Psalm 133
Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
Matthew 15:10-28

I have certainly been having fun reading the stories from Genesis in the RCL now that we’ve switched. Never had to pay close attention to them before. For this week’s lesson, I was caught by the last sentence: “He kissed his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.” Seems a little staged. The Tanakh (New JPS Translation) has, “He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to talk to him.” I like that.

Joseph was something of an insufferable brat when he had been at home with his brothers, all his dreams of dominating them. He was his father’s favorite. No wonder they hated him. They, of course, sold him into slavery in Egypt. When they showed up needing grain, Joseph decided to get a little of his own back, sending the money back with the grain, and then hiding his cup in Benjamin’s sack. As long as the grievances stood, there was no communication. On each side the shame (done to and by each side) got in the way of relationship. Only grief could restore the relationship. Joseph had to come to realize that his dreams of dominance hadn’t been about him (getting to lord it over his brothers), but part of God’s plan for saving others. The brothers, too, had to figure out what this kind of servant leadership looked like. It was a come down for both sides.

And then, they could talk.

Jesus encounters this pesky woman (or better, she encounters him). She cries, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” She addresses him as a suppliant entering the presence of a sovereign, and uses royal titles (same ones used by Blind Bartimaeus). Jesus answers not a word, a sovereign’s right. The disciples want her dealt with: she is shaming them and Jesus with the commotion. Jesus shames her in return: no one takes the children’s bread and throws it to the dogs. She accepts the rebuke and points out to Jesus the unreasonableness of his position: even dogs. He replies, “Woman, great is your faithfulness.” That’s an attribute of God (Great is thy faithfulness).

Paul is trying to broker a peace between Gentile Christians, who think they are all that, and Jewish Christians.

The Diocese of Missouri and the Diocese of Lui find themselves in similar positions; or the Episcopal Church USA and the Episcopal Church of Sudan. Archbishop Daniel issued a press release in which he condemned homosexuality. People who love him, and who care deeply about ECS, and about Lui have been hurt deeply. Bishop Wayne says that the Sudanese bishops want us to understand, they wouldn’t have issued such a statement if they didn’t love us. They could only say those things to someone they cared about. Doesn’t feel like love. Some of us have wanted to cut off the relationship with Lui. ECS says its hard to evangelize in their circumstance being known as the “gay” church. They say we don’t understand how deeply we have hurt them.

So, there are Joseph and his brothers facing one another. There is grain in Egypt. Can they be part of God’s plan to save the family of Israel? It’s a dicey business. Both could claim the hurt was too deep, and rightly so. Instead, they weep. And only then can they talk. We need to express our griefs to one another (ECUSA and ECS) and recognize our brothers and sisters. It would be so much easier to walk away. We wouldn’t have to acknowledge how deeply we have been hurt and how deeply we have hurt the other. That’s not comfortable.

Jesus has his encounter with the Canaanite woman in the region of Tyre and Sidon. He is off his familiar ground, in Gentile territory. We can only “get it” if we go there. I’m glad Matthew chose to portray Jesus (following Mark’s example) as clueless and even cruel, before his own conversion. The christian community, telling its story as Jesus’ story acknowledges that moving to a new understanding of the Gospel is costly work. Gives me encouragement when we don’t “get it” right away, that we are in good company.