Category: Lectionary

Second Sunday in Lent
28 February 2010
Lent 2C (RCL)
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
Psalm 27
Philippians 3:17-4:1
Luke 13:31-35

This passage in Genesis has always intriqued me. The text simply relates the covenant ceremony with no explanation — but then you wouldn’t expect it. Everyone reading it should know the ceremony anyway. Scholars have theorized about the significance of cutting the animals in half. The two parties to the covenant walk between the halves, and call upon the gods to do the same to them (cut them in half) if they fail in their covenant obligations. Or, perhaps, like the two tablets of stone, one half of each animal goes to each of the parties of the covenant. One wonders. I’m puzzled that at least two of the animals are female — very unusual in sacrificial ritual. The only instance we have legislation for is the red heifer, and that seems to be sympathetic magic (the redness of the heifer, the scarlet rag [a menstrual cloth ?] all burned together and mixed in water to draw off the source of uncleanness). Here we have a covenant of promise of progeny. Female animals. Hmmm. Continue reading “Count the stars”

Last Sunday after Epiphany
14 February 2010
Last Epiphany C (RCL)
Exodus 34:29-35
Psalm 99
2 Corinthians 3:12 — 4:2
Luke 9:28-43

The readings are full to overflowing this week. When Moses comes down from the mountain, he isn’t aware that his face is shining. He veils his face so as not to frighten the people. Every time he goes into the tent of meeting, he unveils his face, which glows after speaking to God. So, there is Jesus on the top of the mountain, with his face glowing and his clothes sparkling white. Moses and Elijah are with him — both of whom had received visions of the divine glory. Luke’s telling of the resurrection has an empty cave and two angels (rather than Mark’s one young man). Jesus is the holy of holies, the presence of God, unveiled. No wonder the veil of the temple is torn in two — we have entered, even if we slept through it.

Continue reading “Reflecting glory”

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
7 February 2010
Epiphany 5C
Isaiah 6:1-12
Psalm 138
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Luke 5:1-11

This week seems a little bit back to normal. Any two-funeral week is hard. Especially when followed by Annual Meeting. Annual Meeting always has to deal with the institutional aspect of chruch: Vestry, budget and the like. This year, an amazing thing happened. We had four volunteers for four spots on Vestry. Even in the face of a challenging year in terms of budget. In my report, I said this year, we would not do Church as Usual — Continue reading “We tried that already”

First Sunday after the Epiphany
10 January 2010
Epiphany 1C (RCL)
Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 29
Acts 8:14-17
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Shifting to the RCL has provide some interesting homiletic opportunities. In the BCP lectionary on the First Sunday after the Epiphany, year C, we read Luke 10:34-38; a truly overworked little bit of Acts — Peter’s speech to Cornelius’ household, “Truly, I know that God shows no partiality; rather in every nation whoever fears God and acts righteously is acceptable to God.” A nice piece of scripture, but used any number of times thoughout the lectionary. Now, in the RCL, we have the bit about the apostles in Jerusalem hearing that the Samaritans have accepted the word of God. They have received water baptism, but not baptism with holy spirit (or breath). Peter and John lay hands on them and they receive the spirit. Clearly, for Luke, there is a difference between water baptism and baptism in breath. What is it?

On Pentecost, the spirit falls on the 120 in the upper room, Continue reading “Spirit and Fire”

8 November 2009
Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 27B (RCL)
Ruth 3:1-5, 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

The book of Ruth is such a winning story. It’s among everyone’s favorites. When Ruth tells Naomi, “Wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge, I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Wherever you die I will die, and there be buried. The Lord do thus to me and more besideds if aught buth death separates me from you” is one of the most charming passages in literature anywhere. But the book is a sharp critique of the status quo delivered as a gentle joke. In Ezra 9 and 10, Ezra and the leading men who have returned from the Exile decide that Israel has yet again failed in its holiness by allowing the men to marry foreign women — Moabites, Jebusites, Perrizites and the whole laundry list. These are the men who have stayed behind in Judah during the exile — who else were they supposed to marry, one wonders? In any event, Ezra and the leading men decide that the foreign women must be sent packing. Imagine what would have happened to them. They would have ended up back in their fathers’ houses (if they were lucky), gleaning grain in other men’s field. Oh wait, just like Ruth!

Ruth is a Moabite woman, one of the women Ezra would have sent packing (if this fictional story were taking place in Ezra’s time). Instead, she evinces more faith to the God of Israel than many of the faithful men around. When she and Naomi get back to Bethlehem, she gleans in Boaz’s field. Boaz tells his harvesters to leave plenty for her to glean (marking him as a righteous man) and tells them not to molest her — which they could have done with impunity, since she is an unprotected woman. Naomi realizes that Boaz is a good guy, and tells Ruth to bathe, put on her best dress and go out to threshing floor. There, the men will be partying in thanksgiving for the harvest. When Boaz is good and drunk, says Naomi, go uncover his feet (a euhpemism for genitals), and he will tell you what to do. You think? In the bit we leave out, he sends her home with an apron full of grain (seed) just in case we missed the joke. He marries her, and she becomes the great-grandmother of King David, an unclean Moabite woman.

In the Gospel, we have another widow. The Scribes eat up widows’ houses. The scribes would have written out judgments for or against widows, bills of sale, whatever else one needed. Boaz could have eaten up Naomi’s house, by refusing to raise progeny for Ruth’s dead husband. Instead, righteous man that he is, he lets her children inherit Elimelech’s land. These scribes evidently found ways to take over open property. And then, one of these widows puts two half-pennies in the temple collection. In the very next passage, Jesus will speak the Temple word (not one stone will be left on stone). Her giving is futile, and yet Jesus praises her. He too is about to give his life.

Are we being called to give our lives to a failing institution? One thinks of the people on fixed incomes giving way more than they can afford to some remote televangelist. The temple was supposed to take care of widows, not eat them up. Yet, the woman sees God in her act. She’s crazy, she trusts God beyond any evidence. Is it so with those who contribute to the con artists? If the community behaved the way it ought to (leaving grain for widows to glean, protecting them and their children), her act wouldn’t be crazy. This is more about trust than it is about giving. And an indictment of institutions (even the church) that fail in their purpose. They aren’t worthy of the gift, yet the widow gives any way. Hmmm.

1 November 2009
All Saints’ Day
Proper for All Saints’ Year B (RCL)
Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

The passage from Wisdom of Solomon raises and answers a difficult question. It is the conclusion to the wonderful poem about the suffering righteous one (which is the source of the line “gather ye rosebuds while ye may”). The ungodly make a deal with death — they will eat, drink and be merry while they can, but the righteous poor man troubles them, so they agree to do away with him. The ending of the poem shows how mistaken they were. The righteous one is vindicated by God even after death. The problem faced by nascent monotheism was, “what happens when God doesn’t vindicate God’s people in this world?” The solution was a belief in resurrection: either the resurrection of the just only, for reward; or of both the just and unjust for respective reward and punishment. Not everyone within Judaism was agreed on resurrection — the Sadducees sought a political solution in this world and thought the Pharisees were copping out. Christians obviously sided with the Pharisees (interesting that we preserve such a negative assessment of the very branch of Judaism from which we descend). This poem is one of the classic statements of that position.

But, what does that resurrection look like? John gives us the story of the raising of Lazarus to show us what it doesn’t look like. It’s not the resusciation of a corpse. Lazarus’ resuscitaion and Jesus’ resurrection are contrasted in many ways: Lazarus dead four days, Jesus three; Lazarus comes out still bound in the grave clothes and the face cloth. Jesus’ grave clothes and face cloth are neatly folded up. Mary falls at (and grabs) Jesus feet. Jesus instructs Mary Magdalene not to hold on to him because he has not yet ascended. Jesus tells the crowd to “unbind” Lazarus and “let him go.” We are not awaiting some kind of revivication of our corpses. It’s not clear what we await, but Jesus already IS the resurrection.

Grief is still appropriate in the face of human death. Even Jesus weeps, and gets angry at Lazarus’ death (even though he brought it about by his delay in coming). As we process out into the garden, it is appropriate for us to grieve our lost companions, as we await whatever the resurrection is.

25 October 2009
Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 25B (RCL)
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm34:1-8
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52

The prose ending of Job almost ruins the book for me. God’s appearance to Job in the whirlwind is enough. But to have everything restored, like that makes up for what was lost just seems heartless. When I lived in Boston, I attended Church of St. John the Evangelist on Beacon Hill. The Church had a daily soup and sandwich program from 1 – 3 each afternoon. For a year or two I volunteered every Friday afternoon. There was a regular named Sleepy Joe. We were never under any circumstances to let the “clients” into the building, but one day Sleepy Joe talked his way past me. He helped me hand out sandwiches and soup. Over the course of the next year, I let him in every Friday. Sometimes he would help me make soup, or play cribbage with me. He told me his story (as much as one could believe it — everyone has a story). He had been a produce supplier to many of the downtown cafeterias until a teamsters’ strike had broken his company. Since then, he had lived somewhere (he would never say where) in North Station. He wasn’t a drunk (I never smelled it on him), and according to him, he had family, but he just chose not to take the help they offered. He was not bitter. This was just how things had turned out. It seems a more honest ending than Job’s story. Job says early in the book, “If we accept the good from God’s hand, shouldn’t we also accept the ill?”

Bartimaeus: my favorite story. A resurrection appearance: Bartimaeus calls Jesus “Rabbouni” the same title Mary uses of Jesus in the garden — my dear teacher. Only occurs twice in the NT. Also, baptismal. Bartimaeus throws off his garments to meet Jesus in the midst of the crowd. Also calls him simply “Son of David” second time around — a title rather than a name. Bart is the only person in Mark’s Gospel who follows Jesus “on the way” toward Jerusalem. The only one who “sees” what that means. One wonders who Bartimaeus had been before he was a beggar. Was he a beggar because of his blindness. Who was Timaeus, his father? Plato wrote a dialog called the Timaeus, has to do with the vision of the ideal forms. Is Mark aware of that? Bartimaeus sees the ideal of the cross and follows Jesus toward it.

18 October 2009
Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 24B (RCL)
Job 38:1-7, 34-41
Psalm 104:1-9, 25
Hebrews 5:1-10
Mark 10:35-45

The final chapters of Job are among my favorite passages in sacred scriptures. Job has been requesting an audience with God, and he gets one. God shows up! And Job isn’t fried to a crisp by it. And God shows up in the same way as to Moses and Elijah. The story that sets up the poetry section of Job is written like a joke. “There was this guy. . .” Job had 7000 sheep, 500 yoke of oxen, 500 she-asse and 3000 camels! Yeah, right! The point of the story is along the lines of, “You think you’ve got it bad?! There was this guy named Job.” Of course the Deuteronistic school had said that the cause of calamity was God punishing us for sin. Leviticus had suggested that we might sin without being aware. Since you couldn’t turn to sacrifice for augury, to figure out who was at fault, well, it must be you, even if you don’t know it.

The joke/story accepts the Deuteronomistic theory and then pushes it to its absurd limit. God lets Satan punish Job just for the hell of it. The three friend then take up the Deuteronistic argument in spades. Just admit you’ve done something wrong, even if you don’t know what it is, and God will forgive you. Job insists on his righteousness. When he finally gets his audience with God, God never says, “You know, Job, you did mess up.” God just points out the wonders of creation, and asks Job if he can explain them. Whenever I’m complaining about how badly I’ve got it, it’s good to remember that Behemoth and Leviathan are part of God’s creation, despite their apparently evil nature, that the sun will come up tomorrow, whether I welcome it or not, and that the universe goes along with or without me. God does scold the three friends. They were absolutely wrong to say that Job must have sinned. The book of Job argues very strongly against the Deuteronomistic solution to the problem of evil.

In Mark’s Gospel, James and John ask Jesus to be granted to sit at his right and left. The word they use for left is “aristeron“, which like the latin “sinister” has connotations of “ill-omened.” When Jesus replies that it is not for him to grant to sit at his right and left, he uses “evonumon“, a euphemism for “left” which means, literally, “good-named” or “good-omened.” It’s interesting that he switches words. The euphemism for “left” shows up exactly one other time in Mark’s Gospel, in the description of the thieves crucified at Jesus’ right and “good-omened” left. James and John really didn’t know what they were asking! It had been prepared for the thieves to sit with Jesus in glory!

Both passages suggest to me that we need to get ourselves out of the center of the picture, and see how it all connects back to God. The passage from Hebrews suggests that it is exactly Jesus’ sumission that puts him in the presence of God, where he can make intercessions on our behalf. How do we come into the presence of God, and on whose behalf?

4 October 2009
Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 22B (RCL)
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-26

Job has long been one of my favorite books in the Bible, but I must acknowledge, more for God’s response to Job than for the little wisdom tale that sets up the speeches, and which ends the book with Job restored to health and prosperity. Whenever I get frustrated, it’s good to be reminded that my problems aren’t at the center of the universe, and that the sun will rise tomorrow without my help.

But . . . Sometimes, I forget. When someone in the congregation gets ill, even when it’s serious, I’m usually pretty even-keeled. Especially if I can make sense of the medical reasons. My scientific mind is comforted by being able to categorize the illness: cancer, flu, COPD — whatever. We know the mechanisms and sometimes even the causes. However, every now and then, someone gets sick for no apparent reason. The doctors have no idea why, or even the mechanisms. Then, I can’t slot the event into a nice category. Who do you get angry at? Well, the story of Job knows: Satan and through Satan, God. We don’t like that so much, so we flounder about a bit.

I think Job was written in response to Deuteronomy and Leviticus, which both removed the aspect of divination from religion, figuring out whose fault something was. They settled instead for blaming the victim. Leviticus speaks over and over again of breaking the laws of purity without being aware of it. How is one supposed to find out about that? Job sacrificed for his children just in case — but it wasn’t enough. So, Job insists on his innocence contra Leviticus, and God finally shows up and agrees with him. He is innocent, but who the hell does he think he is, telling God how the world ought to be. We all need that now and then.

Divorce: What would happen to a divorced woman in Mark’s time? If she was lucky, she would go back to her father’s house and slave there. Otherwise, prostitution, maybe? And her kids? Disinheritied. No wonder Jesus forbids divorce. And as if to make the point, he blesses the children, the urchins, the nobodies. They are potential, but not yet real, heirs of the communities property. If disinherited, the became real nobodies. Jesus is saying, this is not a discourse about power, about what the law allows, who can do what, but about protecting the community. If the child he set in the midst of his disciples as they argued about who was greatest is in fact God’s ambassodor, then if one won’t welcome such children, one won’t enter the kingdom.

27 September 2009
Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 21B (RCL)
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50

What an interesting set of readings to handle together. With the RCL, this is the first time we have ever read anything from Esther in Church. It’s a great story. Esther is essentially an incarnation of Wisdom. What a fun, subversive story: a woman giving adivce to the king (and a Gentile king, no less). She saves here people. This is the story read on Purim and in Synagogue, everyone hisses and boos and makes rude noises every time Haman is mentioned, and cheers for the king. It’s the wisdom story all over: the righteous triumph in the end. For a people who have had to live by their wits, it’s perfect.

James: It would be easy to read this as “If you just pray right, you’ll get better.” I think James is scolding his congregation for keeping their suffering and ills (and joys) to themselves. He is saying all these things have their place in the liturgy of the assembly. If you are suffering, pray. Fill out a prayer request card. If you have good news, sing. If you can’t get to church, have the elders come and lay on hands. James then says, “The prayer of the righteous is powerful and will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven.” It’s interesting to link illness and sin. We tend to think of this as if sin caused the illness. But there are several components to illness. The physiological process, the personal and emotional reaction (tiredness, depression) and the social component (isolation; gossip). If sin is whatever causes dislocation in the Body of Christ, then all kinds of things need restored when we are ill.

Mark: The disciples scold a person for casting out demons, which just a few verses ago, they themselves were not able to do. Jesus says whoever is not against us is for us, working for the kingdom. Then he talks about little ones, just like the child he set in their midst. What is power for? For making us special, or for accomplishing God’s purposes. If anything gets in the way of those purpose, be done with it. And he ends it with the weird saying about being salted with fire. The quote about worms never dying is taken from the last chapter of Isaiah, about the restoration of Jerusalem and the punishment of the unjust. So, the Temple is imagined as restored (a powerful prophecy for Mark’s time), and the altar set up. Every sacrifice on the altar had to include salt — an indication that it was a meal, not just an animal, or flour, but food. Have salt among yourselves and be at peace. Share sacrificial meal. To be salted in the fire is to be the offering to God on behalf of the world. WE are the offering on the altar. How cool is that?