Tuesday, December 20

LUKE 1:26-38

²⁶In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, ²⁷to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary.²⁸And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." ²⁹But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. ³⁰The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. ³¹And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. ³²He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. ³³He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end." ³⁴Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" ³⁵The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.³⁶And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. ³⁷For nothing will be impossible with God." ³⁸Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

In our first year homiletics class at Columbia Seminary, we found new ways to explore scriptural texts that are well-known and commonly-read.  One can easily skim over important details, because we've heard this story before- every year in Advent.  Our minds gravitate toward particular doctrinal points: virgin Mary and barren Elizabeth both giving birth to children (and not just any children, but Jesus and John the Baptist); the angel Gabriel speaks to Mary and says, "Do not be afraid."  However, when each character in this story is assigned to your goofy seminary friends and the whole story is dramatized, this passage takes on new life.  

Suddenly the angel seems to have such an important speaking role- is he supposed to be super-excited when delivering the news to Mary, or extra-sensitive?  Wait, how does the "power of the Most High" overshadow Mary exactly (stage directions please!)?  Joseph just stands off at a distance the whole time- this is really Mary's show, and she does marvelously well with comprehending the angel and even giving permission for this craziness to move into her home.  Our classmate who portrays the ancestor David seems to hang over the scene- does this really symbolize how Israel saw itself in those days?  Always looking up and longing to return to the glory days of King David when they were not under foreign occupation or Roman taxation?  What if Mary hadn't given those famous last words: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word?"  Would the angel have stayed to convince her?  Was she chosen because God knew Mary would respond with such deep faith?  

All these questions float to the surface, and the best way to explore these questions is to read within the context of the rest of the gospel.  The author of Luke felt it was necessary to tell about the birth of Jesus and introduce the symbolism of the ancestral line of David, the miraculous births, and the visit from the angel.   If one was accustomed to hearing only the later life of Jesus, this would be the back-story, but it's not a disconnected back-story.  It points to the life and miracles and teachings of Jesus.  It points to Jerusalem.  It points to a cross.  And thankfully, it points to the resurrection.  As we continue on the journey of Advent, I hope that we see this not as the final holiday of a previous calendar year (interrupted by New Year's resolutions), but as the first holiday of the liturgical year.  It's not a disembodied story that ends once we have to change our wall calendars.  We've just starting this journey with Jesus, and we do not fully know where Jesus will take us.

As the coming of Christ is near, how will our lives continued to be disrupted and diverged because we walk with Christ?

Tuesday, December 13

MATTHEW 24:32-44

³²"From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. ³³So also, when you see all these things, you know that he is near, at the very gates. ³⁴Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. ³⁵Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

³⁶"But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ³⁷For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. ³⁸For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, ³⁹and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. ⁴⁰Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. ⁴¹Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. ⁴²Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. ⁴³But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. ⁴⁴Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

I admit that this is a common passage of scripture from my childhood, and it has come to mean so many different things in my life, depending on which church I attended or which preacher I heard.  It's not uncommon in some places in the South for people to say, when setting an appointment with a friend in the future, "I'll see you then if the creek don't rise and the Savior don't come first."  As a child, I always worried that Jesus would return at an inconvenient time, like when I was angry with my brother or when I was in the shower.  The Left Behind series and rapture theology didn't help my troubled mind very much.  
As an adult, the second part of this reading troubles me much less than the first part: "Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place."  I tend to think: "It's been a couple thousand years, Jesus; did you get stuck in the Christmas shopping traffic?"  Or when we await for Jesus and the coming of the fullness of the kingdom of heaven, are we taking him too literally here, that "this generation" is really a much longer period of time than we originally expected?  In particularly the history of the United States, there have been many prognosticators who have claimed that the world will end with our generation- that we are the culmination of all human history (that's how important we are!!).  They've all been pretty much wrong, and we're left asking, "How Long, O Lord?  Will you forget us forever?"  Are we waiting for heaven and earth to pass away first?  Did Jesus return (or does Jesus return every time peace is established, reconciliation occurs, forgiveness is granted, and healing is allowed), and we missed him?  What does Advent teach us about the nature of waiting that is not easily accessible in our hectic (and very important) lives?  


My hardest question: "Did you come already, Jesus, and we didn't recognize you?  Or has the time not yet come?"

another Thursday in Advent

The lectionary today gave us a fitting psalm for Advent reflection; but is it a song of celebration or a song of anticipation/plea to the Lord?  Is this after "the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion," or when Israel is still in the darkness and waiting on deliverance, hopeful that the Lord who is faithful will yet still deliver them?  The first three verses sound like it's already happened, and the last three verses indicate it hasn't happened yet.  Is this a fitting eschatological hymn for us as we wait for the coming of the Lord? 

Psalm 126

¹   When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion,
          we were like those who dream.
²   Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
          and our tongue with shouts of joy;
     then it was said among the nations,
          “The LORD has done great things for them.”
³   The LORD has done great things for us,
          and we rejoiced.

⁴   Restore our fortunes, O LORD,
          like the watercourses in the Negeb.
⁵   May those who sow in tears
          reap with shouts of joy.
⁶   Those who go out weeping,
          bearing the seed for sowing,
     shall come home with shouts of joy,
          carrying their sheaves.

Tuesday, December 6

^{Psalm 33:18-22}

¹⁸  Truly the eye of the LORD is on those who fear him,
          on those who hope in his steadfast love,
¹⁹  to deliver their soul from death,
          and to keep them alive in famine.

²⁰  Our soul waits for the LORD;
          he is our help and shield.
²¹  Our heart is glad in him,
          because we trust in his holy name.
²²  Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us,
          even as we hope in you.

This excerpt from Psalm 33 (in the daily lectionary) resonates quite well with our waiting and longing for the coming of Christ.  Notice verse 20, and the use of "Our soul waits for the Lord..." and "Our heart is glad in him..." (emphasis added).  As Western thinkers, it's easy to grasp the concept, even if still highly abstract, of my soul and my heart.  My soul doesn't have to wait for anyone else to get with the game.  My heart prays, waits, hopes for the coming of Christ this Advent.  But what is our soul/heart anyway?  Is it some communal spirituality?  Is it a statement of belief or doctrine?  Is it simply a reflection of our communal priorities?  Can we find it in our annual budget?  Who determines "our soul?"

Remember that this is a psalm, a song, and in our context these verses might be comparable to congregational hymn singing.  We're not collectively singing "I" but "we."  But who are we?  We aren't just a group of I's.  We are something particular and distinct as a group that cannot be understood in the singular.  Like a mixed chorus of melodies and harmonies, we sing our own individual lines, yet they fit together to create something much more wonderful and beautiful.  Notice that this psalm says less about who "we" are and more about who God is.  Is our identity then rooted in God's identity?  John Calvin opens his Institutes of the Christian Religion by asserting that "without knowledge of self there is no knowledge of God."  He continues, "indeed, our very being is nothing but subsistence in the one God."  So who are we, but chosen and called by God to be God's people, delivered from "death" and "famine?"

As we journey through the season of Advent, and God is revealed again to this world of death and famine,  who has God called us to be?

Devotion for November 29

As a reader of the daily lectionary and a fan of a blog called The Hardest Question, this is my attempt to combine the two as part of the daily email devotion (at least on Tuesdays).

Out of all of today's lectionary passages (there are several), I can't help but focus on the passage from Amos (3:1-11) because it seems like such an unlikely scripture reading for the beginning of Advent.  Here's what it says:

¹Hear this word that the LORD has spoken against you, O people of Israel, against the whole family that I brought up out of the land of Egypt:

²You only have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities. ³Do two walk together unless they have made an appointment? ⁴Does a lion roar in the forest, when it has no prey? Does a young lion cry out from its den, if it has caught nothing? ⁵Does a bird fall into a snare on the earth, when there is no trap for it?  Does a snare spring up from the ground, when it has taken nothing? ⁶Is a trumpet blown in a city, and the people are not afraid?  Does disaster befall a city, unless the LORD has done it? ⁷Surely the Lord GOD does nothing, without revealing his secret to his servants the prophets. ⁸The lion has roared; who will not fear? The Lord GOD has spoken; who can but prophesy?

⁹Proclaim to the strongholds in Ashdod, and to the strongholds in the land of Egypt, and say, "Assemble yourselves on Mount Samaria, and see what great tumults are within it, and what oppressions are in its midst." ¹⁰They do not know how to do right,  says the LORD, those who store up violence and robbery in their strongholds. ¹¹Therefore thus says the Lord GOD: An adversary shall surround the land, and strip you of your defense; and your strongholds shall be plundered.

When I think of Advent and waiting for the coming of the Christ child, none of this comes to mind actually.  When I think of Christmas shopping to happy tunes, holiday cards from family wishing me peace and glad-tidings, or the smells of hot apple cider while laughing with friends, I don't think much about having my defenses stripped or my strongholds plundered.  

But when one reads the birth narrative of Jesus in Matthew or Luke, one realizes that there was certainly conflict, violence, tragedy, and death around the birth of the Christ.  Mary, the young kinda-unmarried woman, is pregnant by the power of God (I bet her parents took the news well).  Herod decides that infanticide is morally acceptable.  This leads the newly-born Jesus and his family to become refugees.  The shepherds themselves are not the sort of visitors who could afford to stop by Target along the way and pick up some nice gifts wrapped in shiny Santa Claus paper.  There is a lot of poverty, oppression, and violence in this story, and yet the conflict doesn't just come from the people who loath to see God as Immanuel come into the world.  Mary's famous magnificat talks about how God, in the coming of Jesus, "scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts," "brought down the powerful from their thrones," and "sent the rich away empty."  It's a song more fitting for an OWS protest than a Goldman Sachs Christmas party gift exchange.  The season of Advent might share more with the worldview of Amos than we think.

Amos, starting in the third chapter, gives this memorable line: "You only have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities."  "To know," here, means more than mere acquaintance.  The NIV says, "You only have I chosen..."  This line conveys a sense that we are called to a higher standard of care for our neighbors, a knowledge we have come to possess through knowing a person rather than a book of doctrine, and yet we still pretend we can veil ourselves and keep our self-centered ways.  We can see God face-to-face, yet we hope our faces aren't shining too much when we're back to the daily grind.  Amos then spends the next 6 verses establishing his legitimacy as a prophet, which later in the book seems to be a big problem.  But then he turns back toward the accusation of widespread oppression, violence, and robbery among the people.  These, we can presume, are some of the "iniquities" of which Amos speaks.  

We know our 21st-century world is not so different.  It takes maybe 10 minutes of national and international news to know that oppression, violence, and robbery are normative to this world.  We are prone to think that once the Christmas carols play on the radio 24/7 and the twinkling lights are hung neatly on the front porch and church-going becomes compulsive for our more reluctant relatives that somehow the peace of Christ temporarily wins over the deep chasm of violence.  Yet we also see it doesn't.  It's like we do not know how to do what is right.

Maybe we've got this whole Advent thing twisted around a bit.  The peace of Christ is indeed present, but it's not because the world has got its affairs in order by getting into the "Christmas spirit," but in spite of the violence of the systems of this world.

My hardest question: What if Jesus comes not during our quiet, reverent hymns of praise in order to be our God-of-convenience, but instead comes amidst the oppression, violence, and greed of a corrupt world in order to show us a radical new way of being in relation with God and each other?  Is Amos a more fitting text to bring us into the "Advent spirit?"

music and justice

My relationship with the violin has recently shifted from something like Amos 5:21-24 to something like Psalm 146.  For a time, I burned with the conviction that it should stop starvation and extreme poverty.  It should bring about social and economic justice.  It should institute world peace and usher in the fullness of the kingdom of God in our midst.  Now that I realize it cannot accomplish these things alone, nor I, it is clear that is does sing something core about our common humanity and the beauty of God, and it really does quite a marvelous job at that.

photo credit: Julie Drewes, Wartburg College

Sabbath

My new definition of Sabbath: intentionally telling my inner Protestant work ethic that it will never completely run my life and that it will not define me in the slightest.  There is more to who I am than my productivity level and the number of things checked off the list.  It means taking time to be, even when there are things waiting to be done.  The last four months have been an intensive exercise in legitimating and affirming Sabbath time in my life...

And life is still good.