Keeping the Season

"Kri Kri, on the shores of Lake Chad" by European Commission DG ECHO, on Flickr

Mark 6:30–34, 53–56
The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

--
Last night, we had the pleasure of welcoming Bayo and Mary Beth to worship, where they shared with us the current news and notes from their missionary work in Nigeria. They shared good news of successfully arranging transport of shipping container, which was filled with children's books for their school library and with medical supplies to help furnish their clinic. They introduced to us, via powerpoint, some of the children under care at their mission, and to some of the school children who are flourishing in their studies. Mary Beth beamed with pride over pictures of the teachers that she has been training. Bayo beamed with price over pictures of his six hundred chickens that are a self-sustaining means of food and income. We met many of the core staff of the Meshiah Foundation, which is the name for the whole operation that Bayo and Mary Beth have planted in Jos, Nigeria.

But they were perhaps most pleased and excited to show us pictures of their now-completed medical clinic, a project that was in its last stages of construction two years ago when they were here last. A fully-functional clinic, with a doctor and nurses, lab technicians, exam rooms, a couple of overnight beds, and even some space for labor and delivery, stretched out across three different wings.

It was while showing us picture of the clinic that Bayo, who was running the powerpoint, stood up and stole the microphone from Mary Beth. He wanted to remind us of how this clinic came to be.

The clinic came about because there was first a need. Mary Beth and Bayo didn't head to Nigeria at the start of their mission journey saying to themselves, "So the plan, of course, is to build a medical clinic, and once we do that, we'll see if anybody will use it." No, they lived and loved and taught and proclaimed God's word in Jos, Nigeria, and as they did so, they started seeing the deep ways that HIV was affecting families. There were sick people in need of healing. Spurred on by their compassion for the needs of these HIV families, and other sick and suffering individuals, they teamed up with member churches - and First Lutheran, in particular - to start building a medical clinic.

The need came first. The need showed up on their doorstep. The needs of the community interrupted and interjected and stomped all over whatever other plans the Oyebades might have been making for their ministry, and it was by following the need that God revealed his ongoing plan for their work, a plan that now involves looking for donations of medical equipment to fill another shipping container sometime in 2016.

I think that sometimes, the work that God most calls us - and blesses us - to do, is to take care of the needs that show up on our doorstep, even or especially when those needs are nothing that we've planned or prepared for.

At the start of our gospel today, the disciples return from their mission to the villages. Two weeks ago, we heard Jesus send them out to heal, proclaim, and cast out demons. Today, they return, thrilled by all that God empowered them to do. Hurray!

And Jesus, himself knowing the energy it takes to love and serve others, encourages them to rest, and whisks them away to a quiet place.

Except that he doesn't whisk them quite quickly enough, it seems. While they are slipping off via boat, the crowds figure out where they're going, and rush their on foot, arriving before them.

Surely, in the name of keeping good boundaries, in the name of avoiding burnout or compassion fatigue, Jesus could have sent the crowds away, postponed them until he and the disciples had rested and eaten and were refreshed for ministry.

But that isn't what Jesus does. As he gets out of the boat and sees these crowds, he has compassion on them. He doesn't ignore their needs. He teaches them, and, in the verses that the lectionary cuts from today's gospel, he feeds them, and then he and the disciples get back in the boat, cross to the other side, and heal the crowds that meet them on the opposite bank.

I want us to consider, for a few moments, where we might find ourself in this gospel.

First, I think about all of those crowds. I wonder what it would be like if we felt as free as they did to admit our needs and to seek help for those needs. I wonder what it would be like for us if we trusted the power of Jesus enough to run directly to him with our burdens. I wonder what it would be like for us if we were so excited about the good news of Jesus that we literally ran to meet him with joy and eagerness.

And then I think about the disciples, tired from their work, who took Jesus at his word when offered them rest. I wonder what it would be like for us to let Christ be our rest. I wonder what it would be like for us to let Christ pull us off to a deserted place, away from our overflowing schedules and persistent news cycle.

And then I look at Jesus, and I also see the flip side of rest and rejuvination. Jesus tries to take a break, but the needs of the crowds follow him around. And he doesn’t use rest as an excuse not to help them. I wonder if we are as gracious with the needs that interrupt us. I wonder if we sometimes hold the cares of the world at arms’ length in the name of self-care or avoiding burnout.

Pastor Nadia Bolz Weber confesses,

I am really good at lying. And if I can go an extra step and make it look like I’m actually being good - if I can pawn off narcissism as a virtue, then I win. Like when I am just sick of [caring] about other people and want to be selfish so I call my two days of watching Netflix and getting mani-pedis ‘self-care.’ Or when I say I’m on ‘a cleanse’ so no one knows I’m really on a diet. The list goes on, and the last thing I want is for any light to be cast on the darkness that I’ve spent so much energy curating, protecting, enjoying. But it’s not a cleanse. It’s a diet. It’s not about my health, it’s about my vanity. (Pastrix, p. 71)

Oof. She speaks a hard truth.

Jesus challenges the disciples, and us, to be compassionate toward the needs that show up at the worst times, in the most inconvenient ways, those times when we most wish we could turn away, and take care of our own lives, when we feel like we have nothing left to give.

It's one thing to care for the needs of the world when we do it on our own terms. We plan service projects. We go on mission trips. We set scheduled hours for the food pantry and the free clinic and the community meal. LSI holds set office hours in the building. Joan is in the office at Community Action on a set schedule.

But what happens when the needs seek us out? Especially when we are feeling tired, or when we feel like we have already given our due? The discretionary fund request that shows up at my office door while I am working on a sermon. The food pantry client who shows up two minutes too late. The mission support and church budget needs that appear after we have already given our pledge for the week or month.

In our gospel, Jesus shows us a model of ministry that cares for the world on its terms, and not ours. A colleague of mine once remarked, "The distractions are the ministry," and there is some truth to that statement. Because doesn't it seem that the unscheduled needs and the spontaneous sharing of gifts and talents turn out to be the deepest moments of ministry and witness?

It is the needs that we don't plan for that challenge us to act on faith. It is the burdens that we don't have room for that challenge us to be more generous. It is the "distractions" to our regularly scheduled programming that humble us and remind us that our power to love and serve is not our own, but that of God working through us.

So what new ventures of compassion and care might God be calling us to do, if only we say “yes” to the distractions, to the interloping needs of our brothers and sisters in Christ?

For Bayo and Mary Beth, the needs of HIV-afflicted families showed up on their doorstep. From that need grew an incredible ministry of healing and generosity. Do we not trust that God can work just as powerfully through us, if only we allow the needs of the world to lead us?

Friends, week in and week out, we come to this place for rest. We hear the word of God, we linger over a holy meal, we recharge for the week ahead. It is here that we know Jesus as our rest and our respite. Today, we offer healing prayer during communion, and you are invited to be honest with your own needs and burdens, that you might hear a word of peace and healing.

But then know that even as you are refreshed, you are also sent back out at the end of worship, to live in love as Christ loved us. You are being sent out not just to seek out ways to serve and proclaim Christ, but also to open your hearts to the many and various needs that show up where we aren’t looking for them.

This week, may you find patience for the conversations that interrupt your schedule.

May you offer food or money to the hungry eyes that catch you at the most inconvenient moment.

May you lift up a heartfelt prayer precisely when you feel overwhelmed by the news of the day.

And may Christ, who is your rest, be also Christ your strength, to love and to serve with tenderness, as he as loved and served you.

"Des pieds et des mains" by Benoit Courti, on Flickr

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

-Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)

"Jesus washing Peter's feet" by Jim Forest, on Flickr

"Anointing His Feet #2," 2008 by Wayne Forte

"chocolate chip cookie @ Eagle's Nest" by ledge, on Flickr

1 Corinthians 9:16–23
If I proclaim the gospel, this gives me no ground for boasting, for an obligation is laid on me, and woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel! For if I do this of my own will, I have a reward; but if not of my own will, I am entrusted with a commission. What then is my reward? Just this: that in my proclamation I may make the gospel free of charge, so as not to make full use of my rights in the gospel.

For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from God's law but am under Christ's law) so that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.

Mark 1:29–39
As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them.

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, "Everyone is searching for you." He answered, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do." And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

--
Sam and I were out for a walk on Friday afternoon, enjoying the sunshine and mild weather. I had to run a few errands, one of which was stopping by Java John’s to pick up a few gift certificates. When I got there, I noticed that Sam had fallen fast asleep, and I decided to take advantage of the situation. I ordered myself a cup of tea, with plans to sit and read for a while. As I finished paying and was dunking my tea bag into my mug, Mike appeared at the edge of the counter with a broken oatmeal chocolate chip cookie on a plate.

“Could I interest you like a free cooking for...free?" he asked. Apparently a broken cookie has no place in the pastry case.

I commented that a free cookie for free was a much better deal than free cookie that cost something. And then said that I supposed I could help him out, just this once. Even if it meant eating a cookie. Yeah, I'd make that sacrifice. It was a most delicious free cookie for free.

Paul in 1 Corinthians today talks about his obligation to preach the gospel free of charge. For those of us who understand the gospel message as God’s free grace and salvation, proclaiming a gospel "free of charge" might sound almost as silly as getting a free cookie for free.

Whether we begin worship with confession or with thanksgiving for baptism, each week we hear that that God's forgiveness is freely given to us out of his enduring and unsearchable love. And this is a lovely message. Our hearts need this message of freedom, because we know very well that there are plenty of things out there that try to bind us: our fears, our failings, the violence and greed and divisiveness in our world. It is a much-needed balm to our weary souls to hear that we are free from all of that.

But freedom, as we know, is not just a matter of being free from. It is also a matter of being free for. If you've been paying attention these last few weeks, Paul has been instructing the church at Corinth in the ways of Christian freedom. The Corinthians had some strong ideas about what the gospel of Christ freed them from, but they often missed the boat when it cam to what the gospel of Christ freed them for.

In his letter, Paul address everything from food sacrificed to idols to issues of sex and relationships; over and over again he has to remind the church at Corinth that being free in Christ means nothing if your freedom hurts others or causes them to stumble in their own walk of faith.

In today’s reading, Paul uses words that Martin Luther will later quote almost verbatim in his treatise "On the Freedom of a Christian.” Paul says, "though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all.”

Paul goes on to talk about how he becomes all things to all people, that he might proclaim the gospel of Christ. “Becoming all things to all people” means approaching his task with humility, not lording the gospel over those to whom he preaches, but instead trying to embody their cares and concerns, that he might best speak a word of grace and hope to them. For Paul, his freedom in Christ is not an excuse to boast or to act recklessly. His freedom in Christ is a reason to serve others and to preach the gospel in a way that others will be able to hear it.

There are echoes of this sentiment in today’s gospel. Simon’s mother-in-law, being freed by Jesus from her illness, responds by reaching out in service. The crowds, being freed from various illness and demons, search for Christ, that they might better understand and share his message.

On this annual meeting Sunday, my heart is lingering on this question of what it means to use our freedom - and limit our freedom - in service of others. What it means to “become all things to all people” by entering into the cares and concerns of one another for the sake of building up the body of Christ.

When we meet later this morning, we will spend time checking on the state of our shared ministry here at First, and we will set priorities and goals for the year to come. This is a perfect time to think about how well we are accomplishing our task of offering to the world the free gospel…for free.

I was asked earlier this week, "don't you think we are really past the time when people still think of First as the college congregation?" It's an interesting question, one for which I don't know that I have a good answer. It is one of many questions we might ask ourselves in our current context.

Other questions we might ask ourselves:

• Does this congregation offer the same welcome to Luther College faculty and staff as it does to nurses and shopkeepers and elementary school teachers in town?
• Is our Norwegian heritage something welcoming to many? Does it close us off?
• Is our congregation a comfortable place for both academics and those without a degree?
• Is our worship life accessible and inviting both to musicians and to those who are tone-deaf?
• Is our sense of Lutheran identity something that makes us distinct and gracious? Does an emphasis on our Lutheran identity ever shut out those who are questioning, searching, or seeking?
• Are people likely to feel as valued in the congregation if they are well-off or if they are struggling financially?
• On an average Sunday, do people feel like they can walk into the sanctuary and find a warm welcome wherever they choose to sit?
• On an average Sunday, do people feel like they are welcome attend fellowship hour, and do they also feel confident that someone will invite them over to their table?

I need to be careful, and I need you to listen carefully to me in this moment. None of these questions are intended to be judgements. Every congregation has its own set of questions related to its identity and its ability to welcome those who don't fit that identity. And every congregation should regularly be asking itself these hard questions if we are to take seriously the idea that the gospel is something to be shared and proclaimed.

My hope this morning is to challenge us, as individuals and as a congregation, to consider both the ways that we are - and are not yet - "being all things to all people," by which I mean the ways that we are and are not yet willing and able to meet people where they are - theologically, financially, educationally, liturgically - all for the sake of serving them, loving them, and valuing them as partners in the gospel.

Because our call, as Christians, is not just to recognize the needs and concerns of one another, but to embody them, to bear them, to empathize with them, just as Christ bore in himself our own needs and burdens on the cross.

Without this Christ-like hospitality and mutuality, we risk offering the world a free gospel at a cost. Because let’s be honest. It's easier to welcome new members when they come from a Lutheran background or have a prior connection to Luther and to Decorah; and it's easier to plan worship when we all know the same hymns; and it's easier to plan projects when we all share the same values; and it's easier to plan adult education when we all are interested in the same topics; and it's easier to write budgets when we all agree on how our money should serve our ministry.

It is much harder to offer the free gospel for free, because it means embracing our diversity and being humble and honest about those who differ from us and those who do not yet find a welcome here.

Now, that being said, we have a fantastic groundwork set here. Turn to that welcome statement inside your bulletin. Right there is our shared commitment to offer the free gospel for free. We say, "no matter what," you are welcome. No matter who else has rejected you, you are welcome here, because Christ welcomes you and loves you and so we love you too. We say it

One of my hopes and dreams is that we continue to talk about this statement, and we continue to view it as our mission. A mission of welcome is a mission of freedom. Because it’s not just that it’s good to be different from one another. And it’s not just that our differences build up an increasingly intricate and beautiful body of Christ. It’s that our differences - and our willingness to humbly and purposefully engage those differences - push us ever closer to proclaiming a free gospel that is truly free, extended to all without reservation, without resentment, without restraint.

My brothers and sisters, you are each free and beautiful children of God. So are each of your neighbors. So are your enemies. Today, let us remain united in the truth of Christ’s saving death and resurrection - the truth that sets us free - and go forward to use that freedom for the sake of wisdom and understanding, partnership in the gospel, and holy hospitality, offering welcome to friends and strangers as they come to this place for hope, healing, and the grace of God.

"Crumbs" by Lewis Taylor, on Flickr

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon." But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us." He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me." He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table." Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

"Painted Woman Feet With Henna, Lamu, Kenya" by Eric Lafforgue, on Flickr

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My Grandmother Washes Her Feet in the Sink of the Bathroom at Sears
by Mohja Kahf

My grandmother puts her feet in the sink
of the bathroom at Sears
to wash them in the ritual washing for prayer,
wudu,
because she has to pray in the store or miss
the mandatory prayer time for Muslims
She does it with great poise, balancing
herself with one plump matronly arm
against the automated hot-air hand dryer,
after having removed her support knee-highs
and laid them aside, folded in thirds,
and given me her purse and her packages to hold
so she can accomplish this august ritual
and get back to the ritual of shopping for housewares

Respectable Sears matrons shake their heads and frown
as they notice what my grandmother is doing,
an affront to American porcelain,
a contamination of American Standards
by something foreign and unhygienic
requiring civic action and possible use of disinfectant spray
They fluster about and flutter their hands and I can see
a clash of civilizations brewing in the Sears bathroom

My grandmother, though she speaks no English,
catches their meaning and her look in the mirror says,
I have washed my feet over Iznik tile in Istanbul
with water from the world's ancient irrigation systems
I have washed my feet in the bathhouses of Damascus
over painted bowls imported from China
among the best families of Aleppo
And if you Americans knew anything
about civilization and cleanliness,
you'd make wider washbins, anyway
My grandmother knows one culture—the right one,

as do these matrons of the Middle West. For them,
my grandmother might as well have been squatting
in the mud over a rusty tin in vaguely tropical squalor,
Mexican or Middle Eastern, it doesn't matter which,
when she lifts her well-groomed foot and puts it over the edge.
"You can't do that," one of the women protests,
turning to me, "Tell her she can't do that."
"We wash our feet five times a day,"
my grandmother declares hotly in Arabic.
"My feet are cleaner than their sink.
Worried about their sink, are they? I
should worry about my feet!"
My grandmother nudges me, "Go on, tell them."

Standing between the door and the mirror, I can see
at multiple angles, my grandmother and the other shoppers,
all of them decent and goodhearted women, diligent
in cleanliness, grooming, and decorum
Even now my grandmother, not to be rushed,
is delicately drying her pumps with tissues from her purse
For my grandmother always wears well-turned pumps
that match her purse, I think in case someone
from one of the best families of Aleppo
should run into her—here, in front of the Kenmore display

I smile at the midwestern women
as if my grandmother has just said something lovely about them
and shrug at my grandmother as if they
had just apologized through me
No one is fooled, but I

hold the door open for everyone
and we all emerge on the sales floor
and lose ourselves in the great common ground
of housewares on markdown.

Ephesians 1:11-23
In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God's own people, to the praise of his glory.

I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power. God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come. And he has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Luke 6:20-31
Then [Jesus] looked up at his disciples and said:"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

"But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

"But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you."

---
It happened during worship on a Sunday morning in October, just one year ago. Our gospel reading that morning was of Jesus blessing the children, so we had framed our whole worship service around this idea of blessing. During the children's sermon, we talked about places that we bless people, very much like we did in today's children's sermon. We preached blessing from the pulpit, gathered around the font for our prayers of intercession so as to bless one another, and then, during communion, offered stations for healing and blessing and anointing, very much like we do here each month.

Adele took communion and then came to my kneeler. Ninety-six year old Adele. I knew that she hadn't been feeling well recently, and that she had been to the emergency room too many times over the last weeks. But when I asked her what I might pray for, she simply smiled at me and asked that I might bless her.

And so I did. I prayed for God's blessing, and I prayed for healing, and I prayed for peace. I prayed for comfort and strength, and I thanked God for the beauty shining through her. And then, I dipped my finger into the oil, traced the sign of the cross on her forehead, and said to her, "Adele, you are a beloved child of God, and you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever."

Words of blessing pulled straight from her baptism, words of blessing that reminded her of her place among all of us who are God's beloved children, all of us who walk this earth as saints.

In the moment, I thought that I was praying for her healing.

I did not know then that I was actually blessing and anointing her and commending her to her maker.

See, Adele passed away that very night.

I think about the things she asked for during that last day - asking me to bless her, asking her family to take her on an afternoon drive through her favorite park to see the fall colors on the trees, and then, later that evening, when she felt her body failing, asking her family not to call for an ambulance, but rather to let her remain in her house to die in peace.

It shakes me, even now, to think that somehow, in blessing her, I was unknowingly preparing her heart and soul for a peaceful passing.

And it is still a beautiful mystery to me that, on that last morning of her life, when she could have asked for prayers for anything, Adele simply asked to be blessed.

* * *

Then [Jesus] looked up at his disciples and said: "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, exclude you, revile you, defame you on account of the Son of Man; rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven."

We each want to be blessed, I think. We each want to know that our lives are beautiful and holy. We look to all the saints who have gone before us, and want to know, deep in our hearts, that our lives have as much meaning and memory as theirs do.

This is why I love Luke's version of the Beatitudes - these statements of blessing that Jesus makes. Because Jesus here doesn't say, "Blessed are they," as if blessing were reserved for other people. Jesus says, "Blessed are you," stretching out his hand over each and every one of us.

The words "blessed are you" remind us that we celebrate All Saints Day today, not merely "Beloved departed Saints Day." For it is not just those who have died who are blessed saints, but each and every one of us who know God's promises.

Those words "blessed are you" send us right back to our baptisms, where we are told: "Blessed are you, for you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever."

The words "blessed are you" remind us that it is God in Christ who does the act of blessing, and not we ourselves; that Jesus points to each of us and says "you are my blessed child," and when we look at the Beatitudes, it is clear that blessing is not dependent on success or failure, or having our act together, or on the amount of faithfulness we have or the amount of doubt that plagues us.

Blessed are you, Jesus says, who have any sort of need. Blessed are you who feel poor and lacking. Blessed are you who feel outcast and imperfect. Blessed are you who are failing in health or in heart. Blessed are you - right here and right now. Blessed are you who are still vulnerable, Jesus says, but woe to you who walk the earth thinking you have it all together or think that wealth and success and victory are the same as being blessed.

Which are things that we mix up all the time. We talk about our successes as blessings and our failures as curses. We watch our sports heroes attribute their team's victory to God's blessing. We credit God for blessing us when times are good and fruitful.

But the truth is that being blessed by God is way way bigger than that. It's not that we are blessed when good stuff happens and cursed when bad stuff happens. And blessing isn't reserved for the deserving or powerful or virtuous or holy, as if those who face dire situations or natural disasters or extreme poverty or abuse are somehow less deserving of blessing.

No, Jesus speaks blessing precisely to each of us in our most vulnerable states. When we are most aware of our mortality and our fragile existence, we are most receptive to hearing God's promises. I don't know if Adele knew that it was her last day on earth or not, but I know that she was in touch with her own frailty on that Sunday morning, especially ready to hear words of blessing.

She and all the saints who have gone before us knew both joy and struggle; we lift them up in our hearts not because they were giants, but because they were human. They are our everlasting symbols of a God who loves all human beings, rough edges and all, and declares us "saints" by the good grace of his mercy alone. They have set for us an example of blessedness, of living into the inheritance promised to us by God, which we read about in Ephesians.

We, with all the saints, have inherited the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. We have inherited redemption in Christ. We have inherited the hope to which God has called us, the greatness of God's power for we who believe, a power revealed to us in Christ being raised from the dead.

We carry much blessing with us, brothers and sisters. To us and to all the saints, much has been given. The earth and all creation, given to us for our care and careful use. Our hopes and joys and inspirations. Our weaknesses and sorrows that tune our hearts for compassion toward others. Our passions and talents and vocations. Gifts of companionship and beauty. Riches, material and immaterial. Our whole lives.

This, really, is what blessing and sainthood are all about: recognizing our blessedness and channeling it into blessing for others.

What we aspire to as blessed saints of God is faithfulness in all - in recognizing at every moment in every day that all we have is from God, and living accordingly. Stewarding every gift we have received, from our very breath to our material blessings; openness to generosity in all, willingness to empty our hands, knowing that God will fill them up again with bread and wine, that is, our inheritance, that is, the very feast of all the saints.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, called to be saints, I pray that you may forever know that God has blessed you beyond measure. I pray that you, like Adele, might know God's hope and peace to the very end of your days, and that your hearts might be satisfied by the assurance of your own belovedness.

* * *

Blessed are you, saints of God, who have been anointed and sealed at baptism, for you have been beatified by water and by spirit.

Blessed are you, saints of God, no matter how weak or vulnerable you feel, for you have the strength and power of Christ in you.

Blessed are you, saints of God, who wait earnestly for God's promises, for in Christ is your fulfillment, hope, and salvation.

Blessed are you, saints of God, who walk with faith upon this earth, for you have turned your hearts to hope and not to despair.

Blessed are you, saints of God, who serve others and strive for peace, for you have been blessed to be a blessing.

Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

"Perhaps the World Ends Here" from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo.
Source: The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 1994), via The Poetry Foundation

Sunday's gospel began with a discussion of where to sit when you attend a fancy dinner:

"When [Jesus] noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, 'Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." (Luke 14:7-11)

This idea of where you choose to sit reminded me of a funny diagram I encountered not too long ago, all about how to pick the best seat at the table depending on its shape and size (click the picture for a bigger view):

Alex Cornell's "Choosing the Right Seat"

To read the full blog post behind the picture, check out Alex Cornell's "Musical Chairs (Choosing the Right Seat)" [apologies for a few instances of colorful language].

I first encountered this post as a humorous recommendation to introverts, to figure out how to partake in communal meals when you don't have a personality much inclined to make conversation or small talk easily. But really, the post is all about how to choose a powerful place at the table. It's about how to guarantee that you don't get stuck talking to somebody boring, or get left out of the important and interesting conversations. I chuckled at the last scenario, with the two tables, when he makes the observation that no matter what you do, the other table will always crystallize into "the superior group," because I've thought that at a few points in my own life. That no matter what I do, the other table ends up being the cool table, or at least the dynamic table.

And so it's not just the Pharisees that Jesus is talking to in this gospel reading. He's talking to us. He's talking to the parts of our brains that scan the room when we walk in, that make calculated decisions about who we want to be seen with and who we want to avoid. And he's telling us that maybe, instead of worrying about how people see us, we should be seeing - and seeking out! - those who aren't usually seen. Sitting at the table which is slower to fill up. Chatting up the people longing to be pulled in.

Because when we all gather at the table on Sundays to share in the Lord's Supper, there are no set-apart places of honor, no jostling for position, no better or worse dinner company. We are all equals, all beloved, all honored and deserving of honor. Because we are part of the communion of all the saints, and we are made one in the body of Christ, and every seat at the table is blessed.

"Feasting" by aneye4apicture, on Flickr

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, 'Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." (Luke 14:1, 7-14)

"Listen, I am Shabby" by Camilla Engman, on Flickr

Hosea 11:1-4
"When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
The more I called them,
the more they went from me;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals,
and offering incense to idols.
Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them."

Colossians 3:1-3
So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life is revealed, then you also will be revealed with him in glory.

Luke 12:13-21
Someone in the crowd said to [Jesus], "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me." But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?" And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions." Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' Then he said, 'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God."

---
A friend of mine in high school, feeling all wise after taking a semester of psychology, told his mom that she wasn't crazy if she talked out loud to the dog...she was only crazy if she expected a response! (There’s high school hubris for you...)

I wonder, then, what this friend would have said about talking, out loud, to yourself. Do the same rules apply? Is it better to talk in your own head or to talk out loud to yourself? And does it make a difference if you expect a response? I mean...just how much of a conversation can you have with yourself before you ought to go find somebody else to talk to instead?

In today’s gospel, Jesus tells a parable of a rich guy who amongst other problems, has a bad habit of talking to himself.

Did you notice that when this rich man was faced with a conundrum of abundance, his first recourse was to start talking to himself? First, he talks to himself about barns. And then - then! - he starts talking to himself about a future conversation that he plans to have with himself once these barns are completed. He says, “I will (later) say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’”

While there are plenty of lessons to be learned from today’s parable about wealth and greed and generosity, maybe one of the more important ones for us is a lesson about the danger of staying stuck in your own head.

It turns out that we humans can convince ourselves all sorts of crazy and misguided things when we only talk to ourselves. From the very start of creation, God intended us to be in relationship with other human beings and with God himself. Because it wasn’t good for us to be alone. We need companionship and we really really need God and others to help us see reality. And so things get a little messed up when we ignore those relationships and listen only to the voices in our heads instead.

Because without a reality check from the outside, the voices in our heads can turn dark. At our worst, they can convince us that we are something other than we actually are: beautiful, beloved children of God. It’s the voices in our heads that tell us that we’re weak or undeserving, or too fat or too thin, or unforgivable or unloveable. The voices in our heads are really good at convincing us that it’s okay to take that one more drink, or that it’s okay to treat someone who has hurt us with resentment instead of forgiveness.

And the more we listen to the voices in our heads more than we listen to God and others, we start to believe two big, crazy lies that the rich man in today’s parable came to believe.

First, we start to believe that we don’t actually need anybody else. We start to think that we are totally self-sufficient, and that we can control our own destinies, and that our happiness depends on nothing else but our own efforts. This rich guy had plenty of wealth, plenty of crops, plenty of security for his future. And so his grand plan is to settle down, eat, drink, be merry, and believe that he, of his own accord, had secured a blissful future for himself.

And when we believe that we can do it on our own, we do the same thing. We keep buying stuff that we don’t need, because it makes us happy for a while, and then we buy more stuff when that first round of happiness wears off. We constantly chase wealth and success, and we store up extra toothpaste and canned vegetables and clothes that don’t fit, not because we are so worried about scarcity, but because the more stuff we collect around us, the more we can keep up the illusion that we don’t need anybody or anything outside of our own selves.

If we keep listening to those voices in our heads, unchecked, we start to believe a second big, crazy lie. We start to believe that nobody else needs us. The rich guy had way way way more than he needed to keep himself alive and well. But he never got around to thinking or caring that somebody else out there might need him to share his abundance.

We’re really good at convincing ourselves that nobody needs us. In our worst moments, we convince ourselves of this in despair. When we aren’t feeling so confident or appreciated or valued, we can talk ourselves into a really dark “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms” sort of place.

But those voices in our head can also try to convince us that nobody needs us as a defense mechanism against the brokenness around us that is simply too much for us to handle. If we let ourselves believe that nobody needs us, then we don’t need to turn on the news at night and hear about war and scandal. If we believe that nobody needs us, then we can postpone that visit to the neighbor who might just unload all of her loneliness and pain on us. If we are convinced that nobody needs us, then we don’t need to bring food or money to the pantry and risk running into the face of poverty in our midst.

To sum up: Believing the voices that tell us we don’t need anybody puts us in the position of having lots of stuff, with nothing left to need. Believing the voices that tell us nobody needs us puts us in the position of having lots of stuff, with nothing to give.

And these two lies are at the heart of the rich man’s problem. Because thinking of ourselves as an island is a really quick path to greed.

This is where God steps in with a couple of harsh reminders. He nudges us into recognizing our foolishness, and reminds us that we are mortal, and that wealth is fleeing, and that there are plenty of people who have need for our extra stuff and our love and our forgiveness.

God steps in with the voice of Hosea to remind us that we are bound to him and to one another with cords of human kindness and bands of love, and that even if we listen to voices that try to separate us from God and others, God has this compassionate and relentless heart that won’t ever let us go.

God steps in with the voice of Jesus to tell us that our lives do not consist in the abundance of possessions. He shatters the illusion that abundant life is something that we can make for ourselves, or something that we can find within us. He gives us Jesus, the living bread from heaven, who says “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” who says, “I came that they might have life and have it abundantly.” Jesus reminds us that abundant life comes from God, the source, the giver, the merciful, and not from inside our own heads.

God steps in with the voice of Paul to remind us that we have been liberated from ourselves through Christ, and that our old worries and lies and misgivings were trampled by the cross, and that we aren’t captive to the voices in our heads anymore. Paul tells us that we have been raised up, and that our true lives and futures have been revealed in Christ, and that we are children of light and glory and generosity. And so we are no longer bound by voices of greed or anger or abuse or dishonesty.

The good news, friends, is that God has a really big voice. And so no matter how often we fall prey to the conversations we have inside our own heads, God’s voice is always bigger. And he is bent on getting our attention, whether by priests or prophets or judges or disciples or apostles or the words of Jesus, or the loud sound of hammer to cross, or the sound of a rock sliding away from an empty tomb, or the rush of the Spirit across our ears.

And the voice of God is always a voice of freedom. It tells you that you are free to love others and let them love you. It tells you that you are free to give yourself away because God will always come back to you with an abundance of love, mercy, and compassion. The voice of God tells you that you are loved and beloved, that you are not alone, that you are very much needed and valued, and that you have good to offer this broken world.

So come to this table today, and hear the voice of Christ that says, “This is my body and my blood, given for you.” Hear these words and feast on the bread of life. There is plenty for all. At this table, we eat, and we drink, and we can be joyful, because we know that our lives belong to God, and not to ourselves. There is no need to worry. There is no need to fear. Life is here, waiting for you. It is abundant. It is free. It is enduring. It is the sweet taste of grace. It is the sweet voice of love.

A beautiful and challenging message for us about how neighborliness and mercy go hand in hand:

[The Samaritan] is described by the lawyer to whom Jesus tells the story as "the one who showed mercy" (v.37), and we are asked to "go and do likewise".

Now, this word mercy is a bit curious in this context, for the word mercy suggests an unmerited kindness, the gift of something undeserved. When a judge shows mercy in a criminal case, he is not responding to the facts, or what custom or even justice requires. But in the face of justice he shows mercy, that is, he forbears to do what is expected to someone whom he has in his power, and who has absolutely no claim upon him of any sort, and instead he shows compassion. It is not simply kindness; it is kindness in face of an opportunity to do otherwise. Mercy is not less than justice done; it is more than justice requires.

The reason why the Samaritan is called "good" and is described as "showing mercy" is that, as a stranger in Israel, a foreigner, he had no obligation to show hospitality to Jews, who were his sworn enemies; in fact, he might have been taught that a dead or dying Jew was one less Jew about whom to worry. Likewise, Jews traditionally were not encouraged to help a Samaritan; the law that tended to apply in this relationship was the law of the jungle. The Samaritan acted contrary to universal expectations and against his own cultural history and community interest; he showed mercy in spite of it all.

What this story demonstrates to us is that, if justice is the tool of the powerful, then mercy is the power of the weak, for herein is the power not simply to change conditions but to change minds and hearts. The Good Samaritan showed mercy when he could have exacted rough justice. And Jesus upholds him as one who, living beyond what the law requires, has a clue of what righteousness and eternal life are all about.

Simple justice simply will not do. The old definitions of justice and hospitality will not work. It is a new and radical day that Jesus proclaims. In showing mercy, hospitality to the strangers among us, we expand the circles of God's providential and refreshing love and thereby free ourselves as well as others from the bondage of our own narrow limits.

The story of the Good Samaritan told two thousand years ago has become a touchstone for those who ask not merely, "How am I to treat my next-door neighbour?", but "To whom am I called to be a neighbour?"

--from the sermon, "...and who is my neighbour?" by Rev. Dr Samuel Kobia, preached at the June 2009 World Council of Churches conference

"The Singapore Stories: The parable of the good Samaritan" by ELECTROBUDISTA, on Flickr

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" He said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And he said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."

--Luke 10:25-37

"what i usually pack" by pinay traveller, on Flickr

2 Kings 5:1-5a, 9-14
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." So Naaman went in and told his lord just what the girl from the land of Israel had said. And the king of Aram said, "Go then, and I will send along a letter to the king of 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.

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 'Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.' Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.

The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!" He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."
---

We waited until the last pre-trip meeting to give out the packing list for the high school group summer trip. The group was heading up to the Wilderness Canoe Base in northern Minnesota, to spend a week helping the staff at base camp clean up after a stretch of devastating forest fires.

The problem with the packing list wasn't what it said to bring.

The problem with the packing list is what was what it said not to bring. No cell phones or iPods or electronics to distract us from the tasks ahead of us. No flip flops or open-toed shoes, in order to keep us safe on the uneven terrain. No food or candy in the cabins so that we didn't attract critters to our cabins. But the worst thing? No shampoo or soap, because there were no showers, because showers waste water, and soap and shampoo pollute the delicate wilderness ecosystem.

As expected, the high schoolers reacted to this packing list with wide eyes. No cell phones or flip flops? No soap or shampoo? It was as if we had asked them to leave their very selves behind.

Something very similar happens in today’s gospel reading.

Jesus is preparing disciples for a great wave of ministry. Not just the twelve famous disciples, but nearly sixty others as well. They are all about to be commissioned to go into towns and villages to cure diseases, cast out demons, and call people to repentance in Jesus name. As they prepare to set out, Jesus gives them a few last-minute instructions. First, go in pairs. Second, don’t take anything with you, no purse or bag or sandals. Third, freely receive and reward the hospitality of strangers.

Yes, Jesus sends the disciples out with his own what-not-to-pack list. It’s not just luxuries and comfort items that he asks them to leave behind. He asks them to leave behind things essential to their survival. No money means no resources to buy food or lodging. No bag means no means of carrying extra supplies. No sandals means a slow, dusty journey, and means extra-dirty feet for the hosts of households to wash when taking them in.

There is nothing glamorous about the disciples’ mission. Jesus sends them out as plain, vulnerable souls who will be forced to let go of their pride and to trust both God and strangers to provide for them along their journey. When Jesus tells the disciples to leave everything behind, I imagine that they stared back at him with wide eyes. I imagine that it felt as if Jesus had asked them to leave their very selves behind.

Because being empty-handed is a hard calling. We humans don’t like to be left unprepared. It’s why we collect so much of stuff around us, stuff that we hold onto “just in case,” like junk drawers filled with old receipts and cords, or boxes of clothes packed away in the basement, or the secret stash of chocolate we hide in the freezer. We overeat or overwork or overcompensate to create a buffer between ourselves and our fears of failure. We don’t want to find ourselves lacking anything.

Whether we know it or not, we collect all of this stuff as a way of minimizing our vulnerability and resisting reliance on God and one another. We use abundance and self-reliance as both buffer and crutch. Because it’s the message we ear all the time: More is better. You can have it all if you just want it enough. You can do it yourself. Thick skin is a sign of strength. Abundance is a sign of success.

And all the stuff we collect up around us becomes the stuff that defines us. We become our clothes and our homes and our cars and our jobs and our ambitions and our hobbies. And to leave any of this behind means leaving behind our very selves. And that makes us vulnerable. And vulnerable is uncomfortable.

And...I think this is exactly the point of today's gospel. Letting go, leaving behind, is vulnerable work. It is vulnerable to think about leaving ourselves behind to become the unequipped disciples that Jesus sends out. It is vulnerable work to let go of belongings, certainty, and self-reliance for the sake of Christ's mission. It is vulnerable to clear away the clutter to regain a clear view of God in the world. It is vulnerable business to leave ourselves behind so that God can take center stage.

But it is precisely in our vulnerability that we see God's strength. It is precisely in the vulnerable gap between what we have and what we need that God steps in to do his deepest work.

In the uncomfortable gap between what the disciples carried and what they actually needed, God filled the space with acts of power and radical hospitality from strangers. In the uncomfortable gap between Naaman's prideful expectation of being healed by an amazing act of power and Elisha's simple instructions to bathe in the river, God filled the space with healing, wholeness, and refreshment. In the uncomfortable gap between the luxuries the high schoolers wanted and the stripped down bags they actually packed, God filled the space with changed hearts and new eyes to see the splendor of God in his creation.

Did you notice what happened when the disciples returned to Jesus after their mission? They fell all over themselves to share with Jesus the exciting things that they had seen and done. They told about their adventures, and rejoiced over the work that they had done, and shared stories of hospitality...and never once talked about what they lacked or left behind.

The same thing happened with that group of high schoolers. They returned home from their trip telling stories about pulling up brush and debris around camp to protect the land from future forest fires, and they talked about picking wild blueberries and playing in the lake, and they rejoiced in new friendships and told of being moved by God during campfire devotions...and never once talked about what they lacked or left behind.

Isn't this all very good news for us? We have the assurance that God steps in to fill the gaps. We have hope that God works deeply through our vulnerability. We have security in a God who comes to define us when we leave all else behind.

Because we have a God who, through the vulnerability of the cross and the emptiness of the tomb, brings us strength from weakness, life form death, power from insecurity, and hope from chaos. And we have a community of faith right here, where we can splash in the water of our baptisms, and to eat the bread and wine that draw us into the communion of Christ's body, so that we can find the strength to get over the idea that we can or should do it all ourselves, and instead go out to pursue lives of getting the heck out of the way, so that God's spirit can have the freedom and space to blow through our lives.

So what is it in your own life that you need to get rid of so that God can move freely in your life? What items in your schedule need paring down or what ambitions do you need to rethink? What patterns of spending your time or money do you need to change? What emotions, biases or hardness of heart do you need to acknowledge and clear away?

What is God just itching to do in and through you once you become willing to leave yourself behind for his sake?

My friends, it is time to leave yourself behind. To commend your spirit into God's hands. To put away every "just in case" bag that you've packed in your life and to take nothing else with you on your life's journey besides God's mercy. It is time to feel the wind of the spirit blowing through your empty fingers, leading you to new people and new places. For once we leave ourselves behind, we have the joy of feeling the stirrings of our unhindered God moving in us and through us, animating our souls. Don't you want to be free to see where he leads?

"Justice's Scales" by estenh, on Flickr

1 Kings 21:1-10; 17-21
Later the following events took place: Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard in Jezreel, beside the palace of King Ahab of Samaria.  And Ahab said to Naboth, "Give me your vineyard, so that I may have it for a vegetable garden, because it is near my house; I will give you a better vineyard for it; or, if it seems good to you, I will give you its value in money." But Naboth said to Ahab, "The LORD forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance." Ahab went home resentful and sullen because of what Naboth the Jezreelite had said to him; for he had said, "I will not give you my ancestral inheritance." He lay down on his bed, turned away his face, and would not eat. His wife Jezebel came to him and said, "Why are you so depressed that you will not eat?" He said to her, "Because I spoke to Naboth the Jezreelite and said to him, 'Give me your vineyard for money; or else, if you prefer, I will give you another vineyard for it'; but he answered, 'I will not give you my vineyard.'" His wife Jezebel said to him, "Do you now govern Israel? Get up, eat some food, and be cheerful; I will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite." So she wrote letters in Ahab's name and sealed them with his seal; she sent the letters to the elders and the nobles who lived with Naboth in his city. She wrote in the letters, "Proclaim a fast, and seat Naboth at the head of the assembly; seat two scoundrels opposite him, and have them bring a charge against him, saying, 'You have cursed God and the king.' Then take him out, and stone him to death." Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah the Tishbite, saying:  Go down to meet King Ahab of Israel, who rules in Samaria; he is now in the vineyard of Naboth, where he has gone to take possession.  You shall say to him, "Thus says the LORD: Have you killed, and also taken possession?" You shall say to him, "Thus says the LORD: In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will also lick up your blood." Ahab said to Elijah, "Have you found me, O my enemy?" He answered, "I have found you. Because you have sold yourself to do what is evil in the sight of the LORD, I will bring disaster on you."

Luke 7:36-50
One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee's house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him — that she is a sinner." Jesus spoke up and said to him, "Simon, I have something to say to you." "Teacher," he replied, "speak."  "A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?" Simon answered, "I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt." And Jesus said to him, "You have judged rightly." Then turning toward the woman, he said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." Then he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" And he said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."
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Chris was the biggest kid in his kindergarten class. He was tall and thick, square-shouldered and heavy compared to his classmates. He was a sweet kid but a handful, And he always started to get a little tired and moody by the time the after-school program began.

Chris, as many young children do, had a strict sense of justice and fairness. Things were supposed to be black-and-white, and even, and everybody was supposed to get the same stuff. If other boys in the after-school program were playing the board game Trouble and they hadn’t yet given him a turn to play, he’d get angry, because he deserved a turn, too. At snack time, if everybody else got a whole, unblemished pretzel rod, then it wasn’t fair to give him two broken pieces, even if those pieces amounted to more food when you put them together.

And then there was the day that he was standing in line at the vending machine, to buy a can of juice. The boy in front of him put in his dollar, hit the button, and in a moment of lucky malfunctioning, they machine dropped two cans into the drawer instead of one. Excited, Chris put his dollar in next, and hit the button...and only one can came out. No matter that the machine was only supposed to give you one can. The machine had given his friend two cans, and it just wasn’t fair. That might have been Chris’s biggest meltdown all year.

But it’s nothing compared to the meltdown that Ahab has in our first reading. He, too, is bent on getting what he wants, and getting what he thinks is fair, and he throws one heck of a tempter tantrum when things don’t go his way.

He wants this piece of land owned by a man named Naboth. This isn’t just any piece of land. It is fertile, and rich, and right in Ahab’s backyard. Ahab really really wants this land. He’s really excited to plant a vegetable garden there. So he offers Naboth fair compensation for it. He'll give him a better vineyard somewhere else, or cash if Naboth would prefer. And Ahab completely expects Naboth to sell. Because hey, he's offering him a really good deal!

But Naboth doesn’t want to sell, and it has nothing to do with money. His land isn’t just beautiful and fertile, it is also a place of blessing and ancestry. The name of the land, Jezreel, literally means, “God planted,” and Naboth isn’t about to give it up. So Ahab stomps off, angry and sullen. He throws himself on his bed like a petulant child, turning his face to the wall, refusing to eat.

Then Jezebel walks in, and says "What kind of a king are you, anyway?" and, God save her, takes matters into her own hand. She uses Ahab's power to forcibly take the land, because hey, he's the all-powerful king, and he can get whatever he wants, and it's Naboth's fault for not accepting the good deal in the first place.

Can you find yourself in this story? I know that I can. Pouting when we don't get what we want? Check. Getting angry when we don't get what we think we fairly deserve? Check. Believing that we should always be able to find a way to make things go our way? Check. Exploiting our own corners of power, big or small, to stack the deck in our favor? Check.

The human inclination is to act as Ahabs and Jezebels, demanding that things live up to our own desires. The human inclination is to put God on the side of what we think we deserve.

This is why God sends prophets like Elijah to give us the pesky news that God isn't in the business of getting you what you want and God is definitely not in the business of coddling the rich and the powerful. God is in the business of divine justice, of righting the world, of lifting up the poor and lowly and raising the stooped shoulders of the broken and sinful.

This is the heart of the conflict in today's Gospel reading. When Simon gets angry about the woman who burst into his house, it's not because she interrupted his VIP dinner or because she bucked social convention about how women were to act around men in polite society. No, the thing that really gets Simon's goat is that this woman is a sinner, and how dare Jesus show her love and forgiveness! God's favor was reserved for the faithful and the respectable, those who were deserving of it! How could this Jesus claim to forgive her sins and then treat her with the same honor as the truly respectable company around the table? It simply isn't fair.

So Jesus asks Simon, "If there were a money lender who was owed debts by two different people, and one of those debts was a matter of lunch money, while the other of those debts was a matter of a year's salary, and he forgave them both their debts, cancelling what they owed, which would be more grateful?"

And Simon, channeling the petulence of Ahab, rolls his eyes and says with a sigh, "I suppose the one with the larger debt."

"Then," Jesus says, "since her sins, which were many, are forgiven, she has shown much love."

The very core of the prophetic message spoken by Elijah and Jesus today is that God doesn't care a lick about what is "fair." God cares about being lavish with mercy and forgiveness, and being overwhelmingly concerned for the plight of those who are weak or tired or powerless; especially all of us sinners. We, who at one time were weighed down by sin and death, have been forgiven much through Christ, not because we deserve it, but because God is gracious. And so, just like the woman washing Jesus' feet, out of our forgiveness we are called to love and love much in our world; to be prophetic voices that proclaim God's upside-down, generous brand of justice.

The author N.T. Wright, in a recent interview, said, "The point of justice and mercy...is not ‘they deserve it’ but ‘this is the way God’s world should be’, and we are called to do those things that truly anticipate the way God’s world WILL be."

And so we are called to be prophets in our own world, speaking and acting out the way that God's world should and will be. We are called challenge our human inclination toward retribution. We are called to challenge our world's systems of power and reward. We are called to pursue relentless compassion. We are called to live with less so that those in need can live with more. We are called to be generous, both in material and in mercy. We are called not merely to be "fair," but to be symbols of hope for God's deep, divine justice, which raises up the weak and liberates the oppressed.

As theologian Jurgen Moltmann says, "Faith, wherever it develops into hope, causes not rest but unrest, not patience but impatience. It does not calm the unquiet heart, but is itself this unquiet heart in man. Those who hope in Christ can no longer put up with reality as it is, but begin to suffer under it, to contradict it. Peace with God means conflict with the world, for the goad of the promised future stabs inexorably into the flesh of every unfulfilled present" (Theology of Hope).

May the rich unfairness of God's love and forgiveness cause you to live with hope, each and every day. May you grow ever more deeply dissatisfied with reality as it is. May your heart be made restless by the peace of Christ. And may you find your own prophetic voice, to speak mercy and compassion into this unfulfilled present, drawing our world ever-closer to God's perfect, promised future.

"Malodi detail: bread moteki" by FredR, on Flickr

"Rustic" by HD41117, on Flickr

Then the word of the LORD came to [Elijah], saying, Go now to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and live there; for I have commanded a widow there to feed you. So he set out and went to Zarephath. When he came to the gate of the town, a widow was there gathering sticks; he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, so that I may drink." As she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die." Elijah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD the God of Israel: The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth." She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.

After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill; his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. She then said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!" But he said to her, "Give me your son." He took him from her bosom, carried him up into the upper chamber where he was lodging, and laid him on his own bed. He cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times, and cried out to the LORD, "O LORD my God, let this child's life come into him again." The LORD listened to the voice of Elijah; the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. Elijah took the child, brought him down from the upper chamber into the house, and gave him to his mother; then Elijah said, "See, your son is alive." So the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth." (1 Kings 17:8-24)