Keeping the Season

"Dirty Garden Feet" by jana christy, on Flickr

Reading for the day: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Washing Feet
by Robert Fawcett

Being thorough, I remove a holey sock
to view a diabetic man’s filthy feet.
I use the time to complete our talk
of what drove him to live on the street
as I wonder how any of this can help.

While he tells me more of his medical past,
I run warm water into a stainless bowl.
I immerse both his feet and begin to ask
myself what good it does for this poor soul
to allow himself to undergo this ablution.

Silently I sluice the water between his toes
and soap the crusty callous at his heel.
I marvel at his arch and notice how closely
it fits my palm. I know he can feel
this proximity too. He shuts his eyes.

Months of useless layers peel away,
revealing layers useless weeks ago.
Removing the tough brown hide of yesterday
yields clean pink skin, but we both know
this ritual will be useless days from now.

Still, this moment may withstand time’s test,
teaching us each lessons unknown before.
I learn the medicine of selflessness.
He learns what medicine is really for–
the hope that basin, soap and touch can bear.

"08 -- Empathy and Emotional Intelligence:What You Need" by Roy Blumenthal, on Flickr

Amos 7:7–15
This is what he showed me: the LORD was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in his hand. And the LORD said to me, "Amos, what do you see?" And I said, "A plumb line." Then the LORD said,
"See, I am setting a plumb line
in the midst of my people Israel;
I will never again pass them by;
the high places of Isaac shall be made desolate,
and the sanctuaries of Israel shall be laid waste,
and I will rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword."

Then Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, sent to King Jeroboam of Israel, saying, "Amos has conspired against you in the very center of the house of Israel; the land is not able to bear all his words. For thus Amos has said,
'Jeroboam shall die by the sword,
and Israel must go into exile
away from his land.'"

And Amaziah said to Amos, "O seer, go, flee away to the land of Judah, earn your bread there, and prophesy there; but never again prophesy at Bethel, for it is the king's sanctuary, and it is a temple of the kingdom."
Then Amos answered Amaziah, "I am no prophet, nor a prophet's son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, 15and the LORD took me from following the flock, and the LORD said to me, 'Go, prophesy to my people Israel.'

Mark 6:14–29
King Herod heard of it, for Jesus' name had become known. Some were saying, "John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him." But others said, "It is Elijah." And others said, "It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old." But when Herod heard of it, he said, "John, whom I beheaded, has been raised."

For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip's wife, because Herod had married her. For John had been telling Herod, "It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife." And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, "Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it." And he solemnly swore to her, "Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom." She went out and said to her mother, "What should I ask for?" She replied, "The head of John the baptizer." Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, "I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter." The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John's head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.

--
In this weekend's New York Times you will find an op-ed entitled "Empathy is Actually a Choice," in which the authors pull together a variety of research that has been done in recent years on the subject of empathy, the act of entering into someone else’s cares, emotions, and vulnerabilities.

What emerged from all the research is the curious notion that empathy is a choice (and not a matter of genetics), and interestingly enough, there seems to be an inverse relationship between power and empathy, meaning that the more power we have, even temporary power, the less likely we are to show empathy.

Our gospel reading today certainly seems to prove the point. (And it also reads like a bit of a soap opera.)

Herod, the king, is throwing himself a birthday party. He has invited all the powerful dignitaries and members of his court to a fantastic feast, full of rich food and wine, laughter and dancing. It is an expensive and lavish bash. It’s exactly what you would expect of a powerful king who wants to celebrate himself in grand fashion, while also feeding the good favor of his most powerful advisors and constituents.

Now Herod is married to Herodius, his brother Philip’s wife. It is a bit of a scandal. Herod has used his unquestioned power to marry a woman who the law says is off-limits to him. John the Baptist was quick to call foul on this romance, which made Herodius angry - and why wouldn’t it? Here she was, having upgraded her lifestyle from that of the wife of the king’s brother to that of a queen. She wanted John killed for speaking the truth, but it wasn’t in her power to do that, so she settles for letting Herod throw him in prison. Herod, mind you, generally likes the guy, and is fascinated, if not also perplexed, by his teachings.

Anyway, back to the party. The music is playing, everybody has had a little too much to drink, and his daughter dances. Herod, being powerful, drunk, and stupid, makes her a promise: I swear to give you anything your heart desires, even half my kingdom if you want it!
And before he knows what is happening, the girl has consulted with her mother, and comes back to Herod asking not for half his kingdom, but for John’s head.

Herod, the most powerful man in the room, the most powerful man in the kingdom, somehow can’t muster up the power or courage to tell her “no.” We read that he didn’t want to break his oath and, more importantly, he didn’t want to disappoint the guests. So Herod, the man with all the power, plays the powerless fool. He raises up his hand to signal the guards, and sits back as John is killed.

Yes, despite (or perhaps because of) Herod’s great power, he chooses to protect his image rather than protecting John’s life. It is the clash of power and empathy. The greater the power, the easier it is to hold the powerless at arms’ length. The greater the influence, the easier it is not to care.

Certainly, as people of faith, we might each aim to to be prophetic like John the Baptist instead of power-drunk like Herod. Except if we’re being honest, we know that we are all far more like Herod than we’d probably like to be.

Because each of us has been given some measure of power and privilege in life, and with it, we take on the risk of using our power - big or small - for our own gain, rather than for the sake of the powerless.

In this country, there is power in being white. There is power in being male. There is power in being heterosexual. There is power in being young or thin. There is power in being wealthy. There is power in being educated and being employed. And it’s not that any one of us necessarily chose any of this, or that any of these privileged statuses are inherently bad, but if we get too comfortable with our powers and privileges, then we run the real risk of distancing ourselves from the very people God has called us to serve.

Now, the truth, of course, is that it does not take any particular power to proclaim the Gospel, and really, God is often in the business of stripping away people’s comfort and power precisely so that it doesn’t get in the way of that proclamation.

Amos, a herdsman from the southern kingdom of Judah, was called by God out of his comfortable and familiar lifestyle, and sent to prophecy at Bethel, at the heart of Israel, at the center of the kingdom’s worship. It was because Amos was there as a homeless outsider that he was better able to empathize and speak on behalf of the poor and oppressed.

Or what of John the Baptist? Surely he, the son of a priest, could have lived a comfortable life of service in the temple. And yet God called him to proclaim such a radical word of repentance and forgiveness that he took to the wilderness, foraging and wandering - and baptizing and proclaiming God’s kingdom.

Last week, we heard about Jesus, sending the disciples out to the villages to preach good news. He sent them with no cash, no trail mix, no backpacks, no rain gear. He sent them out vulnerable, that that they might be more inclined to reach out to the vulnerable with the hope of Christ's kingdom.

Later, Jesus will tell the disciples that following him requires laying down their lives and picking up the cross. Jesus tells a rich young ruler that he needs to sell everything and give it to the poor. He will tell those who want to be his disciples that they need to be willing to give up home and family and life itself for the sake of the gospel.

And why? Because power gets in the way of empathy. Security gets in the way of the urgency of the gospel message. Wealth gets in the way of mercy and justice. And Jesus tells us that if we can’t muster up the courage to use our power for the sake of the powerless, then we would do better to rid ourselves of our power altogether, rather than exploit our privilege for our own gain.

Jesus knows a little something about setting aside power, doesn’t he? Paul's letter to the Philippians tells us that Jesus, being equal with God, chose not to exploit that divine power. He instead chose to empty himself of power, become human, and die a scandalous death. He chose vulnerability that he might empathize with the human condition, and preach a word of grace and hope into the center of this creation's brokenness and fear.

In the same way, during his last hours of life, Christ took off his outer garments, laid aside his identity as Lord and Rabbi and friend, and took on the powerless identity of a slave, washing his disciples’ feet in an act of love and service.

Christ chose to set aside his power in order that he might choose us in grace. As we are saved by that grace, then we, too, are called to choose empathy over power. Jesus' challenge to us is that we use whatever power we have on behalf of the powerless, even if it weakens us in the eyes of the world; and that if we cannot do that, then we need to choose to give up our power all together.

Jesus calls us to choose love for neighbor. To choose justice and mercy. To choose the courage to break bad promises and change bad laws. This is what Herod couldn't find the strength to do. But just as the disciples were sent out powerless and yet returned to Jesus rejoicing over all God empowered them to do, so also do we have the confidence that God will humble the powerful for the sake of the gospel, and that God will lift up the powerless to do great things in his name.

This week, 30,000 high school students from across the country and the wider world will congregate in Detroit for the 2015 ELCA National Youth Gathering. As individuals, you might think that these youth have very little power. Three-quarters of them aren’t old enough to vote. Half of them aren’t old enough to drive. Many have jobs, but few are self-supporting.

And here is what’s going to happen.

These 30,000 students are going to stay in hotels and take over the convention center and eat meals and buy souvenirs. This seemingly powerless hoard will have the power to offer an incredible boost to Detroit’s struggling economy.

These 30,000 students are going to do projects around the city. They will clean up parks and create public art, volunteer at schools and community centers and charities and social service agencies. This seemingly powerless hoard will have the power to create immense positive change in a city that has neither the money nor the manpower to do all these projects on its own.

These 30,000 students will take whatever faith they have - strong or feeble, sure or doubting - and worship together. Sing together. Listen to speakers who have done incredible things in the name of Christ. This seemingly powerless hoard will have the power of the Holy Spirit buzzing through them like a divine electric charge, inspiring faith and motivating lives of service.

These 30,000 youth have made a choice. They have chosen to put aside their everyday identities in order to come together, vulnerable and excited, that they might know God more deeply, serve their neighbors more intently, and sow the seeds of justice in the city of Detroit.

Pray for them this week. Pray for our youth as they travel. Pray that God might continue to challenge them and us to choose empathy over power, to give up our self-centeredness, to walk the way of the cross.

May God use our weakness as a vehicle for grace. May God use our powers and privileges as a vehicle for mercy. May God give us empathetic hearts and holy hands. May we seek nothing else but lives of love and service. And may we be deeply satisfied by the richness of our calling.

"1 John 4:18" by philipcdavis, on Flickr

Acts 8:26–40
Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza." (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went. Now there was an Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning home; seated in his chariot, he was reading the prophet Isaiah. Then the Spirit said to Philip, "Go over to this chariot and join it." So Philip ran up to it and heard him reading the prophet Isaiah. He asked, "Do you understand what you are reading?" He replied, "How can I, unless someone guides me?" And he invited Philip to get in and sit beside him. Now the passage of the scripture that he was reading was this:

"Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter,
and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he does not open his mouth.
In his humiliation justice was denied him.
Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken away from the earth."

The eunuch asked Philip, "About whom, may I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?" Then Philip began to speak, and starting with this scripture, he proclaimed to him the good news about Jesus. As they were going along the road, they came to some water; and the eunuch said, "Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?" He commanded the chariot to stop, and both of them, Philip and the eunuch, went down into the water, and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord snatched Philip away; the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he was passing through the region, he proclaimed the good news to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

1 John 4:7–21
Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God's love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.

By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us.

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, "I love God," and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

John 15:1-8
[Jesus says,] "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples."

---
There are plenty of Sundays that I have stood up here in the pulpit and started out a sermon by saying “Wow, today’s readings were really tough,” or “As preachers, we cringe when we have to find some good news in difficult texts like these.” So I feel like I need to balance things out a bit, and not just complain about the hard Sundays, but also share joy over Sundays like today. Here we have three rich texts, all filled with good news. Yes, sometimes as a preacher you luck out. There are six or eight or a hundred different sermons that I could preach.

As I prepared for today, I was struck by one of the common themes in these readings, the theme of being bound together as community in Christ.

In our first reading, we encounter an Ethiopian official serving the queen’s court, a eunuch who, not to be crass, has quite literally been cut off from the temple community, and who is reading a passage from Isaiah about this suffering servant who we know to be Christ. Desperately seeking to be a part of God’s community, and emboldened by the good news of the sufferings and resurrection of Christ, he asks Philip, "Here is water. What is to prevent me from being baptized?

In other words, “What is preventing me from becoming a part of God's community, despite my race, despite my nationality, despite my physical impairment, despite my job?" Because for all of the reasons that he was cut off from society, he knew in his heart that there was nothing - nothing - that could actually cut him off from the life-giving promises of God's grace and the community of Christ, the suffering servant.

I've been thinking a lot about community these days - about the way that we are called to love our enemies and seek the good of our neighbors and to live in harmony with one another and to live peaceably with all. I've been thinking about that question of barriers, about who are those on the outskirts, those who don't have the privilege of health or happiness or justice.

I’ve been thinking a lot about struggling communities in Nepal who are still unearthing bodies, dead and alive, from last week’s earthquake, who are piling up bodies along the sea to be cremated, who are waiting for relief to come at the mercy of many and various international aid organizations, and all of the complicated lessons that disasters like this might be teaching us about being citizens of a global community.

I've been thinking a lot about the city of Baltimore these days, about Freddie Gray and his sister and his family who grieve his death, about how his life was taken from him at the hands of six police officers sworn to serve and protect life, about race and class, peaceful protests and angry riots, and all the layers upon layers of complicated lessons this tragedy might have us about community, about who is in and who is out and who gets to decide that.

As we watch these sagas unfold on our televisions and news feeds, we are presented with a huge list of unanswerable questions.

How can we efficiently and sustainably help unearth the rubble and rebuild infrastructure across the globe after natural disasters? And what do we do with the knowledge that poorer communities suffer more deeply than affluent communities when environmental disasters hit?

How do we respond to the reality that racism is still alive and well in our country? How do race and class intersect?

What do we do with violence done falsely in the name of justice? What do we do with violence done in the name of protest? How do we speak about right and wrong ways to stand up to power without condoning or victim blaming the protestors?

Who in our society has the power, explicitly or implicitly? Who suffers under this power? How do we use the power we are given for good? How do we claim power when we are oppressed?How do we know when to live under the law and when to rebel against it? How do we speak the truth about abuses of power without either blindly defending or demonizing law enforcement?

Why does any of this even matter to us, residents of Decorah, Iowa, far removed from either Maryland or Nepal?

Why does it matter? It matters because Jesus is the vine, and we - all of us - are the branches. And to be connected to the vine is to be connected through Christ to all of those other branches, whether those branches are here in Decorah or all the way in Baltimore and Nepal; whether those branches are black or brown or white, rich or poor, straight or gay, liberal or conservative.

The crises in Baltimore and Nepal make it impossible for us to ignore the fact that so many people in our world live in fear: Young black men. Practicing Muslims. Neighborhoods built on fault lines and typhoon-threatened coastlines. Families living in crime-ridden areas because it's the only housing they can afford. Women who feel vulnerable to unwanted sexual advances. White middle class men and women who feel threatened or defensive when they are confronted with the privileges that they take for granted.

Our news culture keeps us up close and personal with every threat, big or small, likely or unlikely; political, nutritional, international, criminal. There is fear all around. And this fear stands as a symbol of our broken world, as a symbol of sin and death in our midst. Fear stands in the way of God's intentions for this one holy community of all humanity and all creation.

Today in 1 John, we hear these words: "Perfect love casts out fear."

Perfect love casts out all fear. As trite as it may sound, love, I think, is the solution to all the calamities facing our world. Love deeply. Love divinely. Love so strongly that fear is banished. For love, as an action, is what we are called to do in response to the love that was shown to us in Christ.

Love brings justice. Love speaks the truth. Love shows compassion. Love inspires sacrifice. Love gives us responsibility to care for one another and all creation. Love binds together rather than pulling apart. Love creates community. Love brings joy. Love gives life. Love casts out all fear.

All these acts of love are possible only because we are branches of the Christ the vine. He is this main artery of love and goodness and resurrection that flows, unceasing, and we each are branches through with his love flows. This love pulses through us and, ultimately, we bear the fruit of love for the world and we grow green with leaves for the healing of the nations.

"I am the vine and you are the branches; abide in me as I abide in you." In the Greek, those "yous" are plural. This is hugely important! We don't do this work of love as individuals. We are called as a community of faith to love our world back into place; to let God graft onto the vine those who have been cut off by society; to invite others into our work of loving as Christ has empowered us to do. Because not one of us can do any of this alone.

Tuesday morning, after the violence of Monday night’s riots, in one Baltimore neighborhood, volunteers made sack lunches and delivered them to children, because school was canceled and they knew that these children wouldn’t have any lunch without the school’s free meal program.

On Thursday, a colleague of mine serving a congregation in Baltimore sent me a picture of a young girl from his congregation, four or five years old, standing in the street on a sunny morning, wielding a red plastic hammer and a huge smile. Behind her, family members and congregation members raised up real hammers, boarding up broken windows as an act of tenderness for their wounded city. They carried hammers and snacks and love and not fear.

There is love out there. There is hope.

But it takes a community to show love. It takes a community to rebuild the community of this world. It takes a community of divine love, a community gathered and called and sent by a bigger power than just our own spirits. It takes a community of Christ.

Friends, standing here in front of us is this font. Standing here in front of us is this table. Through the splashing of this water and the eating and drinking of this fruit of the earth and the vine, we have already been grafted as branches into the one vine, the one body of Christ. Be empowered by these sacred signs to love without fear. Be strengthened by this holy community to be Christ in a weary world.

Christ is the good vine. We are the branches.
Christ’s love casts out all fear: This is our hope.
Love one another: This is our calling.
We love because he first loved us.
Amen.

"Vine By Me" by Jackson Carson, on Flickr

John 15:1-8
[Jesus says,] "I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples."

"Love one another" by Paul Scott, on Flickr

John 13:1–17, 31b–35
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" Jesus answered, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand." Peter said to him, "You will never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me." Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" Jesus said to him, "One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you." For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, "Not all of you are clean."

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. "Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, 'Where I am going, you cannot come.' I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."
---

Wendell Berry writes,

I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.

I have no love
except it come from Thee.

Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind.

The winds are blowing in Jerusalem.

Judas already has it in his heart to betray Jesus to the authorities, who see Jesus as not just a political rebel, but as threat to the general order, to the established patterns of temple life, and to the Roman regime.

Peter is already having his doubts and fears. His misgivings and misunderstandings peek through when he misinterprets Jesus’ foot washing gesture. He boldly protests Jesus’ prediction of his denial, perhaps he doth protest too much, because he knows that he is likely to crumble under pressure, to flake out when the going gets too tough.

Pilate is in town, and Caiaphas, and crowds of people who are easily swayed by mob mentality. The streets are charged with religious fervor, with the celebratory affects of festival, with the latent political clash of God’s liberated people living under Roman occupation.

The winds are blowing in Jerusalem.

And Jesus carries a candle against the wind, along the path into the city, past the palm branches, up the steps into a small, dark, borrowed room where he sits, elbow to elbow with those whom he loves. He carries the candle of love against the tempest that is brewing:

“Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end,” we read.

For everything else that Maundy Thursday is about - holy suppers, washing feet, confessing together and hearing sweet and sacred words of forgiveness - this Thursday in Holy Week is always primarily about love.

The life of Christ hangs in the balance for saying radical things like, “All the commandments boil down into two: Love God and Love your neighbor” and worse yet, he has said stuff like “love your enemies, bless those who curse you.”

And now here he sits at table with his mixed bag of disciples - tax collectors and zealots and fishermen and contemplatives and betrayers and deniers. And at this table, he eats, drinks, serves, and then gives them a new command: that they love one another as he has loved them. A new command that love be his legacy and theirs. A new command to do the work of love, and by love to reveal God the Father and Christ the Son to the world.

The command is new because it is bigger than loving your neighbor as yourself. It is a new command to love your neighbors as Christ would love them. The new covenant in Jesus’ blood is a two-way promise of love. Christ, on his way to die for love of us. We, living beyond Christ’s death to bring his love to the world.

Loving as we have been loved. This is the candle we carry in the wind.

And the winds are blowing outside.

A few weeks ago, a bill passed in Utah to allow execution by firing squad. This morning, an attack on a university in Kenya was carried out by religious extremists. ISIS marches deeper and deeper into the heart of Syria. States in our nation are passing “religious freedom” laws that do not actually advance the cause of holy freedom, but hinder it.

A common thread among major religions of the world is the call toward love and service. And whenever religion interprets the idea of “freedom” or “liberation” as a way to love our ideas and reject our neighbors, then religion has failed.

Especially Christianity.

The new covenant in Christ’s blood, the meal that we share together, is a promise of our own liberation from sins, deaths, devils, and all powers of darkness. It is our promise that God forgives us, loves us, shows us grace upon grace.

We walk away from the meal holding onto two truths: 1 - that we have been shown liberating love in the sharing of Christ’s body, and 2 - that we are called and nourished to show liberating love to all whom we encounter.

Mind you, Jesus doesn’t ask us to like our neighbors, or to agree with them, or to excuse bad behavior, even. But Jesus does tell us to love one another.

There Judas is, sitting at dinner with Jesus and the rest of the disciples, and Jesus already knows that Judas is about to take off running from that upper room to give the secret signal to the police and the army that it’s time.

I can’t believe - can you? - that Jesus particularly liked Judas in that moment. And I’m pretty sure that Jesus didn’t agree with him. But Jesus loved him. Jesus loved him and served him.

And what of Peter? He is going to deny ever knowing Jesus, and he is going to pretend that he never walked on the water and forget that he was named the rock upon which God would build the church.

Around that last meal, I am going to guess that Jesus wasn’t liking Peter all that much, either. But he loved him. Loved him and served him.

Jesus took that towel and fell to his knees and scrubbed the toes of those whom he loved. How beautiful are those feet, the ones that walked the dusty road of teaching and healing and signs and wonders with Jesus. How beautiful are those feet, carrying the message of good news into the towns and countrysides. How beautiful are those feet, even as they will run off in the garden as fear and chaos scatter the disciples. How beautiful are the feet of the tax collectors and zealots, fishermen and contemplatives, even betrayers and deniers. These are the feet that Jesus loved.

“Do you understand what I have done for you?” Jesus asks.

“I have washed you clean and set you free. I have opened your eyes to see that you have been created by love, for the sake of love. I have shown you that love always manifests itself in service.”

“A new commandment I give you: that you love one another as I have loved you. By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you show love to one another.”

Liberation. Love. Service.

This is the way of Christ. This is our new commandment. This is our candle, burning brightly, that the winds of fear and change will never extinguish.

I know that I have life
only insofar as I have love.

I have no love
except it come from Thee.

Help me, please, to carry
this candle against the wind.
(from Leavings, 2010)

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

Luke 1:26-38,46-55
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He 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. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end." Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" The 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. And 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. For nothing will be impossible with God." Then 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.

And Mary said,
"My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

Three beautiful thoughts from Dietrich Bonhoeffer about the ways that God loves us and comes to us in Advent and Christmas:

Just when everything is bearing down on us to such an extent that we can scarcely withstand it, the Christmas message comes to tell us that all our ideas are wrong, and that what we take to be evil and dark is really good and light because it comes from God. Our eyes are at fault, that is all. God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, light in darkness, succor in abandonment. No evil can befall us; whatever men may do to us, they cannot but serve the God who is secretly revealed as love and rules the world and our lives...

God is so free and so marvelous that he does wonders where people despair, that he takes what is little and lowly and makes it marvelous. And that is the wonder of all wonders, that God loves the lowly… God is not ashamed of the lowliness of human beings. God marches right in. He chooses people as his instruments and performs his wonders where one would least expect them. God is near to lowliness; he loves the lost, the neglected, the unseemly, the excluded, the weak and broken...

Jesus stands at the door knocking (Rev. 3:20). In total reality, he comes in the form of the beggar, of the dissolute human child in ragged clothes, asking for help. He confronts you in every person that you meet. As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbor, as the one through whom God calls you, speaks to you, makes demands on you. That is the great seriousness and great blessedness of the Advent message. Christ is standing at the door; he lives in the form of a human being among us.

-from God Is In the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas

"To be commanded to love God at all, let alone in the wilderness, is like being commanded to be well when we are sick, to sing for joy when we are dying of thirst, to run when our legs are broken. But this is the first and great commandment nonetheless. Even in the wilderness - especially in the wilderness - you shall love him."

-Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember: Uncollected Pieces

“Think of the many, many stories about God choosing people. There are Moses, Abraham, and Sarah; there are David, Jeremiah, Gideon, Samuel, Jonah, and Isaiah. There is Israel itself. Much later there are Peter and Paul, and, most especially, Mary.

God is always choosing people. First impressions aside, God is not primarily choosing them for a role or a task, although it might appear that way. God is really choosing them to be God’s self in this world, each in a unique situation. If they allow themselves to experience being chosen, being a beloved, being somehow God’s presence in the world, they invariably communicate that same chosenness to others. And thus the Mystery passes on from age to age. Yes, we do have roles and tasks in this world, but finally they are all the same—to uniquely be divine love in a way that no one else can or will.”

― Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality

Yesterday was a beautiful coming together of images: the caring protection of Jesus the good shepherd, and celebrating mothers and those who provide mothering care. A perfect setting to hear again Bobby McFerrin's work "The 23rd Psalm (dedicated to my mother)," performed here by Cantus.



The Lord is my Shepherd, I have all I need,
She makes me lie down in green meadows,
Beside the still waters She will lead.

She restores my soul, She rights my wrongs,
She leads me in a path of good things,
And fills my heart with songs.

Even though I walk through a dark and dreary land,
There is nothing that can shake me,
She has said She won't forsake me,
I'm in her hand.

She sets a table before me, in the presence of my foes,
She anoints my head with oil,
And my cup overflows.

Surely, surely goodness and kindness will follow me,
All the days of my life,
And I will live in her house,
Forever, forever and ever.

Glory be to our Mother, and Daughter,
And to the Holy of Holies,
As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be,
World without end. Amen.

"#crucifix" by p7taylor, on Flickr

---

Crucifixion
by Anna Akhmatova

"Weep not for Me, Mother,
in the grave I have life."

I.

The choir of angels glorified the great hour,
the heavens melted in flames.
He said to His Father: "Why hast Thou forsaken me?"
and to His Mother: "Oh, weep not for Me..."

II.

Mary Magdalene smote her breast and wept,
the disciple whom He loved turned to stone,
but where the Mother stood in silence
nobody even dared look.

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

---

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.

"And now for something completely unPuerto Rican" by Jodie Dobson, on Flickr

---

Multum Dilexit
by Hartley Coleridge

She sat and wept beside His feet; the weight
Of sin oppress’d her heart; for all the blame,
And the poor malice of the worldly shame,
To her was past, extinct, and out of date:
Only the sin remain’d,—the leprous state;
She would be melted by the heat of love,
By fires far fiercer than are blown to prove
And purge the silver are adulterate.
She sat and wept, and with her untress’d hair
Still wip’d the feet she was so bless’d to touch;
And He wip’d off the soiling of despair
From her sweet soul, because she lov’d so much.
I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears:
Make me a humble thing of love and tears.

"To be commanded to love God at all, let alone in the wilderness, is like being commanded to be well when we are sick, to sing for joy when we are dying of thirst, to run when our legs are broken. But this is the first and great commandment nonetheless. Even in the wilderness - especially in the wilderness - you shall love him."

-Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember: Uncollected Pieces

Increase our faith and love.

What if, instead of wishing that God would give us more faith, we instead prayed that God would make us more faithful?

Increase our faithfulness and love, dear God, that we might know your hope and peace and live accordingly.



Thee we adore
arr. Phillip Moody

Thee we adore, O hidden Savior, thee,
Who in thy Sacrament art pleased to be;
Both flesh and spirit in thy presence fail,
Yet here thy presence we devoutly hail.

O blest memorial of our dying Lord,
Who living bread to us shall here afford:
Oh, may our souls forever feed on thee,
And thou, O Christ, forever precious be.

Fountain of goodness, Jesus, Lord and God:
Cleanse us, unclean, with thy most cleansing blood;
Increase our faith and love, that we may know
The hope and peace which from they presence flow.

O Christ, whom now beneath a veil we see:
May what we thirst for soon our portion be,
To gaze on thee unveiled, and see thy face,
The vision of thy glory and thy grace.

"Sheep-man in blue skirt" by Bergius, on Flickr

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to [Jesus]. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."So he told them this parable:

Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."
(Luke 15:1-10)