Relish is Good All Over!

“How can he say that every week, Pastor,” asked a very young woman. She says that each Sunday, after he returns home from church, her boy friend phones. Time after time his elated greeting is, “Theresa, I’m a changed man!”

I resisted the urge to point out that, at their ages, neither she nor he has reached full womanhood, or manhood. That wasn’t a hard task since my sons still ask me what I want to be when I grow up.

“What does he mean going to church makes him a changed man,” she pressed, delight and enchantment radiating from her face. “What do you think he means,” I asked. “Something about hearing God makes him feel good all over.” “Yes,” I said, “All over, and all over again.” The teachable moment evaporated as quickly and unexpectedly as it had arrived. “He’s got a new cell phone too and …”

Both youthful inexperience and over familiarity can do that; lead us to deprive a moment of its rich, hidden, mysterious bounty. Listen to those words: rich; hidden; mysterious; and, bountiful. Those are apt words to describe hearts leaning toward love.

Good words, too, to express hearts drawn on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday to lean toward an Easter Christ – rich, hidden, mysterious, bountiful. Especially apt words for hearts made ready by souls who have observed Lent; eagerly longing become a changed person.

It may have happened. We might even discover that it has happened – if we don’t advance beyond the teachable moment too quickly.

Even if our Lenten “sacrifice” was small: giving up chocolate; withdrawing from caffeine; abandoning alcohol; foregoing snack foods; small can be lovely. Lovely, not merely decorative but lovely, as in enticing, exquisite, indescribably new!

Before we advance through Easter, making that day a mere dietary liberation, spend time relishing in the new person God longs to lead you to become.

What is it about hearing, all over again, God’s moving Jesus from that tomb into our beating heart’s room, that makes you, us, feel good all over, all over again, in ways no dietary reprieve can match?

Oil Spills Still Change Boundaries

Do you remember hearing that 4 out of 5 dentists recommend Crest toothpaste? I went to the dentist last Tuesday. Here’s my tube of Colgate. There are at least two sides to every story.

When it comes to the story of a woman anointing Jesus, there are at least four stories. Each of the four Gospels has some version of a woman anointing Jesus, either his feet, or his head.

Scholars see different men purported to own the house where the anointing occurs. They notice that the four gospels identify at least two, perhaps three, different women as the anointer. The moral character of these women is also variously described. Variations as to when the anointing happens within the time-frame of Jesus’ ministry are spotted. They observe that in each account, different persons object to what the woman does, as well as to how she does it. Jesus’ retorts / rebukes to the objectors vary.

It would be interesting to compare and contrast these descriptions, but that’s not a good way to preach. Looking back, some of my preaching sounds more like a bible study than a sermon. When that happens, it’s often because I was unwilling to really wrestle with the text at hand.

The story of Jesus’ anointing in John 12:1-8, by Lazarus’ sister, Mary, offers us an opportunity to do some wrestling. Maybe if we do that together, my reluctance won’t get in the way of our meaning making here. Let’s just go with what John tells us, as though this was the only anointing story we have.

Now we’ve met this family twice before. The first time, Luke (10) tells us Jesus ate supper with these folks. That’s when Mary got on Martha’s last nerve by not helping to serve. The second time we encountered them was in John 11.

There we hear Jesus failed to come when the sisters sent word that Lazarus was ill. It’s also there where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. That happens only after both sisters complain that Lazarus would be alive if Jesus had come when they called. Lazarus exits the tomb after Martha professes that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, but not until she’s reminded Jesus how much Lazarus’ corpse stinks after four days.

That’s a lot of information, but we’re not ready to wrestle yet. I’m almost finished setting up the arena.

So far, we’ve got a high stakes event. You know how weddings and funerals can stress family and friends. Four years later, my brother still reminds me the police came to his daughter’s wedding reception because of a ruckus my son and his date, along with my daughter and another guest, got caught up in. In all honesty, my wife remembers my involvement in that event much differently than I do. Just last Saturday we calmed a family argument before the guests arrived for a funeral repast in the fellowship hall. There’s more tension to notice in Bethany.

This boundary-breaking anointing is sandwiched between the breath-taking statements in John 11:45-54, and in John 12:9-11. The former asserts that the High Priest determined to find a way to have Jesus eliminated, and makes it clear Jesus’ goes into hiding because he perceives the threat. The latter states that Lazarus is also slated for elimination by the authorities. See, added to the strain of this extended family’s gathering, is the anxiety over the fate of the guest(s) of honor? The air is thick with worry. Everyone in the room is vulnerable to its pressure, we along with them. We’re each part of this extended family.

For us, it’s 7 days until Passover, 10 before Good Friday. It matters a whole lot which face, what heart, whose genuine persona we bring, whose authentic character we show to God, at Jesus’ Calvary. Look see who within the frame of this family’s portrait you “take after.” Ready? Wrestle!

Maybe you’re like Mary. So overwhelmed with gratitude to Jesus for restoring her world, it’s as though she and Jesus are alone in the universe. In that newly enlivened space she acts with complete abandon. She lavishes on Jesus oil priced at a year’s wages. Discarding proper social customs she lets down her hair in public and takes up a servant’s role. Despite the cost to her station and her reputation, she is extravagant with her reverence for Jesus. Will these be the days when, wordlessly, you act out your praise? What would that look like?

Maybe days like these, when God shows up so clearly, brings out the Judas in you. You can never really decide which of, at least, three faces to reveal:
• There’s that part of you who says a whole lot about what everything costs, but can’t talk at all about what anything is really worth
• You’ve also got a face that’s been involved, outwardly, in all sorts of religious enterprises, but you’re only participating for what you can take
• Then, too, there’s the part of you who goes through all the motions with no real feeling, no connection, no attachment.
Will these finally be the days when you receive and relish in the identity, relatedness, and belonging God gives you, for free?

Could be you’re like Martha. Like always, she’s serving. No pot banging at this meal. She’s shown up. She just can’t show out. God’s coming near gets her attention, but not her focus. God’s favor gets her concentration, but not her consideration. Nothing changes Martha. Martha remains Martha. The burdensome work remains hers to do, no matter how much Jesus relieves her of her heavy lifting. Might these, for once, be the days when you meet Jesus hands-free? Maybe now, seeing Jesus doing a new thing, in you and for you, instead of saying, “Much obliged, and let me get right to that,” you’ll sit at his feet, where you’re neither busy nor idle, but simply basking in the love that flows from him, to you.

There are at least two sides to every story. I met a man the other day that, on hearing that I pastor a church, said, “Well, Jesus is my savior.” I said, “That’s cool. I don’t look good on wood.” Four out of five pastors will be glad to tell you what you have to do to be saved. I simply want to remind you, as we wrestle with this text, who we promised to be, and what we pledged to do, whenever it was that God’s Holy Spirit called us together.

We promised to be honest to God. We pledged to join God in creating, saving, and blessing the whole world. We agreed we’d lean on one another. We covenanted to be open to the new things God has in mind for us to be and to do. We said we’d forgive each other. We vowed to welcome the changes, personally and communally, God’s coming in just these ways brings to us and for us.

Let these be the days when our commitments to God and to one another fill the air with the rich fragrance of our servant-pouring.

General Pace's Moral Compass - Missing in Action!

General Peter Pace, like his commander-in-chief, is leading us toward a slippery slope. Among other misnomers, the General’s assertion that the U.S. military ought not to “say,” by its policies that it “condones” immoral behavior flies in the face of the military’s new recruitment standards. The General’s moral compass seems to lack a “true” North.

MSNBC reports that upwards of 13,000 first-time Army recruits were accepted under waivers for various medical, moral or criminal problems. Thirty-eight percent of the waivers granted were for medical problems.

It’s interesting that General Pace is concerned about unit cohesion and combat readiness issues when it comes to including professed homosexuals in the ranks, but is not concerned to field units which include those arrested for misdemeanors. As a combat veteran, I do not recall feeling threatened by those colleagues who identified themselves as homosexual, even when their identity became clear, seductively. I do remember, though, feeling threatened on more than one occasion by some fellow-combatants whose criminal histories were less than stellar.

Of special concern, here, is the General’s assertion that the beliefs he expressed to the editorial board of The Chicago Tribune were personal, not reflective of U.S. military policy. Rather, his beliefs are informed by his faith in God, as a Roman Catholic.

Brought up in the Roman church, I recall that much of what our civil society calls illegal, that for which one might face arrest and conviction on a misdemeanor charge, is also immoral and, also likely, sinful. Moreover, in some Roman quarters, knowingly placing another in harm’s way, by an unrepentant sinner, is also immoral and, quite likely, sinful.

General Pace’s selective moral enforcement is more than baffling and beyond troubling. It’s scary.

Does the General consult with the Roman U.S. Military Vicariate before recommending promotions of military personnel who are divorced and remarried? Does it matter, for the sake of promotion and command, that divorced and remarried personnel are themselves Roman Catholic or not?

Can a divorced and remarried commander-in-chief, or one convicted of a misdemeanor, according to the General’s moral compass, issue the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs lawful orders. Could a Mormon, someone who clearly affiliates with a non-Christian sect, command General Pace’s decision-making? How are the General’s personal beliefs impacting orders to military commanders and chaplains? These seem, rather, to be all over the map!

I must have missed the General's interpretaiton of the Roman Church's take on the just war theory. Martin Luther had much to say about the possibility of a “soldier’s being saved.” He also taught much about the Two Kingdoms (left and right hand of God). All that’s much too complex for this piece.

The General, like all of us who profess faith in the God of Jesus Christ, are called to bring life and faith together. We live in the world, allegedly, not of the world. We occupy roles. Sometimes the roles shape us. Sometimes we shape the roles.

Living into our baptismal roles, and living out of the promises to us God offers to the baptized, is a tall order. Sometimes our religious affiliations and denominations help us make that happen. Other times they’re not much help at all.

As we approach the time of year when Christians recall God’s most incredible “for us” at Calvary, it’s helpful for all of us, in general, to remember Jesus’ words at that Sermon on the Plain, found in Luke 6: 35-36 "I tell you, love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You'll never—I promise—regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we're at our worst. Our Father is kind; you be kind. 37-38 "Don't pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. Don't condemn those who are down; that hardness can boomerang. Be easy on people; you'll find life a lot easier. Give away your life; you'll find life given back, but not merely given back—given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity." (The Message)

As a wise Roman priest once asked my fretting Lutheran pastor’s heart, “Do you know anyone for whom the blood of Jesus was not shed?” That moral compass has always guided me true.

Check Out This Chick-Flick

After a funeral this past Tuesday, I ate lunch with one of the many ministers in attendance. This man has served a large, urban congregation for decades. We were talking shop. I asked him if he’s heard more pastors preaching a so-called Gospel of prosperity, over Jesus’ Gospel of the kingdom of God.

As our conversation continued, we became more passionate. We were sure that we preach Jesus, crucified and raised. We congratulated ourselves for keeping a cross in our worship spaces. We applauded each other for keeping national and denominational flags out of them. We consoled each other for feeling inept at reaching out to 20 and 30 something generations.

Just as I began wondering if we were sounding a little too righteous, my companion shared this. He said a local casino sent letters to all the pastors, offering each a free overnight stay, as well as $1,000 in chips. Then he said, “I will never be seen in casino.”

It wasn’t until much later in the day when I asked myself, “Did he mean he’ll never go and gamble, or did he mean he won’t go gamble at a site where someone who knows him might see him?” Was his statement sincere; “I won’t be seen because I’ll never be in one”? Or is he a hypocrite? I’ll never know; neither will you.

Sometimes, when a story’s ending doesn’t satisfy, we become irritated. Other times, a story’s disappointing ending causes us to discard the story all together. Then, there are those story’s whose inadequate end captures our imaginations as we mull over a variety of preferred, or more desirable, endings.

Jesus’ open, seemingly unfinished ending to the parable we call the prodigal son still catches most hearers up short (See Luke 15:1-3; 11b-32). That often results in some over analysis of both the story’s beginning, and / or a solitary focus on the story’s three main movements, the:
• younger son’s awakening
• watching father’s grace-filled, unconditional embrace
• charged language used by the older brother to his father.

Following an insight I’ve borrowed from Sharon H. Ringe, a Professor of New Testament at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, D. C., let’s take a different tack. First, though, it should be noted that scholars who are women frequently offer biblical interpretations which are out of the main – if main is taken as the male-dominated historical-critical methodology that grew out of the German Enlightenment. This is a true blessing to the church.

As an aside, here’s a quick primer on the distinction between male and female scholarship. In her pioneering research, Carol Gilligan contrasted the moral development of females with that of males in her work, In a Different Voice. She observed that boys’ games, e.g., sand-lot baseball, purposed around competition and rule-keeping. Girls’ games, on the other hand, e.g., jacks, seemed to purpose around a way to “pass time” as these females focused on broadening and deepening their emotional relationship. (Sure hope I don’t sound like a candidate for the presidency of Harvard, here!)

Dr. Ringe’s insight – that is the only piece with which I’m familiar – is in re-naming this parable The Parable of the Beloved Brothers. My interpretation of Luke’s parable is based, principally, on that title. Errors in interpretation / understanding, then, are solely my own, and ought not to reflect on Dr. Ringe.

Male dominated scholarship frames the parable of the prodigal son within a win / lose dynamic. The plot line’s thrust is competitive. The story’s conclusion lends itself either to victory / surrender, or to a mano a mano standoff.

Hearing the story as the parable of the beloved brothers gives us a chance to redirect our own meaning-making efforts. At one level, nothing changes. The characters are the same. Their actions are constant and consistent. The conclusion is still abrupt, and, to some, less than satisfying.

At another level, Dr. Ringe’s re-naming changes everything. The sudden, nasty request by the younger son that his father “drops dead” and hand over the inheritance alludes to a prior and perhaps long-standing family strain. The boy’s dissolute living may be his effort to “buy” the affiliation and belonging he had at home, rather than a groin-oriented plot to sow his wild oats. His planned confession may be less belly-focused narcissism and more a parley with himself to restore relationship with his family.

The father’s reaction, “filled with compassion” draws us to realize that the Hebrew equivalent of this word is womb. The father re-wombs the younger son and so has no need to hear the confession, which, then, remains unspoken.

In the parable of the beloved brothers, the feast has all the trappings of a wedding feast, an experience wherein the prior stories of distinct families are entwined in the present and fashion momentum toward a new future. It’s only in the parable of the prodigal son that the feast resembles a “victory lap.”

Onto the scene arrives the elder brother. He’s carrying not only the fatigue of today’s burden, but the long-held resentment of days gone by. His distancing language, “this son of yours,” reveals all the angry baggage of someone who’s played by the rules, but lost the game to a cheater.

For his part, the wombing father speaks the same words, using the same endearing tone which brought new life to his “dead” younger son.

The story’s conclusion poses two theological challenges. That is, two opportunities for us to change our minds about who God is and how God works.

First, the parable of the beloved brothers forces us to admit that our understanding of sin, grace, repentance and forgiveness are really quite shallow.
We like to construct a world that says: God likes to forgive. I like to sin. Therefore, borrowing from Louis Armstrong, we sin, what a wonderful world!

We tend to see sin as rule-breaking, law-breaking. In Greek, the word is “missing the mark.” Not hitting the bull’s eye means something else gets hit. The result of sin is deep and broad breaches. The affects of sin are anguish, brokenness, grief and pain – within our self, among our relationships, and amidst the Godhead.

In our equation, grace becomes what an offender is owed, by a gracious God. Repentance, then, is a quick, “I’m sorry.”

Forgiveness is a reward for an apology, usually doled out with no small measure of wariness. Our forgiveness is often cunningly disguised revenge. It’s frequently dispensed with a shrug that sweeps an offense under the rug of political correctness, or tolerance.

The second challenge / opportunity the parable of the beloved brothers poses, besides exposing the cyclical nature of our life under the first challenge, is to say that with this God, in this God’s Christ, the past does not need to prescribe the future.

Sin is no longer about laws, shoulds / shouldn’ts, it’s about our being who God wants us to be, or who we choose to be when we determine to take God’s place.

Grace is about God’s own yearning and yawning when God experiences our absence. Grace is the movement of God to reconnect with us, before we apologize.

Repentance is our coming-around-to, our turning-toward, our changing from “me is god,” to God is God, as a result of God graceful wombing.

Forgiveness, then, is not about no longer remembering. Forgiveness – since it’s offered before apology or repentance - becomes, we’ll (God and us) move into a new future where we re-member, as in reconnect, reattach.

The “unsatisfying” ending we experience is the only plausible ending for the parable of the beloved brothers. It’s the only conclusion that reveals the open-endedness of the Kingdom of God.

This ending is the only accurate representation of the life-giving, freedom-bringing, home-making God (Walter Bureggemann) that accounts for the compassionate / wombing God that Jesus knew. This ending is the only comprehensive portrayal of the costly grace that’s faithful to the breaking-open, pouring-out Jesus’ sacrifice for us.

This ending is the end of my story, your story, and everyone’s story – beyond our wildest dreams. But you already knew that’s how it ends.

Trademark Infringement and March Madness

So what event do you know that can weave together so many great myths, like: Cinderella; David and Goliath; and, Shootout at the OK Corral? By the way, Dan Rather had it wrong. Myth doesn't mean "baloney," or worse. It's a technical word that defines a story as one which tells a peoples' shared truth in such a compelling way, those people make their meaning by living inside that story.

For many people, the NCAA's March Madness is such a story. Though half-time episode or time-out interlude might be more accurate words, the NCAA believes enough of us choose to live inside their March Madness they've trademarked that name! Many of us recall a time when people shared common language, experiences, customs and traditions. Often these were ethnic, and sometimes religious. Whatever their roots, we were introduced into them by our elders. We wove them together with our own interpretations. Then we passed these "latest and greatest" versions, as the shared stories we lived by, to our children.

Those stories seemed huge: large enough to hold onto the most long ago past; enormous enough to embrace each energizing and enervating present; and, expansive enough to encompass the most enormous dreams for every far distant future. It's truly a smaller, greedier, more selfish world that breeds a three-week myth, involving only sixty-five teams made up of 15 players, each - one winner 64 losers.

There is another March Madness story (which this year we celebrate in early April) that still speaks to our fiercest memories, our deepest fears in the present, our worst nightmares for the future, and our shared anxieties about death. Some folks still claim to live inside this story. Others, exclusive marketers, have trademarked the Gospel's liberating declarations and compelling claims about the meaning of Christ. They pirate the story of Jesus’ breaking-open passion and rename it “possibility.” They curtail the story of Jesus’ pouring-out cross and call it “prosperity.”

Why else would the world drink in stories that don't end our thirst for meaning, and dine on stories that can't nourish the next generation's present or sustain any future?

We'll spend some time of a Sunday, as well as a Thursday and Friday evening, then another Sunday re-membering, re-telling, re-entering and re-living a maddeningly, captivating story, and asking God to reposition us right into the middle of its still unfolding, life-giving plot.

It's the mythic story of one apparent loser who, by God’s grace-filled “for us,” makes winners of us all. That's no baloney. And it won't infringe on any trademark if we share the march toward its inclusive madness with you, too!

Orbiting in Solitude, Solidarity and Solace

Have you thought lately about what in your life you'd like to be different? Now before you say, "No," think about some conversations you've had recently. Have you told someone you're thinking about buying a new car? Did you hear yourself say you wish you had a new job; a new Easter outfit; better health insurance; a cleaner house; a smaller tax bill? Then we're not disagreeing about the idea, only the details.

The devil's in the details, or so goes an old saying. But what if that's all wrong? What if the details aren't the devil at all? What if the details are the whisperings of God calling you into new places; into new beginnings; new adventures? Could the details be God's beckoning you into a new future?

Uh, Uhh, too soon to argue the point. Tomorrow's a new future. Anyone reading this who doesn't want to see tomorrow? I didn't think so. What if the details are the Spirit of God – the energy of God leading you away from the sources of energy and power your personal planet orbits today, and into a new orbit of energy - the energy of the Risen Christ. Not the Christ who conquered death over 2000 years ago, but the energy of Christ alive and present in our midst.

The theological word for what I'm talking about is transformation. While you may not use that word to describe the experience, you know the experience. And though it can sometimes feel invasive, unwanted and unpredictable, you even relish it! Or at least you once did.

Remember how you relished: growing into teenage or adult years; welcoming someone back from war; giving birth; surviving an illness or serious accident; realizing you'd fallen in love; or felt mysteriously, again, the touch of a loved one you'd buried long ago? That was transformation. And, no doubt, God was involved in those details.

That's why the disciplines of Lent are so important. While we often talk about prayer, fasting and almsgiving - the details – we sometimes under emphasize the purposes behind these activities. Lenten disciplines afford us is solitude, solace, and solidarity. A space without distractions. An encounter with the God who loves and cares especially for us as individual persons. A sense of kinship and belonging with all those who live by God's grace.

We can't make that happen on our own. Maybe that's why we resist it so. This kind of different, this kind of change, this kind of transformation is beyond our control. Unlike deciding about buying a new car; joining a new church; or, taking a different kind of action to promote justice; we simply can't choose, or get to, this kind of meeting with God on our own terms. We can't get to God. Only God can get to us.

That's why God works so hard to make it so! It's not only that we often work so hard to keep this God at arms length. We also persist in defining this God in the same way we describe all those other energy fields we orbit. Oh, sure, we'd like to believe that we've long ago given up the notion that ours is a Scoutmaster God who hands out merit badges. We're sure we no longer understand God as the Santa who knows when we've been bad or good. Details, details.

Not claiming and celebrating the transformations God still gives to us keeps us from being a transforming people. We have three weeks left for a precious period of solitude, solace and solidarity. Can you hear Risen Jesus calling? The one who broke open and poured out in solitude and solidarity on the cross for you? Take solace. That detail's gonna change you!

When Clergy Rah-Rah Is Yadda Yadda Yadda

Should I sign the letter endorsing a local clergy committee’s (advocacy group) “…inviting business, labor, and political leaders to work together to make this vision [for janitors and all low-wage workers to receive a ‘living wage,’ have access to full health care benefits, and cease being intimidated (when these) workers want to join a union] of a reality for the workers in our city,” or take a pass? The document ensures those who will receive it the undersigned clergy are praying that economic inequality will be overcome and that the undersigned clergy will stand up for the rights of all low-wage workers.

Leaving aside the issue about whether or not it’s right and just for me to make a personal posture – no matter how ethically, morally, and theologically right I find it – public, as in including the name of the congregation I serve, I have some other concerns. Is it right for me to make such a statement, and involve the people I serve, without having meaningful dialogue with them about the consequences of the posture?

Here are a few of the questions that I need to discuss with those I serve by leading before I get out ahead of them: [I have no problem going there after the conversation, regardless of their responses. If we differ, in the end, I’d just make certain that the public part excluded them.]

• Are those who hold jobs with companies who employ directly, or lease space from landlords who subcontract with these low-wage workers, willing to advocate their employers pay increased occupancy costs to meet these additional labor costs?

• Are those who hold stock in the companies whose costs will increase willing to see the companies’ profits, and perhaps their own stock values / dividends, decline to meet these additional labor costs?

• Are church / denominational groups who rent these venues (thus “subcontracting” with these low-wage workers) willing to pay increased prices to hold events at these venues, to meet these additional labor costs?

Clergy who want to rah-rah must come completely clean with those whom we lead by serving, unless we simply want to increase the volume of our already yadda-yadda-yadda!

I’m completely grateful that well over 45 clergy, from across the theological / denominational spectrum, are concerned about more than the Big-Three, so-called values issues: pro-life (generally limited only to gestational time-frames); sanctity of marriage (generally limited only to requiring bride and groom represent opposing genders, despite the duration and frequency of the individual’s prior vow exchanges); and, ensuring that our children abstain from any genital activity prior to marriage. Still, no one has yet asked me to join a group of clergy advocating for:
• increased student achievement
• higher graduation rates
• more enrollments in college by students of color
• reduced hand-gun sales
• stricter usury laws aimed at rent-to-own proprietors of homes, appliances, entertainment equipment, furniture, and previously owned vehicles
• greater access to supermarkets, with fresh vegetables, in inner city neighborhoods
• more banks in the same locales
• scattered site, affordable housing
• etc.

All of us socially active clergy might benefit from a group meditation on the words of Toyohiko Kagawa, a Japanese layman who wrote:
I read
in a book
That a man called
Christ
Went about doing good.
It is very disconcerting to me
That I am so easily
Satisfied
With just
Going about.

No one, here, is advocating “ready, fire, aim.” Neither am I, as Luther advocated, unwilling to sin boldly.

What I don’t need is another tee-shirt that implies that both me, and my job-title, is: Noisy Gong / Clashing Cymbal. What the people I serve by leading don’t need is a pastor who speaks against “check-book” ministry, but engages in mere signatory advocacy!

The Mystery of the Dueling Towels

It’s always important to know what you’re not dealing with. We don’t have an unknown subject whose identity we’re trying to determine, or whose criminal mind we’re trying fathom. We’re not dealing with a cold case. Higher math’s statistics and probability won’t bring resolution. Neither the crime scene, nor its physical evidence, is available for our investigative probing.

We do have reasonable testimony concerning key actors in what seems to be a conspiracy to bring about Jesus’ death. We know their names, their social positions, something about their professional responsibilities, even where some are buried. It appears that all the key actors understand each other’s roles in society, and respect – even make use of - the boundaries those roles demand they maintain.

There are rather reliable accounts of their whereabouts, as well as their comings and goings, during those days. It all happens within what seems to be a three to four day window of opportunity during which they hatched, successfully, their plot.

Likewise, there is a virtual laundry list of critical, physical evidence: 30 pieces of silver, a small sword, a briefly severed ear, a tunic left behind, whips, thorns, a purple cloak, a fiery warming pit, primitive dice, nails and hammers, and wood, lots of wood. So what’s with these towels?

They, if there’s more than one, keep showing up! We see the first on Thursday evening, at the last supper (John 13. It’s here early Friday morning in Pilate’s hands (Matthew 27:24-26). There’s a tale about a towel and a woman early Friday afternoon. Had to be there, didn’t it, by late that afternoon, because it, alone, is found entombed, rolled neatly on Sunday morning.

If we had them, or one of them, any of them, what would we do? Would we risk destroying them by checking the miles of fibers? Can you see us soiling them by spraying lumiol or swabbing for DNA, to what end?

I’m sure, if we had them, or one of them, any of them, we’d declare them, at least venerable, if not valuable. Like as not we’d promise to stow them reverently the way we do the:
• ribbons we won at childhood athletic competitions
• letter jackets we earned in high school
• silky wedding dresses we wore down the aisle, no matter the fate of that marriage
• quilts grandma made
• full dress medals presented to us by the commanding officer, despite our not displaying that level of courage in a long time
• blankets our first child dragged through 3rd grade.

We might, but I doubt it. In the end, we’d rightly decide that there really is nothing remarkable about the towels. What’s worth noting is how they were used; how they’re still used.

John tells us Jesus, exposed and vulnerable, laid aside his garments, put on a towel, washed his disciples’ feet and dried them with that same towel. John’s Jesus explains that he’s offering an example: "Do you know what I have done to you? 13You call me Teacher and Lord — and you are right, for that is what I am. 14So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. 15For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. 16Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. 17If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them." (John 13:12-17)

Would that we were merely the kind of people who followed only those examples so precisely laid out for us. But, truth be told, we’ll take our cues from most anybody, anywhere, anytime.

Pilate, too, has become exposed and vulnerable, though not by his own choosing. His:
• arrogance and prejudice show through
• willingness to compromise his principles is laid bare
• fear of paying the price for doing the right thing is uncovered
• naked ambition and aggression are transparent
• see-through rationalizations are revealed.

The procurator's posture seems to be: What’s one more leafless tree sprouting a strange fruit on Golgotha? If this circus lynching prompts their pious pastors to hush these uncivilized, ghettoized festival goers, what harm can follow? But let’s get it done without a trace.

Stripped of his dignity he, too, takes on a servant’s task. Except Pilate’s only care is to wash himself, cleanse himself from the dirty little mess he’d let himself get rolled up in. Declaring himself innocent, Pilate doesn’t put on the towel, he throws in the towel. Sounds way too familiar, doesn’t it?

Throwing in the towel, then as now, denies Jesus’ identity, discounts his mission, disrespects his ministry and disregards the verdict his breaking-open, pouring-out servanthood lavishes on us.

Washed and toweled in the blood of this Passover lamb, we don’t need to declare ourselves innocent. We get to call ourselves not guilty. That’s a distinction with a huge difference. The mystery of our Lenten days, as well as our every-days, isn’t who done it. We know how complicit we truly are.

Rather, the mystery is will you remain content to consort and conspire with the usual suspects, or will you keep making your plea with the God whose vulnerable heart’s desire is to give you a share in the master’s life-giving laundry business?

Grow 12 Inches in Two Minutes!

It's easy to get caught up in the belief that everything is knowable Many folks are sure that it's only a matter of time before philosophers and scientists open every intellectual and emotional door in the universe.

Still, despite what we know, and in spite of our fixation that we can, eventually, know everything we think we need to know, the longest distance on earth remains the 12 inches from the human brain to the human heart. That's where Lent comes in.

Lent isn't just a season in the church calendar. Lent is the time and energy Christians focus on the same questions that bedeviled Jesus in his desert experience: who am I; what am I to do; how can I get that done.

Those questions, and the intellectual, emotional, social and spiritual concerns they raise are issues of the heart. Issues for our hearts because when we take the time to think with our heads: about who we are; who we've let ourselves become; and who we're surely to be if we continue the path we're walking, we still don't know the whole truth about ourselves.

If you want to know something for sure, spend two minutes by yourself, looking in a mirror. The person looking back at you is gonna die someday. And when you can admit that you’re gonna die, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"

Lent's heart time can help you answer that question anew. You could spend some time in prayer - becoming familiar with the person you are who God still loves. You could fast, not to lose weight, or to prove that you can live without chocolate, or alcohol, or nicotine, but to get reacquainted with the experience of hungering, pining, thirsting, yearning for more than what fills your usual bill. You could give alms -not to engage in checkbook mission and ministry, but to ally yourself with those who have no choice about their deprivation, their degradation, or their degeneration into an existence that few of our sated and comfortable ideas of God can console.

If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future - the dustiness that's to become of us – you might be able to not only look passed the fear that imprisons our hearts, but God might lead you to walk into, through, and past those fears cause us to think we can fool ourselves, by foolin' everyone else into believin' that we do pray, we do fast, and we do give alms - so aren't' we special!

If you spend a few minutes staring into your own future, the dustiness that's to become of us – it means you're alive. And when you can admit that you do have a life, you're gonna want to ask yourself, "So, how shall I live?"

You see, if you give yourself a few minutes to notice the naked truth that we're gonna die and we're gonna live - it means that God is bringing you across that 12 inch wasteland between our head and our heart that we spend so much time trying to cover up.

What is the fear that makes the 12 inches between your head and heart an un-crossable chasm? Is it: fear of poverty - of not having enough - that makes you horde all you got; fear of relationships - of having to make room in your heart for another - that makes you wall off your love into so many empty chambers; fear of emptiness – of giving away too much -that makes you gorge yourself with all kinds of stuff, well beyond what anyone needs for wholesome nourishment; fear of aloneness - of not having place, or standing, or status, or legitimacy that makes you crawl over, put down, or shame folks different from you?

Those are big chasms to cross all by yourself. In the cross of Jesus all of our faults are exposed. There can be no more illusion that we're of one mind and one heart. Our schemes to cover the naked truth are exposed. The garments of guile we wear to make people think we have it together are exposed for the rag-tags they are.

Take two minutes today, so you're geared up to grow 12 inches in 40 days. When we do Lent, alone and together, we can remember that there's no chasm we have to cross alone -cuz Jesus already crossed it for us. And now: still able to fool ourselves, we're free; still failing, we're forgiven; still frightened, we're fearless; and, we get to walk along and cross on home.