December 6: When the Party's Over

 <a href="http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=149130124"> Isaiah 24:16 </a> (from the Daily Lectionary)

Reading today's Old Testament lesson, I couldn't help but wonder if the author had somehow gotten a sneak prophetic peak at 2010 America; at the national hangover we now find ourselves in since our good times have gone away -- and appear to be gone for good. We seem to be living in a new reality, one in which the United States is neither the most powerful nor the most prosperous nation, and where our collective quality of life can no longer be assumed to be on an upward track.

The party's over. And that's scary, as well as painful.

From an historical perspective, of course, this isn't at all surprising. Nations and cultures rise and fall all the time.

But it's a poignant reminder about putting our trust in princes. Or idealogues. Or systems. They all let us down in the end. They can't save us.

Second Sunday in Advent: Tidings of Comfort and Joy?

Isaiah 10:1-10  (Revised Common Lectionary for the Second Sunday in Advent, Year A)

Today I saw, in the display windows of a certain well-known tony department store, the beglittered words "Peace" and "Joy" incorporated among the bling of Christmas merchandise. And I found myself grumbling over the appropriation by Mammon of concepts and words associated with a religious observance. "What do peace and joy have to do with a sequined tank top?" I sniffed.

Of course, it's arguable how deeply we church folk have internalized the concepts of peace and joy in our own Christmas observance. Oftentimes those qualities are in short supply both in households and in the life of the Church. And sometimes, ironically, our de facto bah-humbug this time of year is a function of our concern over people's comprehending and respecting the significance of the Incarnation mystery. How dare Christians take Christmas so lightly? How dare the nominally observant show up in church on Christmas and Easter and expect those pitiful nods to religious observance to constitute a sufficient commitment to Christianity and to a faith community?  How dare the world of commerce use our special, holy day as a vehicle for selling stuff?

How does that high-minded peevishness play, I wonder, out there beyond the church-folk neighborhood?

I think of Francis of Assisi, that irrepressibly joyful ambassador for Christ at a time when the Church in Italy had fallen into a moribund state, creating a creche in the church at Greccio as a way to help the people, particularly the poor and uneducated, enter more deeply into the story he told them of the first Christmas. Accounts of that sermon speak of Francis' deep emotion in narrating the Christmas story, of his own wonder as he re-remembered the day when God became God With Us -- not only that, but God with the least of us --  in the person of Jesus.

What would the Church look like at Christmastime if we simply embraced the proposition of Emmanuel with that type of awe and happiness? Could we do a better job of communicating peace and joy than a department store?

December 4: Those Of Us Who Aren't Messiahs

This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” ²⁰He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah." -- John 4:20-21 (from the Daily Lectionary)

I remember once reading on a bumper sticker, or poster, or some such thing: "Jesus is Lord -- So You Don't Have To Be."

Most days, I find a reminder of that a real relief. I suck at being my own or anyone else's savior in any sense, metaphysically or practically.

It's also refreshing to find other people, like John the Baptist in our lesson, who have come to the same conclusion...especially these days, in a popular culture whose gurus of religion and self-help and financial savvy bamboozle us (for their own gain, of course) into self-aggrandizement of our own importance, our own goodness, our own capacity to control our own fortunes and influence others.

For that reason it doesn't hurt to remind ourselves, every so often, "I am not the Messiah." And, thanks be to God, we don't have to be.

December 3: On the Right Track

Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it." -- Isaiah 30:20-21 (from the Daily Lectionary)

I am writing this from somewhere in Los Angeles, a city where driving is not for sissies. Fellow Traveler and I found this out as soon as we ventured out of our rental-car parking lot today and began our attempt to find our kids' home. Streets swirled one into another; ended; started up again somewhere else. Adding to the tension of navigating this unfamiliar territory were the speed and aggression of the other cars on the streets; "Go fast or go home" is the motto around here. It was enough to rattle even a skilled and enthusiastic motorist like FT.

Fortunately for us we possessed fairly clear and straightforward directions for how to get to The Kids' house. "Even if you get a little off track," promised Son #2, "you'll still be close enough to us to find us eventually." And that proved to be the case, even though it took a second phone call to retrieve us from an off-course turn onto what we thought was the correct street and set us back on track.

Have you felt this way about life in general -- that it's a process of manuevering through strange and potentially dangerous territory? Have you ever wished for a kind of GPS to tell you, "This is the way"?

"Even so, come, Lord Jesus."

December 2: On Not Keeping Awake

Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour. -- Matthew 25:13 (from the Daily Lectionary)

You are perhaps wondering why I am posting Thursday's post on Friday morning.

It is because I could not keep awake yesterday. The very full Thanksgiving week, which included an in-law houseguest, plus preparations from a trip, plus a rather draining mission of mercy, finally got to me yesterday afternoon. Have you ever been so tired that it just hurt, physically and intellectually? That was me. I could feel my brain synapses slowly snapping off, one by one, like the lights in a small town after dark.

So I went to bed. At 6:30 pm. As soon as my head hit the pillow.

I woke up at 1:30. I feel fine now. Which is good, because we've got to catch a plane in a couple of hours.

I think sometimes the cares and distractions of this world -- good and bad alike -- can do the same thing to us spiritually that my busy holiday season has done to me physically: It wearies us so that we just can't absorb any more at any given time; so our souls shut down; our spiritual energy flatlines.

It's ironic, isn't it -- we need rest in order to keep awake; spiritually too.

December 1: When Scripture Rubs the Wrong Way

 For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you. -- Isaiah 54:10 (from the Daily Lectionary)

As you read the text above you might have found yourself humming "Though the Mountains May Fall," one of those toe-tapping 70's folk-Mass favorites.

And I might have been right there with you...except that I read the entre old Testament lesson for today. And I found myself feeling uncomfortable -- no; scratch that; make that perturbed -- at the text above it, comparing God's people to an abandoned wife whose husband comes back to her after an initial outburst of anger and rejection, promising never to leave her again.

I know; that's not the point of the lesson; it's an imperfect and culture-bound metaphor; get over it and get to the point of God's promise to stand by God's people forever.

But even as important as it is to understand Scripture in a contextual way, it's also important to acknowledge the lens through which it's read today. And speaking as a woman -- a woman who counts among her closest friends women who have been physically and emotionally abused by boyfriends and husbands -- this text makes me angry. It puts words in God's mouth that make God sound like an abusive spouse showing up on the women's-shelter doorstep with flowers in hand: "Sorry, baby. I won't do it again. 'Cause I love you. Trust me."

Some may counter that, considering the prophets' ongoing image of Israel as an unfaithful spouse, Isaiah's God comes off more like a love-besotted husband overlooking his floozy wife's flagrant infidelities than a capricious, manipulative abuser. Perhaps if I had been in a different frame of mind when I read the lectionary this morning that would have been my reaction as well. But, again, on any given day we all bring our own experiences and prejudices with us when we engage with Scripture.

I'm fortunate to be part of a tradition that is willing to ask hard questions of Scripture; where there is room to discuss texts through a critical lens. I'm also fortunate to be part of a tradition that uses a lectionary, a tool that forces us to engage with the texts of the day whether we happen to like them or not; it keeps us thinking, and honest. But geez...I wanted to enjoy writing my post today, and I don't; not at all.

And it made me not like a hymn that I've always enjoyed.

What does any of this have to do with Advent?

I don't know. Maybe it's a reminder that when God "came down," God came down into a world whose human citizens can only describe God in metaphors that reflect their own flaws, their own brokenness in dealing with one another.

November 30: A God Who Means Us Well

God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth." -- Genesis 9:12-13 (Daily Lectionary)

It was oh-dark-thirty this morning, at our regional airport.  We were saying our goodbyes to Fellow Traveler's sister, who was leaving for home after a week's stay with us. We carried her luggage to the baggage check-in; we led her to the security check, said our goodbyes, and watched as she joined other drowsy travelers in shedding their shoes, sorting their electronics and placing their various carry-on items in the regulation gray plastic bins.

This is the point in the airport at which paying customers of the airlines become de facto frenemies of the once friendly skies and its policing agency; where the solitcitous smiles and friendly banter of the check-in employees turns into glowering gruffness as TSA workers direct the traffic through their scanners.

We watched from a distance as Fellow Traveler's sister, who lives with chronic disabilities, fumbled with her things, as she tried to keep up with the faster people behind her in line. We watched as she was stopped midway through the scanning process...then pulled over to the side. A uniformed woman pulled Sister-in-Law's carry-on bag from the X-ray machine, opened it and started sorting through the contents with gloved hands as Sister-in-Law looked on, clearly distressed. Meanwhile, the plane had begun to board passengers with special needs, and we heard Sister-in-Law's name being paged. Oh, no, we thought.

The cause of all this?

A nebulizer; an appliance that people with severe COPD use to breathe. All medical appliances, it seems, are suspect these days -- even, I read later today, the prosthetics of ostomy patients like Fellow Traveler, that can be manhandled to the point of breakage by overzealous TSA inspectors during pat-downs.

Sister-in-law was finally given her carry-on bag as the general boarding was announced. We breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the corner toward the terminal.

As much as I want to be safe while I'm flying...I hate all this. I hate the default assumption that I am a "frenemy" until proven otherwise. I hate the feeling that Authority Figures are going to call me out for some slip-up in protocol...a stray penny in the toe of my sneaker (don't ask), a missed bottle of hand sanitizer in a bag.

Sometimes I find myself having the same feelings of fear and resentment toward God as I do toward the TSA folks at the airport. I feel as if I'm about to be yelled at for not following protocol -- or, worse yet, called out of line for screwing up in an especially egregious way, maybe even a reason I don't understand; or maybe just because. Some days I operate under the working proposition that God is like that gloved TSA agent picking over the baggage of my life, not liking what's there, while I stand helplessly by.

Sin does indeed make us frenemies of God and of one another. But in today's Old Testament lesson, the famous account of the rainbow after the Flood, we find a God who is not a frenemy of the earth or of humankind. Yes, God has a claim on the lives of Noah and his family, and of the whole remnant of the earth's living things; but the claim here is positive -- God's re-affirmation of the goodness of creation, and God's promise to stick with us no matter what. We see a God who, to borrow a phrase from Dan Erlander's Baptized We Live, means us well.

Matthew Fox (the theologian, not the actor) once noted that the difference between a mystic and a fundamentalist is that the latter believes that the Universe is in a conspiracy against us while a mystic believes that the conspiracy is on our behalf.

What if I allowed myself to think that God has been, is up to a conspiracy on my -- on our -- behalf?