Thursday, March 14, 2013

Lent 3 C

"God's hand"
 
Luke 13: 1-9
March 3, 2013
 
 
 
You have to be careful with people, because if they don't know the answer, they may well just make something up.

A few years ago I was with a group on a mission trip to Haiti, and we were flying from one side of the island to another in a little propeller plane driven by a missionary pilot.

The turbulence was horrible and once we landed we were all thankful to finally be on solid ground again.

 While unloading the baggage, one member of the group says to another, "I wasn't worried. Our pastor was head bowed in prayer the whole flight."

And I'm glad that when she saw me with my head bowed on that turbulent flight that's what she thought I was doing--because in reality I was putting my head down because I thought that would keep me from throwing up.

 

Sometimes we make up what we need to hear in the moment--and whether what we make up is the truth or not may not matter--because what we make up may be more comforting than the truth.

There was a group of Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices--this phrase isn't as descriptive as it could be--but what we may assume is that they were murdered by Pilate while on pilgrimage to make a sacrifice at the Temple in Jerusalem.

We want to know, "Why do bad things happen?" and so we ask.

Why did Pilate murder those people?

Why did that tower fall?

And how can I prevent the same thing from happening to me and the people I love?

Any answer to these questions will do, just so long as there is an answer, and the more an answer allows me to believe that the same thing won't happen to me the better.

 

An answer that the masses seemed to cling to explaining the murder of those Galileans and the tragic death of the eighteen was that of retribution for sin--that bad things happen to bad people, that suffering is deserved, that when people suffer, when they are punished, you need not worry about falling to the same fate as long as you keep your nose clean and you mind your own business.

 

And this is a Biblical enough answer. We read from Deuteronomy that disobedience results in punishment, not only for the disobedient, but the children, even unto the grandchildren.

But Jesus doesn't buy it. Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?

          When the crowd comes to Jesus pointing fingers, Jesus does not join in but calls the crowd to account for their own infractions.

"But unless you repent," he says.

"         Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did."

 

Christ calls us to focus not on what lies outside of our control.

He calls us not to accept simple or judgmental explanations that only build up self-righteousness.

Christ instead calls us to focus on what we are in control of, which is easier said than done.

 

Something that I love are nights when sleep comes so easy

I realize I am dreaming before I've put my book down.

 On those nights I place my book on my bedside table, turn out the lampThen I close my eyes and rest sweeps over me.

Something that I hate is a night when worry preoccupies me.

I worry about what people are saying about me, why so and so hasn't been coming to church, and why what's his name wrote such a hateful email and what I should do to change his attitude.

 

I worry about the environment and why it's so warm and what is this world coming to.

And I worry about who is hungry and who isn't and why would there be so much tragedy and when is someone going to do something about it?

It's often enough to keep me up, and sometimes it's even enough to keep me in bed the next morning.

With so much in the world that seems so bad, why not give up?

 

"Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?" The vineyard owner says to the gardener.

"Sir," the man replied, "leave it alone for one more year; and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down."

The scripture lesson ends with that, an ambiguous ending if ever there was one.

But if we have today, we can all assume we have been spared the ax, unlike the men, women, and children victim to the tragedies of life.

So what will you do with today?

You've been given another year thanks be to God, but should you use God's blessing as an opportunity to return to old ways, or will you be so bold as to seize this day that you have to do something different?

Whatever yesterday was like, disappointments, mistakes, you have been given the gift of today; and today the gardener is ready to work through you, nourishing you by his Spirit, forgiving you your sins by his almighty grace that you might bear fruit.

 

In this time of Lent, you are called to give thanks to the one who has spared you from the ax and given you the gift of today.

Do not squander this gift by returning to the ways of sin, but be about the practice of examination, not to the examination of your neighbors to fuel self-righteousness, but to the examination of something you can actually change: your own behavior.

 

The gift of today is for me the chance to become the kind of pastor who prays during a turbulent flight, the opportunity to be not the kind of pastor that I am but the kind of pastor that those mission trip participants thought I was.

 

The season of Lent is a time to focus not on who is worse or what is wrong with everybody else, for this season of Lent is time to focus on what is wrong with me, with you.

I tell you, unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.

Turn away from the ways of sin and death and towards the one who will bring new life.

The fig tree was spared the ax, and if you are hearing this, so were you.

But what will you do with today

 

 

 

Lent 2 C

 


 
Luke 9:28b-36
February 24, 2013
 
 
There was a lot of bad winter weather in the Midwest right now.
The heavy snow coupled with it's intensity, frightened those who were out on the roads.
Just as Luke writes about the disciples in today's Gospel, "they became frightened when they entered the cloud," so too, did drivers become fearful when confronting the cloud of snow.
What is it that frightens us?
What leads us to be afraid?
And on the other side of the equation, what is it that brings us hope?
In the Gospel, Peter, James and John were frightened when they entered the cloud.
Imagine driving down the road and encountering a wall of fog or the white-out of a blizzard.
Most of us have had that experience, where we grip tightly to the steering wheel as we feel the adrenalin rush, preparing us for what lies ahead.
When we get through the fog bank, or pull into our driveway, we feel that sudden release that tells us that everything will be all right.
Everything is suddenly clear.
Lent may just be the time for us to ask ourselves, "What frightens me about what God asks of me? What is it that God wants, that I'm not sure I want to do?
Is there something that resists what God desires for me and of me?"
Hard questions, and ones that we don't always ask.
This season may be the time for us to take a few moments for some clear-headed thinking about our relationship with God.
Some quiet time away from the distractions of the day ( when we get up in the morning, before going to bed and the kids already tucked away.)
may be just what we need to help us consider where we are at with God, before we are caught unawares in the cloud of unknowing .
If transfiguration is ever going to be more than a Gospel story for each of us, then we must keep asking these questions of ourselves.
God wants to transfigure us.
Are we willing to let God do it?


Lent 1 C


 
Luke 4:1-13
February 10, 2013
 
 
In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year's income to some holy use.
For Christians, to observe the forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year's days.
After being baptized by John in the river Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus.
During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves.
If you had to bet everything you have on whether there is a God or whether there isn't, which side would get your money and why?
When you look at your face in the mirror, what do you see in it that you most like and what do you see in it that you most deplore?
 If you had only one last message to leave to the handful of people who are most important to you, what would it be in twenty-five words or less?
 Of all the things you have done in your life, which is the one you would most like to undo?
 Which is the one that makes you happiest to remember?
 Is there any person in the world, or any cause, that, if circumstances called for it, you would be willing to die for?
 If this were the last day of your life, what would you do with it?
 
To hear yourself try to answer questions like these is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become.
It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end


Fourth Sunday Ordinary time

 
Luke 4:21-30
February 3, 2013
 
 
Anyone with children can relate to this parable.
Sadly, parents don’t always act like the father in the story.
On the occasions when they do, family restoration is always healthier.
But this parable is not only about the dysfunctional family home, but also about the dysfunctional community.
It is easy to point fingers at those rebellious sons and daughters who are in a faraway country and not see the rebellion in our own house.
Some  look at the fringe people in our parishes and say, "If only they would get more involved."
However, we overlook that we ourselves may be over-involved, in fact, self-involved, to the point of being dangerously close to the mind and heart of the older son.
 Some who experienced the transition from the pre-Vatican II church to the post-Vatican II church often sound like the older son when they complain of how things used to be:
they were always good, law-abiding Catholics;
now, the church is soft on the law, the liturgies are not private anymore and if we had to learn all that Latin then, why doesn't everybody have to learn it now?
It isn't fair!
Contrast those folks with some post-Vatican II people who sometimes self-righteously and arrogantly insist on rigid adherence to Vatican II.
They have replaced the old legalism with a more current, up-to-date, enlightened legalism.
Repentance and humility are lacking in both instances.
The parable of the prodigal invites us to accept Christ's offer of love-in-humiliation and to examine our hearts.
Do we, as community, stand humbly with the prodigal or arrogantly with the older son?