"The Long Defeat"-- Luke 18:1-8 -- October 20, 2013

The news of the suicides of three teen-age girls this week has been heart-breaking and sobering. The Banner reported that a student at Mt. Anthony Union Middle School had com-mitted suicide, and our thoughts and prayers have been not only with this young girl’s family but also with Tim Payne and his staff and students as they have dealt with this tragedy. Though the initial reports are that bullying was not involved with this death, it does appear to have been involved in the cases from Mt. Abraham High School and earlier this month in Florida. One of the bullyers in the Florida case, a 14-year-old girl, is reported to have admitted to bullying the student and not caring that the girl was now dead.

Though yesterday’s Banner carried a story about the violent and abusive atmosphere in which this 14-year-old bully has grown up, it is still distressing to hear what seems to be more and more common– no sense of remorse or responsibility for the harmful results of one’s actions, a sense of anomie, that is, lawlessness, no sense of a moral code, an utter disregard for the consequences of one’s actions. We find it in computer hackers who thrill at the chaos and devastation they can wreak from the privacy of their bedrooms or kitchen tables upon not only corporations and governments but also countless citizens whose home computers are infected. We find it in ultra-libertarians, who see their own individual liberty as being paramount, regardless of their impact on others. We hear echoes of it in students who say that cheating on a test or paper is perfectly fine, as long as they don’t get caught.

"In a certain city," Jesus began, "there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people." "There is no greater definition of impunity," writes one commentator, "than someone who has power and yet has no fear of God nor regard for humanity. [Mark Davis, Left Behind, 10/20/13] People like that, including the judge in this parable, are "living as if there is no moral order to the universe, life has no divine purpose, meaning, or consequences." This judge who had no "fear of God" had "no sense of accountability for serving justice, rather than [his] own self-interest."

Jesus goes on. "In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent’–probably a relative of her deceased husband or someone else trying to advantage of her vulnerability. "For a while [the judge] refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’"

These daily encounters between the widow and the judge would have been very public scenes. All legal proceedings took place at the city gate, not in closed courtrooms, so the widow’s grievances, and her wailing upon the judge, were heard and seen in the court of public opinion as well. The Torah was quite clear about the responsibility to care for widows, orphans, and foreigners, so the judge’s disregard for the Torah was as public as his disregard for the widow’s plight. He was in fact, being shamed by this widow’s persistence, and the black and blue marks on his face (which is what the Greek implies by the word for "wearing me out") were becoming badges of shame. It is finally to restore his honor–so essential in this culture-- that he grants the widow justice.

"Listen to what the unjust judge says," Jesus concludes. "And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them."

Luke’s community was tired of waiting for the return of Jesus, tired of waiting for God to bring justice and the fulfilment of history. So, Luke says, "Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." How much more tired then, we might ask, are we, some 2000 years later? When young men and women throw themselves off towers and bridges because of callous bullying...when aid to children’s food and education programs is cut off while corporate profits soar...when elephants are slaughtered and their tusks hacked off to be made into trinkets...when political candidates are bought and sold...when a few have infinitely more than enough while most have barely enough to survive–aren’t we entitled to being a little tired and tempted to give up hope?

In JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, "the Elves of Lothlorien admit that they’re losing their forest lands. But they battle on. They describe their struggle as ‘fighting the long defeat.’" (cited by Dan Clendenin, Journey with Jesus, 10/14/13) In the letters of Tolkein, the author describes the human struggle in similar terms. "Actually, I am a Christian [he writes], and indeed a Roman Catholic, so I do not expect ‘history’ to be anything but a ‘long defeat’–though it contains...some samples or glimpses of final victory." (Clendenin, op cit.)

In Tracy Kidder’s biography of Dr. Paul Farmer, entitled Mountains Beyond Mountains, Farmer describes the battle to bring health care to the poor of Haiti, using Tolkein’s phrase again:

"I have fought the long defeat [Farmer says] and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I’m not going to stop because we keep losing. Now I actually think sometimes we may win. I don’t dislike victory....We want to be on the winning team but at the risk of turning our backs on the losers, no, it’s not worth it. So you fight the long defeat." (Cited by Clendenin, op cit.)

Nelson Mandela, 27 years in a South African prison, Aung San Suu Kyi, under house arrest for so many years in Burma/Myanmar, Martin Luther King Jr., all fighting the long defeat, yet believing that, as King put it, "the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends towards justice." " Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart."

Over these past weeks, a crowd of people gathered on the lawn of the Capitol for what they called a Faithful Filibuster. Every day that Congress was in session over the shut-down, they engaged in prayer and a public reading of the 2000 or more verses in the Bible about poverty and justice. Their effect was powerful, and in the last days, three Republican Senators–Sen. Kelly Ayotte of New Hampshire, Sen. Lisa Murkowski of Alaska, and Sen. Susan Collins of Maine–joined them in prayer before walking into the Capitol to propose an end to the shutdown. The Faithful Filibuster was of course most powerful for those who participated in it. One woman who was on furlough came to observe, and joined in to read. "I thought I was walking over to observe something holy, but I had no idea that God was going to use this to encourage me. Being asked to step to a podium and read the word of God a day after I was told it wasn’t my place brought me to tears....We serve a God who has put passion in the hearts of all His children. If we silence even one of those voices, we are missing out on a precious piece of God’s redemptive plan for this side of Eden!" (Cited by Jim Wallis in Hearts and Minds, Sojourners, 10/17/13)

The word for "widow" in Hebrew means silent one, one unable to speak. Barbara Brown Taylor writes that the widow in this parable of Jesus "was willing to say what she wanted–out loud day and night, over and over–whether she got it or not, because saying it was how she remembered who she was. It was how she remembered the shape of her heart." (BBT, Home by Another Way, p. 201)

" Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." Don’t lose heart. Don’t forget the shape of your heart. In his sermon to the Southwest Association up at Grace Congregational Church in Rutland a few weeks ago, Jerry Handspicker spoke about our call and need to be faithful, not successful. We must not forget that the shape of our heart is relational, communal, longing for and in fact held in the heart of God. So we must continue to stand with those who have no voice, no power, even though the odds seem stacked against us. That’s why we walk in the CROP Walk this afternoon. So we must continue to "pray always," not just like brushing our teeth, as part of our spiritual hygiene program, as Barbara Taylor puts it, once in the morning and once at night, but always– always open to the heart of God, always listening for God’s whisper, always straining for a glimpse of the kingdom of God in our midst.

Jerry quoted 3 great warriors in this long defeat. Czech poet and leader Vaclav Havel wrote, "Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed."

And Thomas Merton, 20^th. C. saint and Trappist monk–"Do not depend on the hope of results...you may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no results at all, if not the opposite of what you expect. As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results but on the value, the rightness, the truth of the work itself...In the end it is the reality of personal relationship that saves everything."

And finally Margaret Wheatley, author and organizational consultant. Jerry quoted her, saying, "The only thing we can predict is that life will surprise us. We can’t see what is coming until it arrives, and once something has emerged, we have to work with what is. We have to be flexible and willing to adapt–we can’t keep pushing ahead, blustering on with our outdated plans and dreams. And it doesn’t do to deny what has emerged. We need to be present and willing to accept this new reality." Compelling words for the church.

" Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart."

The November issue of National Geographic magazine arrived yesterday, and the editorial addresses the question, "Why cover a place so full of sadness?" referring to their story on the ongoing violence in northern Nigeria. "Why cover a place...like northern Nigeria–a place so beset by insurgency and corruption, so full of sadness and violence? [the editor asks] "To tell stories that need to be told," answers Ed Kashi, the story’s photographer. To bear witness. To hope the story adds to the conversation. Perhaps to make a difference...Who will speak for this woman crossing the street? [the editor asks, referring to the picture of an anxious woman leading her family across the street on their way to church] Not the government. Not the terrorists who bomb churches, schools, and mosques. Violence, we know all too well, has no borders. It matters that we pay attention to and report these stories. ‘When I see someone struggling, it’s in my DNA to help,’ [photographer] Ed Kashi says. If only by bearing witness to a frightened woman crossing the street. (NG, Nov. 2013, p. 4)

Surely it is in our DNA to help, when we see someone struggling. " Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart." Remember the shape of your heart. Pray always. Do not lose heart.

May these words be hope and courage and strength for us, for the living of these days. Amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"Obedient, but not in love"-- Luke 17:11-19-- Oct. 13, 2013

 

You may have noticed that there’s a whole lot of blaming and complaining and griping going on these days. "Missiles of righteousness," to use a phrase from Eugene Peterson, are being launched from one side of Congress and one end of the Mall to the other. Op ed pieces and radio and tv commentators do not lack for material, as the drama in Washington continues day by day. But, of course, it’s not just taking place in Washington, but also here in our own community, where levels of anxiety are rising amongst those whose benefit checks are held up and in jeopardy, those whose children are enrolled in Headstart, those on furlough, those whose already meager food stamp benefits are soon to be reduced even more. Congress’s positive ratings, if you can even call them that, are hovering somewhere around 5%.

So, it’s easy to get caught up in the blame game, the fist shaking, the hair-pulling. And doesn’t that make it all better? Doesn’t that make you feel better? I have to say it’s not working too well for me. There’s a certain pit in my stomach when I wake up to the news on our clock radio alarm. There are certain voices that I just have to turn off when I hear them on the radio or TV. We hear plenty of "us" and "them" talk, words like "extremists," even "terrorists," the gap seems to get wider and wider and my level of frustration and even anger and disgust rises.

It was into just such a boundary region between hostile sides that Luke says Jesus and his disciples were making their way to Jerusalem, "going through the region between Samaria and Galilee," separated by ancient and deep hostilities. And just on the edge of one of the villages, 10 lepers approached. It was a mixed group, made up of Jews and Samaritans, but they were bound together in their outsider status. The skin disease was not discriminating–it took Samaritan fingers and toes as eagerly as it took Galilean ones. With their prescribed rags and tinkling warning bells, their mouths covered with whatever was left to cover with, you couldn’t really tell the difference between a leper from Galilee or a leper from Samaria.

So, "keeping their distance, [as Torah demanded], they called out, saying ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!’ When he saw them, he said to them, ‘Go and show yourselves to the priests.’ And as they went, they were made clean." There was no laying on of hands here, no making of spittle and rubbing it on eyes or ears, not really even words like, "You are healed." Just the instruction to go and show themselves to the priests in the Temple, who could pronounce them clean or unclean, and give them certificates to get back to their lives, if they passed the test.

So, obediently, they did as they were told. The ten headed down the road to the Temple, and it was only then, as they were walking, that they noticed they were healed. Strength returned to limbs shriveled and shortened; hands stretched out in fullness long gone; itching, scaling skin became smooth and pink. And the nine quickened their pace, racing to the Temple to receive their clean bills of health and to get on with their lives.

But the other one realized as he ran and felt himself becoming whole that the priests in the Temple would have no clean bill for him because there was no such thing as a "clean Samaritan." He wouldn’t even be allowed inside. He would not be given back his life through any ritual, but he knew what relationship could make him whole, and the joy of it all–the healing, the healer, the Power that had shot through his body with the words of Jesus–well, the joy of it made him leap around in the air and head back the other way, back to the Source of his healing and wholeness, and in a great, loud, slobbery show of emotion, he prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet, praising God and thanking Jesus.

It was then that Jesus wondered out loud–"Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well," or, as the Greek says, "your faith has saved you."

Where were the other nine? At the Temple, Jesus, just where you told them to go. They were being obedient. "Ten behaved like good lepers, good Jews [writes Barbara Brown Taylor]; only one, a double loser [the leper and the Samaritan] behaved like a man in love." (Taylor, The Preaching Life, p. 110)

Taylor tells the story of her urban Episcopal Church in Georgia, where she was one of the priests on staff.

At this church

[she writes] we leave the sanctuary open five days a week from nine to five, like the banks and businesses that surround us. We like to think of it as a peace offering to our corporate neighbors...a kind of oasis in the middle of the city...But as you also know, the city is full of all kinds of people, and not everyone comes in here with godly intentions. So we have installed a closed circuit television camera to keep an eye on the place, to make sure no one runs off with the candlesticks or does anything unseemly in the pews, like drink or sleep or embrace. You have got to be sensible about these things.

The monitor sits beside the receptionist’s desk in the parish office, where the volunteer on the desk can keep watch over the altar and its furnishings. One day last fall the receptionist on duty became concerned. "There’s a man lying face down on the altar steps," she said. "I wouldn’t bother you, but he’s been there for hours. Every now and then he stands and raises his arms toward the altar, and lies down again. Do you think he’s all right?" Four priests and several staff members conferred over the matter and elected the parish superintendent to go check on the man. As he did so, we all huddled around the monitor to watch. Our envoy appeared on the screen, walked up to the man, exchanged a few words with him, and returned to the parish office.

"He says he’s praying."

"Aha," we said, thanking him for this information.

It went on for days. Every morning around eleven the receptionist would look up from her desk and there he would be, prostrated before the altar, his hair in knots, his worn clothes covered with dustballs from the floor. The sexton cleaned around him; the altar guild tried not to disturb him when they came to polish the silver; the florist asked if he should leave the flowers somewhere else but we said no, just step over the man and put them on the altar where they belong.

We discussed the problem at staff meeting. "Should we do something?" someone asked. "I don’t know," said someone else, "what do you think?

"I think I want to get on that guy’s prayer list," one of us said, and we all laughed.

Finally it was Sunday, and my turn to celebrate communion at the early service. He was there when I arrived, blocking my path to the altar, and I did not know what to do. Maybe he was drunk, surely he was crazy–what would happen if I asked him to move? Approaching him as if I were approaching a land mine, I tapped him on the shoulder. He was so skinny, so dirty. "Excuse me," I said, "but there’s going to be a service in here in a few minutes. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to move.’

He lifted his forehead from the floor and spoke with a heavy Haitian accent. "That’s okay," he said, rising and dusting himself off in one dignified motion. Then he left, and he never came back. The 8 o’clock service began on time. The faithful took their places and I took mine. We read our parts well. We spoke when we were supposed to speak and were silent when we were supposed to be silent. We offered up our symbolic gifts, we performed our bounden duty and service, and there was nothing wrong with what we did, nothing at all. We were good servants, careful and contrite sinners who had come for our ritual cleansing, but one of us was missing. The foreigner was no longer among us; he had risen and gone his way, but the place where he lay on his face for hours–making a spectacle of himself–seemed all at once so full of heat and light that I stepped around it on my way out, chastened if only for that moment by the call to a love so excessive, so disturbing, so beyond the call to obedience that it made me want to leave all my good works behind. [Taylor, op cit., pp. 110-12]

"Were not ten made clean?" Jesus asked. "But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well. Your faith has saved you."

Nine were obedient. One was in love. Where are we in this story? I know where I put most of my energy–it’s into being obedient. And there’s nothing wrong with that, I think, unless you find that you never do anything simply for the love of it, simply for the love of God. I am a product of those beloved "Frozen Chosen," good Protestants who know about obedience and duty and doing things properly and in order, but I confess to sharing Janice Campbell’s complaint from last week’s ‘epistle,’ that sometimes "I just can’t stand it!" When was the last time I – or you–or any of us, were overcome by love and did something impetuous, even "wild and crazy", for Love? How often do we turn aside from the Road of Obedience to say "thank you"? My guess is that we who are still in the institutional church are perceived at best to be obedient, but when was the last time we were accused of being in love?

"The root of joy," writes Brother David Stendl-Rast, "is gratefulness...it is not joy that makes us grateful; it is gratitude that makes us joyful." What if we were to notice the blessings, the beauty, in our daily lives? Noticed them and named them? Might we experience not only blessing but joy? It’s a well-proven fact–writing down 3-5 things for which you’re grateful every night for at least a couple of weeks will make you happier. Try writing a thank-you letter to someone who has made a difference in your life, and, if they’re still alive, send it to them. Better yet, if they’re within phone or physical proximity, read it to them yourself. See not just how good it makes them feel but how good it make you feel.

The one man who not only noticed he was healed but came back to name his blessing and give thanks for it received a double blessing. "Your faith has made you whole," Jesus said. "Your faith has saved you." Nine were healed. One was saved, made whole. That’s what the others missed.

Gratitude frees us from fear and anxiety, it connects us to something larger. "If the only prayer you make is ‘thank you,’" the mystic Meister Eckhart said, "then that is enough." If we try to shape every prayer into a prayer of thanks–even those where the thanks seems premature or even naive-- it has a way of changing us, even saving us. "Thank you, God, for already being with me when I make that presentation." Instead of, "O God, help me make that presentation!" Feel the difference? "Thank you, God, for the healing you intend for Cindy." Rather than, "O God, please heal Cindy." Sometimes it’s a real challenge, especially when we know what we want to happen. Giving thanks to God for already being in the midst of our prayer concern bridges the gap between us and God.

And speaking of gaps, can you imagine what might happen if every discussion between John Boehner and Harry Reid began with each man thanking the other for something–maybe 3 things-- they had done? If those on the left and right began their conversation with each other with, "I appreciate your concern for those who are without access to health care," and "I agree that we need to build on Americans’ compassion and care for each other"? It may seem a little forced or gimmicky, but what have we got to lose?

"Were not ten made clean?" Jesus asked. "But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" Then he said to him, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well. Your faith has saved you."

May we–just once–and then maybe another time–get so caught up in gratitude that we do something absurdly extravagant, something even wild and crazy, that we are overcome with joy and love. People may start talking about us, you know... and we just might be saved.

Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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"The Face of Jesus"-- October 6, 2013

From the very beginning of the movement, followers of Jesus have been sharing their experiences of him and sending letters to encourage one another. "Epistles" was the word the tradition used, and the apostle Paul, of course, was one of the great epistle writers. His students and co-workers, in fact, would later write epistles, using "Paul’s" name, and it wasn’t thought of as plagiarism or copyright infringement, it was just keeping the energy and the fire going.

This morning we have an "epistle" from one of our church members who has moved away but was an important part of our church’s ministry while she and her family lived here. Janice Campbell was our Ministries Coordinator for a year, back a few years when we first tried out that position. She and her husband Ty and son Quincy now live in Virginia, but keep in touch through the wonders of the internet.

It is through that medium that Janice’s epistle comes to us today. When I read it, I thought immediately that this was a message that would be wonderful to hear on this World Communion Sunday–

The Face of Jesus

Recently I have been pondering how we usually celebrate the Lord’s Supper. And by "we", I mean the Protestant church in general with the little cups or little pieces of bread. How we stand in line, taking turns. It’s all very polite. We’re all very solemn and respectful.

I just can’t stand it. It drives me crazy.

I’m thinking of the movie of Charles Dickinson’s, "The Christmas Carol", the one with George C. Scott. When the Ghost of Christmas Present shows up, he’s like a huge Viking having a feast. And the feast is one of total Abundance. There’s food everywhere. And when he drinks wine from his goblet, it rolls down his chin. Very messy. But so full of life, it takes my breath away just to think of it. That’s how I want to celebrate.

By the way, Big J and the Boys were celebrating the Passover meal. When we celebrate the "Last Supper", we say, "In remembrance of me." When I’m remembering Jesus, I can’t be polite and solemn. I have to feel the gusto, the exuberance. And I think Jesus didn’t mean for us to only remember him at this "Lord’s Supper". I think he meant to think of him constantly, all the time, whenever we eat, whenever we drink, whenever we breathe.

OK. This brings me to last week. I was having a glass of wine, or two. And I was thinking of all this and I decided to dip bread into the wine as my own little form of Communion. And when I did, when I looked up, there was the face of Jesus. An alive face. I could see his head. No body. Just the head. It sounds weird but it didn’t seem so at the time. It was like looking into a different dimension. Seeing a live person.

He was gorgeous. Dark hair, dark beard. I hadn’t known he was so dynamic, so charismatic. I can see how everyone who saw him was drawn to him. No one could resist him. Even his enemies could not resist him, that’s why they hated him so.

He was so vivacious. And he was the personification of living in the present. He had no fear, no judgment. Just an incredible compassion and understanding. He was not particularly humble. That was not an issue.

I had never seen that face before. And I’ve never come close to seeing anyone so full of life. It wasn’t like he appreciated life or that he was in awe. It was like he breathed in life with every breath. He was in love with life. He reveled in it...

I do think it was really him. And "Jesus" is the perfect name for him. I have the feeling he had become the quintessential of himself. If we are to be like him, I sure have a hell of a long way to go.

PS…Upon reflection.

I’ve taken time to consider the face I saw…and what I see in the face. As a portrait artist, I’m experienced in detecting personalities from just looking at faces. And there are some amazing characteristics in his face.

I’ve noticed that in writing about this, my verb tense changes back in forth from past to present within the same sentence; which is a no-no for writers. You are supposed to maintain the same verb tense throughout the entire paragraph. But it occurs to me, that this experience has made me aware of Jesus being in the past and in the present at the same time. What I saw, is what I continue to see. I saw him in the past, but he is in the present as well. He transcends time.

When I said he had become the quintessential Jesus, what I saw was that the Christ was fully manifested within him, within the person of Jesus. And that is what caused him to be the fully evolved Jesus. And that is how we are to be like him. Not like Jesus, but like the fully evolved us; with the Christ fully manifested within us. And that will make me the quintessential Janice. Not Jesus. Not Abraham. Not Moses. But Janice.

There was no part of Jesus that was not fully evolved. No more "learning experiences". He was complete. Perfected.

I mentioned earlier that there was no fear. That’s true. I’ve never come upon this in anyone before. Not a smidgen of fear anywhere in him. Makes me remember, "Perfect love casts out fear." That’s true. That is what he had become.

When I say he loved life, he lived life like how little children live life. Not only completely in the moment, but he embraced everything he experienced. No holding back. He jumped into each experience whole heartedly. No judgment on if it was positive or negative. It didn’t matter. It was life. I’m thinking that is how he approached the cross, he even embraced that experience. He embraced each of life’s experiences simply because it was part of being alive, even dying. He shied away from nothing. He feared nothing.

Because of this, little kids and little puppies ran to him, knocking him over. They laughed together and rolled in the grass together. You know how they say you can judge a person by how little kids or how dogs react to them? He was totally approachable.

And he was connected. You know how there are times when you feel connected to nature? Maybe during a walk in the woods or at the ocean? He was like that all the time. Maybe that is how he could calm the sea…he just asked and the sea was happy to comply.

People felt this connection and felt his connection with them. When he looked into your face, you knew that he truly saw you, saw who you are and loved you. There was no need for you to clean up or become a better person. He loves you truly, deeply right now exactly as you are in this moment. Amazing.

Janice Campbell

Summer 2013

May we taste this sweetness, drink in this overflowing life, and live in this love as we share this meal together. So may we be fully alive, to the glory of God forever. Amen.

–ML-C

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The Face of Jesus by Janice Campbell

 

The Face of Jesus  by Janice Campbell

Recently I have been pondering how we usually celebrate the Lord’s Supper. And by “we”, I mean the Protestant church in general with the little cups or little pieces of bread. How we stand in line, taking turns. It’s all very polite. We’re all very solemn and respectful.
I just can’t stand it. It drives me crazy.

I’m thinking of the movie of Charles Dickinson’s, “The Christmas Carol”, the one with George C. Scott. When the Ghost of Christmas Present shows up, he’s like a huge Viking having a feast. And the feast is one of total Abundance. There’s food everywhere. And when he drinks wine from his goblet, it rolls down his chin. Very messy. But so full of life, it takes my breath away just to think of it. That’s how I want to celebrate.
By the way, Big J and the Boys were celebrating the Passover meal. When we celebrate the “Last Supper”, we say, “In remembrance of me.” When I’m remembering Jesus, I can’t be polite and solemn. I have to feel the gusto, the exuberance. And I think Jesus didn’t mean for us to only remember him at this “Lord’s Supper”. I think he meant to think of him constantly, all the time, whenever we eat, whenever we drink, whenever we breathe.

OK. This brings me to last week. I was having a glass of wine, or two. And I was thinking of all this and I decided to dip bread into the wine as my own little form of Communion. And when I did, when I looked up, there was the face of Jesus. An alive face. I could see his head. No body. Just the head. It sounds weird but it didn’t seem so at the time. It was like looking into a different dimension. Seeing a live person.

He was gorgeous. Dark hair, dark beard. I hadn’t known he was so dynamic, so charismatic. I can see how everyone who saw him was drawn to him. No one could resist him. Even his enemies could not resist him, that’s why they hated him so.

He was so vivacious. And he was the personification of living in the present. He had no fear, no judgment. Just an incredible compassion and understanding. He was not particularly humble. That was not an issue.
I had never seen that face before. And I’ve never come close to seeing anyone so full of life. It wasn’t like he appreciated life or that he was in awe. It was like he breathed in life with every breath. He was in love with life. He reveled in it.
I don’t quite know what to do with this. I would love to share it and talk about it with someone. Ty is the only one I can. And I have appreciated his reaction.
I do think it was really him. And “Jesus” is the perfect name for him. I have the feeling he had become the quintessential of himself. If we are to be like him, I sure have a hell of a long way to go.
PS…Upon reflection.

I’ve taken time to consider the face I saw…and what I see in the face. As a portrait artist, I’m experienced in detecting personalities from just looking at faces. And there are some amazing characteristics in his face.
I’ve noticed that in writing about this, my verb tense changes back in forth from past to present within the same sentence; which is a no-no for writers. You are supposed to maintain the same verb tense throughout the entire paragraph. But it occurs to me, that this experience has made me aware of Jesus being in the past and in the present at the same time. What I saw, is what I continue to see. I saw him in the past, but he is in the present as well. He transcends time.

When I said he had become the quintessential Jesus, what I saw was that the Christ was fully manifested within him, within the person of Jesus. And that is what caused him to be the fully evolved Jesus. And that is how we are to be like him. Not like Jesus, but like the fully evolved us; with the Christ fully manifested within us. And that will make me the quintessential Janice. Not Jesus. Not Abraham. Not Moses. But Janice.
There was no part of Jesus that was not fully evolved. No more “learning experiences”. He was complete. Perfected.

I mentioned earlier that there was no fear.  That’s true.  I’ve never come upon this in anyone before.  Not a smidgen of fear anywhere in him.  Makes me remember, “Perfect love casts out fear.”  That’s true.  That is what he had become.

When I say he loved life, he lived life like how little children live life.  Not only completely in the moment, but he embraced everything he experienced.  No holding back.  He jumped into each experience whole heartedly.  No judgment on if it was positive or negative.  It didn’t matter.  It was life.  I’m thinking that is how he approached the cross, he even embraced that experience.  He embraced each of life’s experiences simply because it was part of being alive, even dying.  He shied away from nothing.  He feared nothing.

Because of this, little kids and little puppies ran to him, knocking him over.   They laughed together and rolled in the grass together.  You know how they say you can judge a person by how little kids or how dogs react to them?  He was totally approachable.

And he was connected.  You know how there are times when you feel connected to nature?  Maybe during a walk in the woods or at the ocean?  He was like that all the

time.  Maybe that is how he could calm the sea…he just asked and the sea was happy to comply.    

People felt this connection and felt his connection with them.  When he looked into your face, you knew that he truly saw you, saw who you are and loved you.   There was no need for you to clean up or become a better person.  He loves you truly, deeply right now exactly as you are in this moment.   Amazing.

 

 

Janice Campbell

Summer 2013

 

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"Across the Great Divide" --Amos 6:1a, 4-7, Luke 16: 19-31 -- Sept. 29, 2013

 

If you didn’t make it onto Forbes Magazine’s list of the 400 richest people in America or the top 100 billionaires in the world, (or even if you did) you can go to a website entitled "globalrichlist.com," enter your income, and find out where you stand in relation to the other 7 billion or so inhabitants of the planet. I did just that–entered an approximation of what Bruce and I make annually, and it turns out that together we are in the top .07% of the richest people on earth. A pastor and a school teacher, living in Vermont, make more than 99.93% of the people in the world. I find that amazing–and more than a little troubling. It makes me re-evaluate what it means to be "human"–not so much the qualities, the longings, the emotions, the abilities of human beings, but rather what "the human experience" is like for the majority of humans. My life is obviously not the standard, but the exception.

Is the pain in the gut and light-headedness of hunger the typical human experience? Is the heartbreak of loss of children to hunger or disease what the majority of parents experience? Is living amidst squalor, crowded in living spaces with entire extended families, without furniture, the most prevalent form of human habitation? Whatever the physical circumstances–and I know there is no one "typical" or "average" description–at the very least, the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters use far fewer resources and have a vastly smaller carbon footprint than Bruce and I do, and we think we’re pretty conscientious.

In the United States, the top 5% of the population has not only weathered but prospered in this latest economic downturn, while the other 95% have fared far worse. Here in Bennington, the number of homeless people and folks needing some form of public assistance has increased, while the number of resources available has not. When I came to Bennington 18 years ago, the first homeless census I remember turned up about 36 homeless individuals on a given day in February. Today there are over 400.

"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen," Jesus said, "and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores."

Jesus’ first century hearers would not have assumed right off that the rich man was unrighteous and Lazarus a poor, but noble man. In fact, wealth was more often seen in that culture as a sign of God’s favor, poverty a result simply of birth or even punishment. The rich man doesn’t abuse Lazarus, doesn’t send his servants out to remove him from the gate. The rich man just doesn’t see Lazarus.

Then, as happens to the best of us, both men die. "The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham," Jesus says, and "the rich man also died and was buried."

Jesus is using a folk tale known in a variety of versions in a variety of places in the ancient world . It was probably originally Egyptian, one commentator says (Alyce McKenzie, Edgy Exegesis, 9/29/13), and the Greek name Lazarus has the same root consonants [Hebrew has no vowels] as Eliezer, referred to in Genesis as one of Abraham’s servants. There are rabbinic tales that have Eliezer walking the earth to report to Abraham how his children are observing the Torah directives regarding widows, orphans, and the poor.

So now we find the rich man in Hades, the Greek version of the underworld, being tormented, and he looks up and finally sees Lazarus far away, at the side of, or in the bosom of, Abraham. Jesus is not trying to describe the geography of the afterworld or to tell us how to get to heaven or hell. He’s using this familiar tale to make a far more important point about how to live right now, right here.

The rich man calls out, "Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames." He still doesn’t see Lazarus as any more than a servant to ease his discomfort, and addresses Abraham as "Father" to claim his religious bloodline. Abraham reminds him of all the good things the rich man had received and experienced in his life and all the hard and evil things Lazarus had experienced, and now, as throughout Luke’s gospel, there is a great reversal of fortunes. Remember Mary’s song when she is pregnant–"God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty."

The "great chasm" that separates Abraham and Lazarus from the rich man is less a prescription, a cruel punishment for those in torment who can see bliss across the way, than it is a description–there is simply a great divide between rich and poor. It is not simply a matter of money, but rather the "love of money," as the letter to Timothy says, "which is the root of all evil," and the real evil is the blindness it causes. One commentator writes, "Jesus knows that it’s true about money and possessions–they can grab us in ways we don’t want to think about." (Kate Huey, Sermon Seeds, 9/29/13)

Really seeing the poor, getting up close and personal, so to speak, about what their life is like, what it means to be without dental or medical or psychiatric care, what it means to be without access to showers or laundry facilities, really seeing them makes us uncomfortable. It might even offend us. Aren’t there rules for "social engagement," as they say, as our parents may have taught us?

Amos was a herdsman from the north of Israel, plucked away by God from herding his sheep and cattle and dressing his sycamore trees, to come south and warn the kings of Israel that their abandonment of God’s ways and their reliance upon foreign powers was about to result in a major disaster. This smelly, dirty shepherd was about as welcome in the halls of King Uzziah as a crazy homeless man would be in any of our homes or churches today. "Alas for those who are at ease in Zion," he croaked. When the king told him to get out and go away, Amos essentially said, "No can do." "I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; [he said] but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, and the Lord took me from following the flock, and said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel."

"Alas," Amos said, "for those who lie on beds of ivory and lounge on their couches, [who] are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph! Therefore they shall now be the first to go into exile, and the revelry of the loungers shall pass away." And, indeed, the elite were the first to be carried off into exile by the Babylonians. Sending Amos away, out of their sight, was not going to save them.

Then the rich man said, "Then, father, I beg you to send [Lazarus] to my father’s house– for I have five brothers–that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’"

The actress Susan Sarandon is passionate about a number of justice issues and often portrays characters who illustrate those issues. You may have seen her as Sister Helen Prejean in the movie "Dead Man Walking," for example. One morning she was interviewed on the Today Show, but wanted to talk less about her most recent film and more about the justice issues she was concerned about. When asked why, she said, "My work is imagination, and that leads to empathy, and empathy leads to activism; I’m just doing what a citizen is supposed to do." (Cited by Kate Huey, op cit.)

Jesus’ work was also about imagination–imagining the kingdom of God in parables like this one today, which can lead us to empathy and then on to activism, what a citizen of God’s realm is supposed to do. How many of you were surprised to hear about the number of homeless people in our community? How many were surprised to learn of the number of people involved in selling drugs here, let alone the number of people who buy from them? Do we see these people in our daily travels? Or do our daily travels just not put us in places where homeless people are or drug dealers deal? That’s not necessarily a criticism, it may just be a description. The chasm is wide.

But Episcopal priest Suzanne Guthrie talks about the "chasm of consciousness." How often do we choose not to notice or not to know who or what is on the other side of that divide because it’s just easier to go about our lives if we don’t know? Guthrie talks about not really wanting to know what happens to the waste or plastic she uses or who produces those products, how and who produces her clothes, where the materials that make up her cell phone or her computer come from–like the mineral coltan which comes from war-torn and rape-infested Congo. "Why go out of my way to know these things when I could have a clear conscience by not knowing? (So easy in our culture!) [she writes]. Why would I rather know and feel guilty and miserable than not know and accept what is easy and at hand? I suppose it has to do with being alive. I want to be alive. I want to continually awake to Reality. And I suppose it has to do with love. I share this human adventure for good and evil. But I’d better know the evil if I’m luxuriating in the good." (Suzanne Guthrie, View from the Edge of the Enclosure, Proper 21) And so she lifts up all these concerns in her prayers, she financially supports hospitals and clinics which are helping the women rape victims in the Congo, she lives with the discomfort and does what she can to bridge the chasm.

We are neither the rich man nor Lazarus. They are both caricatures in a parable to make a point. Though we may be wealthier than most people in the world, in our immediate context, many of us struggle to pay our basic bills, to put food on the table, we do not live extravagantly. But we can at least get the message of this parable. We are more like the 5 brothers back in their father’s house, who have Moses and the prophets, plus all our modern-day prophets and artists, plus the gospel of Jesus Christ, to warn us about the perils of letting money and possessions blind us to the needs of others, to tell us that the abundant life which Jesus said he came to give us is far more than money and stuff and power, which is how our culture would describe "abundance." Abundant life is about relationship-- with others, no matter how alike or apparently not alike they are to us. Abundant life is about relationship with God and our true selves. It’s about service and wholeness, laughter and tears. It is a scientific fact, as Natalie Angier wrote in the NY Times: "Hard as it may be to believe in these days of infectious greed and sabers unsheathed, scientists have discovered that the small, brave act of cooperating with another person, of choosing trust over cynicism, generosity over selfishness, makes the brain light up in quiet joy." (Cited by Huey, op cit.) Abundant life is being fully alive, to the glory of God. May we choose life and choose it abundantly. Amen, and amen.

Rev. Mary H. Lee-Clark

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