Category Archives: Uncategorized
Reflection for Holy Tuesday
A Reflection for Holy Monday
Unpasteurized Faith
I didn’t preach on the story of Lazarus’s resurrection today because I was finishing a sermon series, but I have one thought on the story that was stirred up when I was reading the gospel. This came from the only time I’ve preached on this text.
In seminary, in a preaching class, I gave a sermon as Martha in this story. I began this story with how angry I was at Jesus and his absence at Lazarus’s death. Knowing he could have healed my brother, he didn’t even choose to be there to comfort him in his hour of need. Angry. The text reads:
When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Your brother will rise again.’ Martha said to him, ‘I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.’ (John 11:20-27, NRSV)
Whither the Good News? (Sermon 4/10)
Sunday Prayer: Lazarus Edition
Merciful God, on this day there are people around the world standing next to graves and outside tombs.
They will not see their Lazarus again in this life.
Surround them with the presence and consolation of your Spirit.
Strengthen their neighbors to share the burden of grief.
Help the flame of resurrection hope to continue to burn in their hearts.
Be with those whose grief is masked by anger, hurt, fear or pressure to put on a good face.
Send your Spirit to cradle them in their fragility, so that they bend, but do not break.
God in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.
Book Review: Half the Church (Carolyn Custis James)
Carolyn Custis James begins Half the Church by detailing her horrified reaction while reading Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide (Kristof/WuDunn). As she details the way women and girls are sold, raped, murdered, and diminished around the world, she wonders not only why the Church universal does not rise up and decry these actions, she begins to wonder what is keeping us from surging forward and empowering women around the world. Thus, Half the Church: Recapturing God’s Global Vision for Women was born.
When God created human beings in his “image” and “likeness”, he was designating us as his representatives on the earth… As [God’s] image bearers, we speak and act on [God’s] behalf. This is not only about Christians. Every human being is God’s image bearer… Every human being has a strategic role in God’s purposes for the world. Every human being possesses a derived significance- grounded in [God’s self].” (53)
A purity message is utterly devastating to the one in four women who by eighteen has been sexually abused. Women who struggle with sexual identity, who march to the beat of a different drummer, who choose not to marry or have children, whose marriages don’t and will never fit the “norm” no matter how hard they try, or who have been ravaged by abuse, violence and trafficking are left without a place- as women- in God’s story.
When You Won’t See It (Genesis 19)
Sunday Poem: The 23rd Psalm
The God of love my shepherd is,
And he that doth me feed:
While he is mine, and I am his,
What can I want or need?
He leads me to the tender grass,
Where I both feed and rest;
Then to the streams that gently pass:
In both I have the best.
Or if I stray, he doth convert
And bring my mind in frame:
And all this not for my desert,
But for his holy name.
Yea, in death’s shady black abode
Well may I walk, not fear:
For thou art with me; and thy rod
To guide, thy staff to bear.
Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine,
Even in my enemies’ sight;
My head with oil, my cup with wine
Runs over day and night.
Surely thy sweet and wondrous love
Shall measure all my days;
And as it never shall remove,
So neither shall my praise.
— George Herbert
Herbert, George. “Twenty-Third Psalm.” The Poets’ Book of Psalms. Laurance Wieder, ed. HarperCollins Publishers: NY, NY. 1995. p. 32
I Miss You
Tonight I was reflecting on the prophet Samuel at the beginning of 1 Samuel 16. God asks Samuel how long he intends to grieve for Saul. If you only pick up in the middle of Samuel, it’s easy to forget that Saul is still alive at this point. He’s just departed so greatly from God’s vision (and Samuel’s) for him, that God is asking Samuel to get out his anointing kit and go get another king for Israel.
Grieving someone who is still living is hard and painful.
In this Lenten season, I told myself I wanted to focus on forgiveness with regard to a specific situation in my life. In 2009, I had a couple very traumatic life events and someone to whom I was very close abruptly left my life without explanation or goodbye. I haven’t heard from or seen this person since.
I’ve been picking at the scab over this emotional wound. Playing over the events in my mind, wondering what I could have changed, what I should have anticipated, what was my fault, what wasn’t.
This wasn’t an acquaintance. This was a very, very close friend. Someone with whom I had laughed, made plans, traveled, stayed up late, had adventures, trusted with secrets. This person was the only non-medical person present with me at the birth of my son and the first non-medical person to hold him. Five days later, the person left my life… apparently forever.
How long should I grieve this friendship, this bond, the plans that will never come to fruition? Do I cut off the branch, believing it will never bear fruit again?
This grief is complicated by additional longing for other people. Additional grieving of living persons. Following a significant church decision last year, several people left our congregation. While I support the decision, I cannot deny that the loss of the members has grieved me. Deeply.
It’s not the lower numbers or giving. I miss the laughter that used to echo the halls, the hands that were always there to set up table, the loud amen that let me know a sermon point had hit home.
We still talk about the people who have left. Airing their stories. Pushing their names out of our mouths and remembering the life we shared together. And I don’t think I am the only one who grieves, who misses friends and neighbors.
When people die, we may well struggle to make our peace with them and with death. The grieving goes on beyond what we expect and, often, beyond what we imagined we could handle. When we are grieving the living, it’s hard to know what to say or how to frame our feelings.
I once heard it said, regarding grief, that your need to discuss it goes on beyond other people’s ability to listen to it.
I’ve found that to be very true.
I think of Samuel, pouring oil over young David’s head at God’s command. As his hands performed the task, I think his mind probably went back to the last time he’d done the very same thing. He thought of Saul and there was the familiar accompanying twinge.
I miss you.
