Acts 2:1-21
We call Pentecost the “birthday of the church” and in fact, some churches go all out and have cake to celebrate the day. It is indeed the church’s birthday today. Because Pentecost is when the disciples got their act together and took the show on the road, as it were, infused with the Holy Spirit.
That account we all just read together is an important narrative, so important that, as you saw, artists throughout the ages have been attempting to recreate this event on canvasses, in sculpture and even in quilts. It’s filled with movement and excitement, isn’t it? It’s a story that grabs you and even that long list of where everyone was from builds in anticipation.
That list, by the way, serves a function: It lets the original readers and hearers of this book know that everyone was there. It covered the known world and even a few countries that no longer existed. The list runs the gamut and Luke, the author of Acts, was letting us know.
Luke fills this account with fulfillment: “they were all together;” “it filled the entire house;” “a tongue [of fire] rested on each of them;” “all of them were filled with the Holy Sprit.” And that’s just the first paragraph.
Luke, who wrote his gospel account of Jesus’ life as well as this book of Acts of the Apostles, uses an interesting word choice too in this account. Remember his narrative of Jesus’ baptism, when God’s voice tells him “you are my beloved son.” Well Luke chooses the same Greek word for voice when he talks about the sound like the rush of a violent wind. That’s God’s voice we’re hearing as the Spirit rushes in.
If you’ve ever been in a major wind storm, you understand how the sound of the rushing wind could be mistaken for God’s voice. There amongst the flailing tree branches and objects blowing about, if you listen closely you can hear God’s voice.
But I’m getting distracted. We’re talking about the birthday of the church which may not actually be the best metaphor. I was reading online about this particular holiday and one preacher said that she thought that graduation was a better way to describe it.
And if you think about it, it’s true. Since Easter, it’s been six weeks of sightings of Jesus and the Disciples fumbling about trying to make sense of what’s happened. Now they’re equipped to go forth into their world and proclaim that good news that needed to be heard then and still needs to be heard now.
And it’s true: if one thinks of graduation as we call it as a commencement rather than a conclusion, it is the start of a new period of time. And Peter knew exactly what he was talking about in his commencement address. No one is drunk--it’s too early for that. But watch out because things are going to get worse before they get better.
Before the Lord’s great and glorious day arrives the sun will turn to darkness and the moon will become like blood. And that’s exactly what the folks gathered in the year 33 or so needed to hear. And it’s exactly what the folks gathered in 2010 need to hear. Things are going to get worse before they get better and we’d better just prepare for that and hold onto our faith through the roller-coaster ride that’s coming.
We have car bombs in Times Square and an ecological disaster of huge proportions in the Gulf of Mexico. Terrorists remain tenacious in their attacks and an unending war grinds on. Immigrants live in fear and good people lose their homes and their savings daily. The sun will turn to darkness and the moon to blood before it’s all over, we’re told.
But Peter, in his sudden burst of wisdom and clarity, doesn’t leave us bereft. Peter quotes Joel, a prophet who spoke to another age of dis-ease and turmoil. And both Peter and Joel remind us that all sorts of people are going to have dreams and visions that will guide us out of this mess. We just have to listen and hang on as the roller-coaster speeds along the tracks and we’re tossed about.
There in the midst of the wind storm, as we wake up daily to fresh distress, we are called to be the people God would have us be and do whatever it is we can. We can listen to the visions of today’s dreamers and we can act to change our own lives. We can seek out the modern day prophets while keeping a close eye on the sun and the moon.
Pentecost is a time of beginnings, indeed. Our church is begun over and over, for two thousand years; amidst the wind and the seemingly drunken ones speaking in languages for everyone on earth. According to Walter Brueggemann, a Biblical scholar, our call is “to stand free and hope-filled in a world gone fearful…and to think, imagine, dream, vision a future that God will yet enact.” As we grasp our faith, all the while imagining, dreaming, visioning, we know we aren’t in charge; God is. And with that thought on this Pentecost Sunday, we can face the future free and hope-filled.
Broken Chains
Acts 16:16-34
Last week, I made the comment after reading the passage from Acts, that perhaps this book should be known as “The Adventures of the Apostles” rather than “Acts of the Apostles.” Today’s reading bears that out once again. Maybe even moreso. Where else are you going to get an exorcism, crime and punishment, hard time in the stir, a natural disaster in the nick of time, and a conversion all wrapped up in one beautiful narrative?
We begin this week’s passage though a bit differently from last week’s. Last week, some of you will remember, we were introduced to Lydia, a woman whose name was actually put into the account, something that doesn’t always happen in scripture. Well, this week we go back to the usual manner of reporting by meeting a slave girl whose name is not given. In fact, we aren’t given any names of the actors in this account: the slave girl, her owners, the magistrates, the jailer. We only know about Paul and Silas in this story.
So, to recap, Paul and his companions are in Philippi, planting the seeds that will become the first church in Europe. He’s already converted and baptized Lydia and her household and is no doubt still enjoying the fruits of that positive event. But there’s one problem: a slave girl and her constant haranguing of Paul and the others with her yelling.
No, she wasn’t just any slave girl. She was what was called a mantic, which meant that she had special powers of divination. People would come to mantics for advice from their trance-like state...and, in her case, would pay her owners for the privilege, of course. It sounds quite exotic to us, but according to scholars she would not really have been that unusual in that time and place.
So we have this mantic, following Paul and the others around town and proclaiming that they are “Slaves of the Most High God who proclaim … a way of salvation.” It sounds odd to us, doesn’t it? First off, she uses the word “slave” to describe Paul and the others, which, considering she herself is a slave, seems jangling. (Is it a case of “it takes one to know one?”) Then she says that they serve “the Most High God,” which seems unusual again since that God wouldn’t have been her God. There is some evidence though that that term, “Most High God” was used by Gentiles when referring to the Jewish God.
Then what happens gives us some insight into Paul’s personality, I think. Paul has had it with this slave girl’s heckling. He reacts and does so peevishly, in fact. We can see him turning and, flying off the handle, casting the demon out of the slave girl which has given her those powers of divination.
Now we don’t really need it spelled out what happens next. Talk about peeved… I doubt that begins to describe how the slave girl’s owners felt when they found out that their source of income had been forcibly dried up. Who are these Jewish strangers who drive out the cash cow that has kept them comfortable for who knows how long? How dare they interfere?
So they do what can only be expected: they complain to the authorities, having them arrested, publicly beaten, and thrown in jail. Everyone thinks that the end of the story. Everyone except God that is; well, and probably Paul and Silas who always knew they’d be going at it again soon enough.
One does have to wonder why at midnight Paul and Silas were singing and praying so loudly while in prison. But that’s exactly what they were doing when of course an earthquake struck; an earthquake which opened all the doors of the jail and broke the chains shackled on their legs. It sounds a little too miraculous, doesn’t it? I mean, if this was a movie, wouldn’t you think that Hollywood got it a little too convenient? But that’s exactly what happened, according to the narrator who wrote all this down.
The jailer, thinking his career is over because all the prisoners have escaped, is ready to do himself in when Paul calls out that if he’d just check, he’d find that they’re all there. This throws the jailer, so much so, that he starts to talk with his charges about salvation and the next thing you know he and his household are baptized on the spot, becoming converts to this new way of being in the world.
As I said before, it’s a story with everything you could ask for, including a happy ending… well, except for the owners of the slave girl and perhaps for her as well. We’ll never know what happened to her.
Well, where does it leave us though? Sure, it’s a good story, but what does it mean to us almost 2,000 years later? This tale, along with the passage that immediately precedes about the purple cloth dealer Lydia, reminds us of the wide scope that God’s grace covers. It’s an inclusive gospel that Paul preaches, which he’ll write about in the third chapter of Galatians. As the commentator Paul Walaskay writes in Feasting on the Word, “Our narrator has skillfully expanded Paul's groundbreaking statement in Galatians 3:28 into an elegant story. ‘There is no longer Jew [Paul and Silas] or Greek [Lydia, the mantic, the jailer], there is no longer slave [the mantic] or free [Lydia, Paul], there is no longer male [Paul, Silas, the jailer], or female [Lydia, the mantic]; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’”
Paul and Silas weren’t the only ones who were liberated in these stories. There is freedom enough for all and the good news is that we are all found in them as we seek to break free from those things which hold us chained and imprisoned. We may not realize that we are chained down at times by the evils of our age: classism, and racism, and greed, and egotism, and heterosexism, and idolatry of money, and, xenophobia, and, and…and the list goes on…you can fill in the remainder of the list yourselves with your own particular chains that keep you from living fully and freely.
This story reminds us that we need not be imprisoned. We can be like Lydia and the jailer and their households and fully accept the gospel we hear and fully give of ourselves. If we don’t break the chains that hold us down though, we certainly cannot respond fully to the call to ministry that is certainly given to each of us. Our calls to healing, to caring, to responding to sorrow and sadness, our calls to gospel ministry cannot be carried out completely, no matter how hard we try, if we remain enchained and imprisoned.
Don’t wait for an earthquake, a metaphor all too real in our part of the world, to free you. You have the power to break the chains which bind you.
Last week, I made the comment after reading the passage from Acts, that perhaps this book should be known as “The Adventures of the Apostles” rather than “Acts of the Apostles.” Today’s reading bears that out once again. Maybe even moreso. Where else are you going to get an exorcism, crime and punishment, hard time in the stir, a natural disaster in the nick of time, and a conversion all wrapped up in one beautiful narrative?
We begin this week’s passage though a bit differently from last week’s. Last week, some of you will remember, we were introduced to Lydia, a woman whose name was actually put into the account, something that doesn’t always happen in scripture. Well, this week we go back to the usual manner of reporting by meeting a slave girl whose name is not given. In fact, we aren’t given any names of the actors in this account: the slave girl, her owners, the magistrates, the jailer. We only know about Paul and Silas in this story.
So, to recap, Paul and his companions are in Philippi, planting the seeds that will become the first church in Europe. He’s already converted and baptized Lydia and her household and is no doubt still enjoying the fruits of that positive event. But there’s one problem: a slave girl and her constant haranguing of Paul and the others with her yelling.
No, she wasn’t just any slave girl. She was what was called a mantic, which meant that she had special powers of divination. People would come to mantics for advice from their trance-like state...and, in her case, would pay her owners for the privilege, of course. It sounds quite exotic to us, but according to scholars she would not really have been that unusual in that time and place.
So we have this mantic, following Paul and the others around town and proclaiming that they are “Slaves of the Most High God who proclaim … a way of salvation.” It sounds odd to us, doesn’t it? First off, she uses the word “slave” to describe Paul and the others, which, considering she herself is a slave, seems jangling. (Is it a case of “it takes one to know one?”) Then she says that they serve “the Most High God,” which seems unusual again since that God wouldn’t have been her God. There is some evidence though that that term, “Most High God” was used by Gentiles when referring to the Jewish God.
Then what happens gives us some insight into Paul’s personality, I think. Paul has had it with this slave girl’s heckling. He reacts and does so peevishly, in fact. We can see him turning and, flying off the handle, casting the demon out of the slave girl which has given her those powers of divination.
Now we don’t really need it spelled out what happens next. Talk about peeved… I doubt that begins to describe how the slave girl’s owners felt when they found out that their source of income had been forcibly dried up. Who are these Jewish strangers who drive out the cash cow that has kept them comfortable for who knows how long? How dare they interfere?
So they do what can only be expected: they complain to the authorities, having them arrested, publicly beaten, and thrown in jail. Everyone thinks that the end of the story. Everyone except God that is; well, and probably Paul and Silas who always knew they’d be going at it again soon enough.
One does have to wonder why at midnight Paul and Silas were singing and praying so loudly while in prison. But that’s exactly what they were doing when of course an earthquake struck; an earthquake which opened all the doors of the jail and broke the chains shackled on their legs. It sounds a little too miraculous, doesn’t it? I mean, if this was a movie, wouldn’t you think that Hollywood got it a little too convenient? But that’s exactly what happened, according to the narrator who wrote all this down.
The jailer, thinking his career is over because all the prisoners have escaped, is ready to do himself in when Paul calls out that if he’d just check, he’d find that they’re all there. This throws the jailer, so much so, that he starts to talk with his charges about salvation and the next thing you know he and his household are baptized on the spot, becoming converts to this new way of being in the world.
As I said before, it’s a story with everything you could ask for, including a happy ending… well, except for the owners of the slave girl and perhaps for her as well. We’ll never know what happened to her.
Well, where does it leave us though? Sure, it’s a good story, but what does it mean to us almost 2,000 years later? This tale, along with the passage that immediately precedes about the purple cloth dealer Lydia, reminds us of the wide scope that God’s grace covers. It’s an inclusive gospel that Paul preaches, which he’ll write about in the third chapter of Galatians. As the commentator Paul Walaskay writes in Feasting on the Word, “Our narrator has skillfully expanded Paul's groundbreaking statement in Galatians 3:28 into an elegant story. ‘There is no longer Jew [Paul and Silas] or Greek [Lydia, the mantic, the jailer], there is no longer slave [the mantic] or free [Lydia, Paul], there is no longer male [Paul, Silas, the jailer], or female [Lydia, the mantic]; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’”
Paul and Silas weren’t the only ones who were liberated in these stories. There is freedom enough for all and the good news is that we are all found in them as we seek to break free from those things which hold us chained and imprisoned. We may not realize that we are chained down at times by the evils of our age: classism, and racism, and greed, and egotism, and heterosexism, and idolatry of money, and, xenophobia, and, and…and the list goes on…you can fill in the remainder of the list yourselves with your own particular chains that keep you from living fully and freely.
This story reminds us that we need not be imprisoned. We can be like Lydia and the jailer and their households and fully accept the gospel we hear and fully give of ourselves. If we don’t break the chains that hold us down though, we certainly cannot respond fully to the call to ministry that is certainly given to each of us. Our calls to healing, to caring, to responding to sorrow and sadness, our calls to gospel ministry cannot be carried out completely, no matter how hard we try, if we remain enchained and imprisoned.
Don’t wait for an earthquake, a metaphor all too real in our part of the world, to free you. You have the power to break the chains which bind you.
Purple Fabric
Acts 16:9-15
Poor Paul. He has his plans and they get all mucked up. You might know what it’s like: your itinerary is set, your bags packed for the climate to which you’re heading and then something happens to call off the trip. Or to send you in a completely different direction.
Paul and his companions had no plans to go to Macedonia. In fact, in the verses just prior to what we heard this morning from the 16th chapter of Acts, Paul had been trying to go towards Asia but “the Spirit of Jesus did not allow it”, (v. 7).
We need a little understanding of the geography of that place and time to really get an idea of what’s going on here. We have to remember that Judea sat at the edge of Asia, near to Europe, but not quite in it. So when Paul had wanted to take the gospel into Asia, he was referring to Asia Minor, where we now find Turkey.
Macedonia, on the other hand, is Europe. Macedonia, in present-day Greek, was the home to Alexander the Great, who conquered much of the known western world at the time, spreading the Greek language and culture throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Alexander went east with his armies and might. Paul, on the other hand, traveled west without armies, without military might; just the word of God.
Heading to Europe meant going to the Gentiles. Christianity was primarily a Jewish sect, don’t forget. Paul did his best conversion work in synagogues. Who knew what he’d find in a place as unusual as Europe?
But there he was--a man of Macedonia appearing to Paul in a vision. “Come to Macedonia” this vision said, “we need you.” So Paul, being the obedient one, set out for Macedonia, arriving, as we heard in Philippi.
Macedonia had once been big and significant and Philippi had been one of the important cities there. So Paul and companions weren’t necessarily downgrading by going to Philippi. This was still a big deal, even if it wasn’t what Paul wanted. (Just goes to show--if the Spirit of Jesus wants you to do something, you may as well do it!)
Once there, Paul seeks to find the God-believers in the city. There evidently isn’t a large enough gathering of Jews to form any sort of synagogue because he just meets with a group that gathers at the river outside the city gate. And the surprising thing about this group is that they’re all women. We may not have even noticed that particular detail when the scripture was read this morning, but assuredly Paul and his companions noticed. They weren’t used to dealing with women so directly, but with the Spirit of Jesus prodding him on, he met with them and proclaimed the good news of the Christian Gospel.
Among them was Lydia, one of the women who is actually named in the Bible, so many of them going nameless through the ages. Lydia must have been important. Because she was a business woman; she sold cloth. Not just any cloth though; Lydia was a dealer in purple cloth. Purple was the most expensive and rarest of all cloth colors. So Lydia dealt with the richest and loftiest folks of the time. Though it’s not specified exactly what was meant, her household was baptized with her. Clearly there were other members of her household and Lydia had the power to make decisions for them. Lydia was a big deal.
And think about it: Lydia’s conversion, in fact, is the first conversion of a European. Even though it was a man of Macedonia who appeared to Paul in his dream, the first European to embrace Paul’s preaching and be converted to Christianity was a woman, Lydia, the dealer in purple fabrics.
Lydia invites Paul and his company to stay with her, which they accept. And, several verses later, after they’ve been imprisoned, Paul returns to Lydia’s and finds a house church there. Lydia is truly one of the Mothers of the church, though we so infrequently hear about her.
It’s a great story, isn’t it? But if you think about it, you realize that Lydia didn’t need to do what she did. She was comfortable as a trader in purple cloth. She had her household, her business, and her standing in the community. She didn’t need to do what she did. But yet, she did it. And did it first out of everyone in Europe. And went on to do the first new church start in Europe.
This story is one about mission and perseverance and discernment and hospitality and about women’s experience in the early church. Thus it’s an important story; one which we should pay attention to.
Certainly, we’re not in the same position as Lydia. None of us is going to be the first anything probably, on the grand scale that Lydia was first. But yet (there’s always a ‘but yet’, isn’t there?) we have amazing and wonderful opportunities before us all the time.
Like Paul, we might have to change our well-held plans and head off in a completely new direction. Like Lydia, we may do so at some risk to our livelihood and standing in the community.
But if we are to be faithful to our calling, we need to think about the mission, perseverance, discernment, and hospitality that runs through this narrative and reflect on it as we examine our own stories and how they are progressing.
We may feel like that small gathering at the river that Paul and the others found there in Philippi thousands of years ago, surrounded by the great and mighty Roman empire. But from those seeds that were planted there that day, converting the first woman, the first person in Europe, a mighty church has sprung. I imagine that we, as our own small group of journeyers, have more in common with that riverside group that we can guess.
We have to remember that that small group, too small to be a synagogue even, was the start of Christianity in Europe, going on to meet in Lydia’s home, as she welcomed in her companions on the journey of faith and from there into the church that Paul wrote to in his letter to the Philippians. When you see purple fabric, I hope you’ll remember Lydia and give thanks for her courage and ministry as you continue your story in the faith.
Poor Paul. He has his plans and they get all mucked up. You might know what it’s like: your itinerary is set, your bags packed for the climate to which you’re heading and then something happens to call off the trip. Or to send you in a completely different direction.
Paul and his companions had no plans to go to Macedonia. In fact, in the verses just prior to what we heard this morning from the 16th chapter of Acts, Paul had been trying to go towards Asia but “the Spirit of Jesus did not allow it”, (v. 7).
We need a little understanding of the geography of that place and time to really get an idea of what’s going on here. We have to remember that Judea sat at the edge of Asia, near to Europe, but not quite in it. So when Paul had wanted to take the gospel into Asia, he was referring to Asia Minor, where we now find Turkey.
Macedonia, on the other hand, is Europe. Macedonia, in present-day Greek, was the home to Alexander the Great, who conquered much of the known western world at the time, spreading the Greek language and culture throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Alexander went east with his armies and might. Paul, on the other hand, traveled west without armies, without military might; just the word of God.
Heading to Europe meant going to the Gentiles. Christianity was primarily a Jewish sect, don’t forget. Paul did his best conversion work in synagogues. Who knew what he’d find in a place as unusual as Europe?
But there he was--a man of Macedonia appearing to Paul in a vision. “Come to Macedonia” this vision said, “we need you.” So Paul, being the obedient one, set out for Macedonia, arriving, as we heard in Philippi.
Macedonia had once been big and significant and Philippi had been one of the important cities there. So Paul and companions weren’t necessarily downgrading by going to Philippi. This was still a big deal, even if it wasn’t what Paul wanted. (Just goes to show--if the Spirit of Jesus wants you to do something, you may as well do it!)
Once there, Paul seeks to find the God-believers in the city. There evidently isn’t a large enough gathering of Jews to form any sort of synagogue because he just meets with a group that gathers at the river outside the city gate. And the surprising thing about this group is that they’re all women. We may not have even noticed that particular detail when the scripture was read this morning, but assuredly Paul and his companions noticed. They weren’t used to dealing with women so directly, but with the Spirit of Jesus prodding him on, he met with them and proclaimed the good news of the Christian Gospel.
Among them was Lydia, one of the women who is actually named in the Bible, so many of them going nameless through the ages. Lydia must have been important. Because she was a business woman; she sold cloth. Not just any cloth though; Lydia was a dealer in purple cloth. Purple was the most expensive and rarest of all cloth colors. So Lydia dealt with the richest and loftiest folks of the time. Though it’s not specified exactly what was meant, her household was baptized with her. Clearly there were other members of her household and Lydia had the power to make decisions for them. Lydia was a big deal.
And think about it: Lydia’s conversion, in fact, is the first conversion of a European. Even though it was a man of Macedonia who appeared to Paul in his dream, the first European to embrace Paul’s preaching and be converted to Christianity was a woman, Lydia, the dealer in purple fabrics.
Lydia invites Paul and his company to stay with her, which they accept. And, several verses later, after they’ve been imprisoned, Paul returns to Lydia’s and finds a house church there. Lydia is truly one of the Mothers of the church, though we so infrequently hear about her.
It’s a great story, isn’t it? But if you think about it, you realize that Lydia didn’t need to do what she did. She was comfortable as a trader in purple cloth. She had her household, her business, and her standing in the community. She didn’t need to do what she did. But yet, she did it. And did it first out of everyone in Europe. And went on to do the first new church start in Europe.
This story is one about mission and perseverance and discernment and hospitality and about women’s experience in the early church. Thus it’s an important story; one which we should pay attention to.
Certainly, we’re not in the same position as Lydia. None of us is going to be the first anything probably, on the grand scale that Lydia was first. But yet (there’s always a ‘but yet’, isn’t there?) we have amazing and wonderful opportunities before us all the time.
Like Paul, we might have to change our well-held plans and head off in a completely new direction. Like Lydia, we may do so at some risk to our livelihood and standing in the community.
But if we are to be faithful to our calling, we need to think about the mission, perseverance, discernment, and hospitality that runs through this narrative and reflect on it as we examine our own stories and how they are progressing.
We may feel like that small gathering at the river that Paul and the others found there in Philippi thousands of years ago, surrounded by the great and mighty Roman empire. But from those seeds that were planted there that day, converting the first woman, the first person in Europe, a mighty church has sprung. I imagine that we, as our own small group of journeyers, have more in common with that riverside group that we can guess.
We have to remember that that small group, too small to be a synagogue even, was the start of Christianity in Europe, going on to meet in Lydia’s home, as she welcomed in her companions on the journey of faith and from there into the church that Paul wrote to in his letter to the Philippians. When you see purple fabric, I hope you’ll remember Lydia and give thanks for her courage and ministry as you continue your story in the faith.
Just before the eyes are opened
On Easter Sunday, we had no sermon. Instead I did a communion meditation in poetry.
Just before the eyes are opened
based on Luke 24:13-31
With leadened legs, we leave the city
leaving behind all that’s happened:
the fear, the death, the dreams unrealized;
the questions, the craziness
Away to Emmaus, away to some sanity
where life may be safer, more contained
Loss--of a teacher, a friend, of a leader--lingers.
Hopes dashed, dreams denied, plans scuttled
the road to Emmaus is an escape of sorts.
Escaping the fear for one’s own life
escaping the fear of the unknown
escaping to a more familiar place.
Memories persist
of the cruelty of crucifixion
of waiting for death to come
of scattering in fear
of wondering what is going on
A sabbath of fright,
while hiding from those
who might seek you
for a likewise fate
Wishing I were brave
brave enough to go to the tomb
brave enough to speak out
brave enough to be the disciple he taught me to be
On the road
seeking relief
and puzzling about the women
the words the women spoke
the possibility of the impossible
of death not being the end
But that’s craziness--
death is the end
final
finished
irrefutable
Everyone knows that
there’s no escaping death
it’s grip is strong and unchallengeable
Death is death
On the road to forget the death
the death of one whose death changes everything
On the road with a stranger who knows more than anyone else
who speaks words that astound and teach
Who is this, this stranger who knows so much?
Who is this, this visitor?
Lessons that I should have known
words I ought to have spoken myself
Who is this stranger who seems so at home
with broken bread?
© Gerry Brague, 4 April 2010, San Francisco
Just before the eyes are opened
based on Luke 24:13-31
With leadened legs, we leave the city
leaving behind all that’s happened:
the fear, the death, the dreams unrealized;
the questions, the craziness
Away to Emmaus, away to some sanity
where life may be safer, more contained
Loss--of a teacher, a friend, of a leader--lingers.
Hopes dashed, dreams denied, plans scuttled
the road to Emmaus is an escape of sorts.
Escaping the fear for one’s own life
escaping the fear of the unknown
escaping to a more familiar place.
Memories persist
of the cruelty of crucifixion
of waiting for death to come
of scattering in fear
of wondering what is going on
A sabbath of fright,
while hiding from those
who might seek you
for a likewise fate
Wishing I were brave
brave enough to go to the tomb
brave enough to speak out
brave enough to be the disciple he taught me to be
On the road
seeking relief
and puzzling about the women
the words the women spoke
the possibility of the impossible
of death not being the end
But that’s craziness--
death is the end
final
finished
irrefutable
Everyone knows that
there’s no escaping death
it’s grip is strong and unchallengeable
Death is death
On the road to forget the death
the death of one whose death changes everything
On the road with a stranger who knows more than anyone else
who speaks words that astound and teach
Who is this, this stranger who knows so much?
Who is this, this visitor?
Lessons that I should have known
words I ought to have spoken myself
Who is this stranger who seems so at home
with broken bread?
© Gerry Brague, 4 April 2010, San Francisco
"So What?" Sermon for Palm Sunday, 28 March 2010
Luke 19:28-40
After he had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,
“Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!”
Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”
“Hosanna, heysanna, sanna, sanna, hosanna, heysanna, hosanna.” I must admit that I like Andrew Lloyd-Weber’s and Tim Rice’s amalgamation of the Palm Sunday story from “Jesus Christ Superstar” quite a bit. They tie it all together fairly well and maybe give us a sense of what was going on at the time including villains singing the bass part and the hero on the tenor line.
But if we were among the original audience of Luke’s gospel, almost 2,000 years ago, this narrative would also sound very familiar most likely. But the familiarities would bring with them enough differences to caused a raised eyebrow or two among us.
It would sound familiar because it was very similar to how a returning general might enter a city and be fêted for his victories. Triumphal arches would be erected and in fact in Rome, many of these arches still remain. Troops would march in, crowds would cheer and there in the midst of all this adulation and glory would be the general on his fine steed. In fact, not that long ago in our country, George Washington would be greeted in such a way. I’m not certain when the custom went out of favor--maybe with the onset of gasoline vehicles, it just seemed silly to have the general riding in the back of a jeep through an erected arch. Once the steed was gone, something about the romance of the event disappeared, I suppose.
And so we have Jesus, the itinerant, backwoods preacher, entering Jerusalem today. We’re all very familiar with this story; we hear it every year from one of the gospels, not to mention the ‘Jesus Christ Superstar” version. And of course, such familiarity may not necessarily breed contempt but it may breed instead a certain ho-hum factor in the hearing. We hear this story, today from Luke, and we add in details to make it fit with what we know happened.
But Luke’s account is a little different. First off, there’s no palms. Did you notice that? Not even any branches of any trees. Just cloaks on the road in front of Jesus. Second, no one says “hosanna” which is so associated with this story. Instead, they sing a song about how great Jesus is and call him the “king who comes in the name of the Lord!” Third, the crowd, if you notice, wasn’t really a group from Jerusalem, but instead the “whole multitude of the disciples”. Certainly, since Jesus’ ministry to this point had been conducted out in the hinterlands, his disciples would not be residents of Jerusalem but Galileans. Somehow, that makes it a different narrative from one of the other gospel accounts, doesn’t it? Or at least the account that’s in our heads. Additionally, Luke is also the one who adds in the part about the stones crying out if the disciples were quiet, in response to the Pharisees’ complaints about the noise.
So we have cloaks and songs and disciples and Pharisees complaining and stones potentially crying out and where does that leave us? Like I said at the start, this sounded familiar to 1st and 2nd century ears but enough of the details are awry to cause some dissonance.
To Jesus, for whom the Kingdom of Heaven was a primary part of his preaching, being proclaimed and compared to an earthly king coming in the name of the Lord would be an important moment, even if it’s by his disciples, maybe especially if it’s by his disciples who would know him best.
The references are clear though there are enough changes that the original hearers of this tale would get it. Instead of a fine steed, Jesus is on a colt. Jesus’ kingdom of heaven is not going to be like earthly realms. Some of the paintings that were in the slideshow we just saw got it right: Jesus looks almost ridiculous on the small horse. No fine Arabian for our king--just a simple colt; enough of a similarity to what the crowds would have seen had Jesus been an earthly ruler or conquering general but enough of a difference too in order to pique their interest a little.
And naturally, all this makes the Pharisees nervous; nervous enough that they ask Jesus to calm his disciples down. This, by the way, is the Pharisees‘ last mention in the book of Luke. They disappear from here on out not heard from again through the rest of Luke’s narrative of the events of the coming week.
As I struggled to wrestle my thoughts to the mat as I attempted to get ink onto paper...or pixels into letters...I kept asking myself “so what.” We have a story about Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem that is told, with varying details, in all four of the gospels. We know that this event, told in this story, is very similar to other events of the time; events likely much more grand and glorious with soldiers and fanfares and horses and yelling crowds. We know though that there were differences, important differences, between this event and those other grand events. And I have to ask “so what?” Where does that leave us?
I think it leaves us back where any good and careful reading of the gospels will leave us; with the recognition that the Realm of God is unlike any earthly kingdom. In God’s realm, power is inverted: the last shall be first. In God’s realm, justice reigns supreme, in spite of Glenn Beck and his off kilter pronouncements of late. In God’s realm, the truly powerful come riding in on a small horse or donkey.
The “so what” of the Palm Sunday story is that the Kingdom of God is here and if we want to be part of it, we can. We can be citizens of this topsy-turvy kingdom by following the one who is called the Prince of Peace, a title that surely inverts power itself. We can be part of the adulating crowd that looks forward to a reign of peace and justice if we choose.
Of course, we would be remiss if we didn’t stop for a moment and recognize that Palm Sunday is the start of what we call Holy Week, when humanity dishes up some of its worst all to the nodding agreement of the powers that be in the world. God’s realm, this Kingdom of God that the disciples sang about, does not come without cost or ease. But certainly, this Kingdom turns on its head all expectations of how power is allocated. For a time, though, at the gate to the capital of an insignificant puppet nation thousands of years ago, God’s kingdom shone forth.
Prodigal, a sermon from Sunday, 14 March 2010
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable:“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.
“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’”
The Prodigal Son. We’ve heard this parable many times throughout our lives. And we’ve heard it called “the Prodigal Son” just as many times at least. I know I have. And it took me until this past week to realize I had no idea what the word “prodigal” means.
So, of course, I had to look it up in a dictionary. And according to the dictionary on my computer prodigal means: spending money or resources freely and recklessly; wastefully extravagant and having or giving something on a lavish scale. So it refers not, as I once thought, to the returningness of the younger son, but to the fact that he goes off and spends away his inheritance. In many ways, the father of this tale is as prodigal if not more so than his wayward younger son. But that’s getting ahead of our story. First let’s look more closely at this parable.
We have a family made up of a father and two sons. No mention is made of other siblings or a mother in this case. So we deal with this triad at face value. In the culture in which Jesus told this tale, the oldest son automatically inherited the lion’s share of property, perhaps up to two-thirds of it.
This younger son, not willing to wait for the death of his father for his inheritance, asks for his share early. That in and of itself is of course unusual, unusual enough for Jesus’ original hearers to sit up and take notice and, if their attention had been drifting, to pull them back into the story. You just don’t do such things, now do you? Ask for your inheritance early? It’s just not done.
But he does it, presaging perhaps his untoward behavior later, and the father acquiesces. Whatever percentage of the property the younger son is due, he gets and off he goes whereupon he takes part in that untoward behavior I just mentioned. And he spends down his inheritance until there is none left.
And that’s when things go from bad to worse--a famine hits this foreign land where the young man has landed himself. He’s able to get a job feeding pigs--pigs of all things. To a Jewish audience, there couldn’t be anything worse. He’s hit rock bottom in other words. And he’s so destitute he’d gladly eat what he’s giving to the pigs.
That’s when repentance comes into the story. Now whether it’s a repentance of heart or stomach, as one commentator says, we’ll never know. What drove him to repentance and whether it was truly a change of heart, we just can’t tell. All Jesus said was that he repented, and in fact rehearsed his speech before his father. In fact, it’s that speech rehearsal that increases our suspicion about the depth of the repentance, isn’t it? Instead of returning home and spilling his heart out, he practices the speech until he gets it right. I’m a little leery, frankly.
But be that as it may, the son returns, having prodigaled himself out of all that he owned. He returns penniless and destitute, uncertain of the reception he’ll get. He could get laughed out of town leaving him with few other choices. I sincerely doubt that though that he could have envisioned the reception he did get. His father comes out to greet him; no, he RUNS out to meet him, something a man of that social standing and age would never do in that day and time. He gets him out of the rags he’s wearing and gives him a new coat; not just a new coat, but the finest robe in the house. Father orders a party, a gala feast to celebrate the return of this wayward son. Talk about prodigal; this parable could just as easily become known as the Prodigal Father. The words from that definition come back to our minds here: freely, recklessly, extravagant, lavish. The Father, in his joy, goes all out to welcome home his second son.
And that’s when things get good: the most interesting character in this drama then enters the scene--the older brother. He adds intrigue and conflict. We can see him standing outside the house, with all the festivities going on inside, pouting and grimacing better than any petulant child could ever do. The older brother is, simply stated, put out.
And he’s not really peeved about his brother’s return. No, not really. Fred Craddock, famed Disciples preacher, puts it best: "It is that party which is so offensive. The older brother has a point: of course, let the penitent come home. Both Judaism and Christianity provide for the return of sinners, but to bread and water, not fatted calf; to sackcloth, not a new robe; to ashes, not jewelry; to kneeling, not dancing; to tears, not merriment". (as found at http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/march-14-2010.html) It’s that party that rattles the older brother’s cage.
Father of course steps in and explains away his prodigality: that which was lost is now found. In fact it’s hard to miss that point if you read the two parables directly before this tale. They’re both about lost items and great celebrations when they are found. This story is just a further exposition on that theme.
So where does that leave us? Just because the inheritance laws and social mores of Jesus’ time are vastly different from ours does not mean we should automatically discount this story. Because, if we think about this parable closely, we might get a bit uncomfortable. I know I do. Because of all the characters in that tale, the one who is most like me is the older brother.
Think about it--we’re the good ones. We’ve stayed in the church as it has shrunk and changed. We’ve given time and money and talents and countless other gifts to the church. We expect something back from it of course; a goat to share with our friends for instance would be nice, wouldn’t it? But then we hear that God’s grace is for everyone….everyone, can you imagine? God’s best stuff, God’s grace, is given freely to one and all. All that hard work of ours isn’t going to mean a thing. Not even a goat.
And so the choice is ours. We can stand outside pouting, in our petulant, childish ways or we can go in and take part in the feast, rejoicing in the return of a lost one, for whom the party is put on. We can worry and upset ourselves about whether our brother’s repentance is sincere or not or we can join our father and all the others who are celebrating. The sincerity of his repentance isn’t our problem--it’s already been taken care of.
This is not a parable about watching our backs or being on our guards; it is a parable about profligate giving. It is about being prodigal--giving in joyous celebration. Go in and join the party!
Sermon, Sunday, 7 March 2010 -- Drink!
Isaiah 55:1-9
Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters; and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money
for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which
does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
my steadfast, sure love for David.
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
a leader and commander for the peoples.
See, you shall call nations that you do not know,
and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
for he has glorified you.
Seek the Lord while he may be found,
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord,
that he may have mercy on them, and to our God,
for he will abundantly pardon.
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Drink!
I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon though certainly I hope that I’ll see it someday. I understand though that there in the humidity-free heat there are signs that remind people of the need to hydrate which evidently say “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”
And so it might be, this Lent, that we could see the same signs posted along our spiritual journeys: “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!” And those signs could very well have been posted by the author of our passage from Isaiah this morning.
Six hundred years before Jesus, most of the citizens of Judah were in exile, living in Babylon after the Babylonian Empire came through and destroyed Jerusalem. And those Jewish exiles were at a crux in history. They could have stayed in Babylon and just dissolved into the population there. Or they could hope and pray for a return to Jerusalem. Many of them were settling in quite nicely in Babylon. Some of the men had taken Babylonian wives. Some were worshiping foreign gods there away from the center of their worship. Some had never seen Jerusalem, having been born in Babylon. In fact, those who remembered the old days were indeed old themselves.
Into this mix comes the prophet who wrote the words we heard today. Most scholars agree that the book of Isaiah is actually the work of at least two, perhaps three, prophets. One, whose name was indeed Isaiah, wrote the first part of the book, prior to the fall of Jerusalem. He warned of impending doom and was, appropriately so, rather a downer. The remainder of the book, from which our scriptures were taken this morning, was written to the exiles, after the fall of Jerusalem, encouraging hope, reminding them that they are not home, helping them to look forward to a better day.
Food without price? Wine and milk for free? Anyone can have their thirst quenched. It sounds really good, doesn’t it? It is indeed something to look forward to, something to keep you going.
God’s going to give you whatever you need. God’s going to provide. God’s going to hand out food and drink for all. And it’s good food--we’re not talking about USDA surplus here. Fine food and good wine is promised to those who are living in exile.
But did you notice the catch? Did you hear the question in the middle of it? It almost slips by without getting noticed, but ignoring it takes away the very core of this passage. The author asks, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” As I said, that sentence almost speeds by, but put on the brakes a second and let’s think about that question for a moment.
Why are you wasting your money on junk food? Those chips aren’t really going to assuage your need for nutrition. you know. They may fill you up, but it’s not the food you need--not that food that will full allay your hunger. “Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”
What exile do you find yourself in? What empire is holding you hostage? And how are you trying to feed your spiritual hunger? Sometimes we’re trapped by circumstances; circumstances of racism or sexism or heterosexism or materialism. Those empires hold mighty sway in our culture among others of course. But empires they are and they hold many in exile from their homeland. And we who find ourselves in exile look longingly at a better day wondering where the prophets are who will give us the hope that our author of Isaiah gave to those fellow exiles all those centuries ago.
It seems wrong to be asking exiles why they aren’t going for the good food and quenching their thirst with water that really does slake. Don’t they have enough troubles; enough on their minds already? Don’t we have enough troubles; enough on our minds already?
“You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”
From the confines of our exilic empires, we may not even recognize that we are yearning for food; filling, nutritious food. Yet deep within us is that ache that craves for the food that God offers, for free. That ache isn’t going to be filled with the offerings of our culture. We can’t count on the world to fill that void we feel. We can’t rely on the offerings of society to truly replenish the lack we feel down in the depths of our souls.
So we turn to God to provide, if we are smart and can pull ourselves away from the shiny offerings that are dangled before us. And God doesn’t charge. God gives away all this good stuff without asking for a penny. That doesn’t sound like the capitalist system that has us in thrall at all. That goes contrary to everything we’ve learned, doesn’t it? You pay for what you get. If it’s free, it’s not worth anything so don’t bother with it.
But that’s so often God’s way--contrary to what we’ve heard and known all our lives; going against the grain of our culture. The good stuff is free! That which you’re paying top dollar for isn’t worth a thing.
“Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”
We’re so taken sometimes by that which is offered to us, we miss that God is right there, offering the things we really, truly need. And all we have to do is show up. All we have to do is be there. It’s not even a case of being at the right place at the right time. It’s just a matter of turning away from the attractiveness of the chips and satisfying the deep, deep hunger and thirst that God can quench.
This Lent, as you journey toward the cross of Good Friday, spend some time identifying your deepest hungers and thirsts. You’ll likely find that indeed, you are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.
Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters; and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money
for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which
does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live.
I will make with you an everlasting covenant,
my steadfast, sure love for David.
See, I made him a witness to the peoples,
a leader and commander for the peoples.
See, you shall call nations that you do not know,
and nations that do not know you shall run to you,
because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel,
for he has glorified you.
Seek the Lord while he may be found,
call upon him while he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord,
that he may have mercy on them, and to our God,
for he will abundantly pardon.
For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Drink!
I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon though certainly I hope that I’ll see it someday. I understand though that there in the humidity-free heat there are signs that remind people of the need to hydrate which evidently say “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”
And so it might be, this Lent, that we could see the same signs posted along our spiritual journeys: “Stop! Drink water! You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not!” And those signs could very well have been posted by the author of our passage from Isaiah this morning.
Six hundred years before Jesus, most of the citizens of Judah were in exile, living in Babylon after the Babylonian Empire came through and destroyed Jerusalem. And those Jewish exiles were at a crux in history. They could have stayed in Babylon and just dissolved into the population there. Or they could hope and pray for a return to Jerusalem. Many of them were settling in quite nicely in Babylon. Some of the men had taken Babylonian wives. Some were worshiping foreign gods there away from the center of their worship. Some had never seen Jerusalem, having been born in Babylon. In fact, those who remembered the old days were indeed old themselves.
Into this mix comes the prophet who wrote the words we heard today. Most scholars agree that the book of Isaiah is actually the work of at least two, perhaps three, prophets. One, whose name was indeed Isaiah, wrote the first part of the book, prior to the fall of Jerusalem. He warned of impending doom and was, appropriately so, rather a downer. The remainder of the book, from which our scriptures were taken this morning, was written to the exiles, after the fall of Jerusalem, encouraging hope, reminding them that they are not home, helping them to look forward to a better day.
Food without price? Wine and milk for free? Anyone can have their thirst quenched. It sounds really good, doesn’t it? It is indeed something to look forward to, something to keep you going.
God’s going to give you whatever you need. God’s going to provide. God’s going to hand out food and drink for all. And it’s good food--we’re not talking about USDA surplus here. Fine food and good wine is promised to those who are living in exile.
But did you notice the catch? Did you hear the question in the middle of it? It almost slips by without getting noticed, but ignoring it takes away the very core of this passage. The author asks, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” As I said, that sentence almost speeds by, but put on the brakes a second and let’s think about that question for a moment.
Why are you wasting your money on junk food? Those chips aren’t really going to assuage your need for nutrition. you know. They may fill you up, but it’s not the food you need--not that food that will full allay your hunger. “Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”
What exile do you find yourself in? What empire is holding you hostage? And how are you trying to feed your spiritual hunger? Sometimes we’re trapped by circumstances; circumstances of racism or sexism or heterosexism or materialism. Those empires hold mighty sway in our culture among others of course. But empires they are and they hold many in exile from their homeland. And we who find ourselves in exile look longingly at a better day wondering where the prophets are who will give us the hope that our author of Isaiah gave to those fellow exiles all those centuries ago.
It seems wrong to be asking exiles why they aren’t going for the good food and quenching their thirst with water that really does slake. Don’t they have enough troubles; enough on their minds already? Don’t we have enough troubles; enough on our minds already?
“You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not.”
From the confines of our exilic empires, we may not even recognize that we are yearning for food; filling, nutritious food. Yet deep within us is that ache that craves for the food that God offers, for free. That ache isn’t going to be filled with the offerings of our culture. We can’t count on the world to fill that void we feel. We can’t rely on the offerings of society to truly replenish the lack we feel down in the depths of our souls.
So we turn to God to provide, if we are smart and can pull ourselves away from the shiny offerings that are dangled before us. And God doesn’t charge. God gives away all this good stuff without asking for a penny. That doesn’t sound like the capitalist system that has us in thrall at all. That goes contrary to everything we’ve learned, doesn’t it? You pay for what you get. If it’s free, it’s not worth anything so don’t bother with it.
But that’s so often God’s way--contrary to what we’ve heard and known all our lives; going against the grain of our culture. The good stuff is free! That which you’re paying top dollar for isn’t worth a thing.
“Stop! Drink water! You’re thirsty, whether you realize it or not!”
We’re so taken sometimes by that which is offered to us, we miss that God is right there, offering the things we really, truly need. And all we have to do is show up. All we have to do is be there. It’s not even a case of being at the right place at the right time. It’s just a matter of turning away from the attractiveness of the chips and satisfying the deep, deep hunger and thirst that God can quench.
This Lent, as you journey toward the cross of Good Friday, spend some time identifying your deepest hungers and thirsts. You’ll likely find that indeed, you are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.
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