Can't Decide

Prompt: Take the first sentence from your favorite book and make it the first sentence of your post.

This would require choosing a favorite book. I can't even begin to do that. 

I have books that I've read so often that I know their terrain like a favorite hiking path: A Prayer for Owen Meany, A Walk in the Woods, Bet Me, Outlander, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Confederates in the Attic. 

I have books that are so gaspingly wonderful and provoking that I've only read them once or twice, but I will do it again- when I can breathe again from the first time: God's Hotel, The Secret Chord, The Hour I First Believed, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, Dear Leader, Religion for Atheists. 

There are books that I've read repeatedly because of my occupation and their call to me: Jonah, Mark, Ruth, Judges, Revelation, Romans. 

There are the books that I won't read again, but I recommend so highly: Five Days at Memorial, An Unquenchable Thirst, It Gets Better, Full Body Burden, The Secret Life of Henrietta Lacks. 


So I've completed flubbed the prompt. 

I will give you this opening line: 

"The evening is typical enough until the dog begins to choke." 

It's the first line of Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. This book was such an unexpected plot that even though I've read it 3 times, my heart beats faster just looking at the cover. 

Hamilton and My French Boyfriend

The other day I encouraged people to blog about a secret obsession or, at least, an unexpected one.

Mine is my love affair of the heart with the Marquis de Lafayette. I read all I can about him. (Yes, I know about Sarah Vowell's new book.) 

My Lafayette love led me to follow through on learning more about the serious popularity of the new musical, Hamilton. Yes, it is a musical about Alexander Hamilton. 

And it is amazing. (Not only because Lafayette does French-accented rapping!)

The musical touches on what it means to be an immigrant, an orphan, a spouse, a parent, a "Founding Father". The musical styles are all over the place, but amazing in their variance and scope. 

There is little religious significance to this, except that people are people and motivations remain the same. There are always those who are driven, those dealing with the unimaginable, those who are afraid to take sides. 

And we live our stories together with our secrets known to God (and the spirit of Lafayette). 

Daily Scenery

The post challenge I took up today involved taking a picture of something you see every day. This is not quite the view of Anchorage I see all the time, but it's a shot I snapped this morning with no extra effort. 

I'm in the middle of missing some of the things and the people that would be closer if I lived a little more east of here (as in: the Lower 48). Yet there is so much here: the church I love, my son's school, friends, trails I love, the bears and the moose. 

The grass might be greener elsewhere, but the mountains aren't higher or closer or home. 

The Longest Day

November 3rd, 2007 was- to date- the longest day of my life. 

I've flown over the Atlantic, across the country, sat in hospitals for hours, was in labor for 30+ hours before an emergency C-section... none of that was as long as this day in that year. 

It was a Saturday and we had been promised that our loved ones would be back from Iraq that night. They'd left in March. Since saying goodbye to my husband in mid-March, I'd graduated from Yale, driven across the country with my youngest brother, started my internship, and wandered around our house alone. I'd thought through every activity I picked up... would it be something I wanted to do when I was no longer living the single life. 

Earlier in the week, we'd heard a maybe of Saturday afternoon. By Friday, we knew it would be Saturday evening. By Saturday afternoon, we knew it would be after midnight. 

By 5:30 pm on Saturday, I'd cleaned the house to a degree it has never seen since. I baked chocolate chip cookies. I'd been to the store 3 times. I'd shaved all that was reasonable to shave. I washed the towels. I called a couple other wives 2-3 times... apiece. 

We waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

I listened to Queen's "Somebody to Love" on repeat out of my laptop for hours- dancing, singing, crying. 

Finally at 10, another woman and I agreed to meet at midnight and drive onto the post- no matter what the latest update said. We met at the exit by the dump and convoyed onto the base. We waited in a large assembly room: bleary-eyed children, emotional parents, stoically exhausted spouses. It was 1 am. Then 1:30. 

Finally we heard that the plane landed on the Air Force base, so they had to bus everyone over to the Army post. The rumor was that my husband was in charge of the battalion for this part of their trip. All eyes on me, I offered assurances that he was not prone to speechifying. 

Finally... finally... finally, the bus was outside. We cleared the doors. A line of people marched in and made formation in the middle of the room. My husband watched them line up, saluted, and dismissed them. 

So much chaos. I could see him looking around for me. I know exactly what I was wearing and I can feel the pull of boots against my calves as I recall darting through the swirl of moving bodies to reach him. I don't know if we spoke, but I know that we didn't stop holding hands for a long, long time. 

In those minutes, the anticipated grief of deployment, the wrench of being separated, the timidity of trying to figure out life together all lifted for a minute. The longest day was over and that was all that mattered. 

As the Commandment Says

based on Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17

Often something positive eventually comes from a disaster. This does not mean that the disaster was God’s way of achieving the positive. The birth of David results from Ruth’s union with Boaz (encouraged by Naomi), but the biblical events preceding that: Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot’s incest with his daughters, the famine and death of Naomi’s family… these are not God’s preferred method bringing grace into the world.

The first widow I ever understood to be a widow was 25 years old. She was in a college class with me. Her husband died of a heart attack while playing basketball. He was 29. Suddenly, the notion of widowhood became clear to me. It was not that a woman simply outlived her husband, but that there was a blank space at the table, an empty side of the bed, a phone number that goes unanswered, conversations that become one-sided. Widows and widowers of all ages and circumstances frequently surround us. And we forget their status. We forget that they are among those who are considered most vulnerable and most wise in Scripture. We forget that God’s heart is with them.

            It is critical to remember that her beloved, deceased partner may not have been a saint, but she will still grieve. That he is still thinking of his loved one, even if you are afraid to bring up the subject. That she may grow accustomed to her new state, but never stop missing the ones who rest in light. Being widowed, being left out of partnership, should not mean being left out of community. Let not the community of God forsake those who mourn. It is not enough to say God is with them. We are to be the hands, words, and consolation of the Spirit with widows, orphans, and strangers.

Litany for the Feast of All Saints

...based on Isaiah 25:6-9; Wisdom 3:1-9; Psalm 24

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it,

All that surrounds it and all who dwell therein have a home in God.

The Lord has taken chaos and brought forth beauty, creativity, and community.

The bounds of creation extend beyond our imagination.

Science and mathematics spiral out in response to God’s omnipresent expanse.

Who may ascend into the Lord’s presence and who dares to seek God’s holy face?

We believe in rest and peace in God’s light for all who died in the faith.

We dare to claim the same comfort and mercy for those who died in fear, pain or without clarity of heart or mind.

Because grace and mercy are upon God’s holy ones, and God watches over those who have been saved.

Our grief is not in vain because God is faithful and has promised to destroy death- our final enemy.

Our grief is also not false because we do miss those we love, who loved us, and with whom we look forward to reuniting.

Those who have not been named are not forgotten.

They shall receive blessing from the Lord and righteousness from the God of their salvation.

Those who rest in the Lord will understand truth.

Those with whom the Lord abides will perceive his loving presence.

God will wipe away all tears, bring healing to the nations, and console those who mourn.

This is most certainly true.

The communion of saints is around us, within us, ahead of us, and beside us. It exists outside of time and place.

This is most certainly true.

We give thanks for those whose faithfulness and love brought light and life to us and to all around them. We are glad to continue their work through the help of the Spirit.

This is most certainly true. Amen.

Difficult Questions: Return of Christ

Malachi 3:1-7; Psalm 98; 1 Thessalonians 4:15-5:4; Matthew 24:36-44

            I did not anticipate that this sermon, the one on the return of Christ, would be the hardest to write. When I was planning the series, judgment, heaven, and hell all seemed like hefty theological balls to smack into the stands. The return of Christ seemed like a wiffle ball in comparison: Don’t know when it’s coming. It will surprise us all. Be ready by keeping the faith through loving your neighbor and caring for creation. Voila, let’s eat!

            Yet this topic wouldn’t let go of me. I regretted the chosen texts. (Never mind that I chose

them.) Malachi pushes his hearers into a fearful anticipation of what it to come. The one they anticipate will burn off their impurities and everyone who has done any wrong will have it revealed. Those who hear this are supposed to look forward to this day with hope and dread.

            I sometimes visit a Korean spa that offers a full body scrub. (Stay with me here.) You have to soak in a hot tub and then a very aggressive woman scrapes you down with the roughest cloth you’ve ever felt. Your dead skin piles up next to you- if you’re like me. It’s horrible and wonderful all at once and you definitely feel purified- at least skin deep- after it’s over. Is Malachi’s one who is to come going to do this for us- but spiritually and with finality? Is soaking ourselves in the written word and the experiences of community and communion the way of being prepared for this eschatological scrubbing?

            Eschatology is the fancy word for the last things or the end things. If you use it too much, it means you’re not focused on the things of right now, which is its own problem to scrub out. 

            Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians connects us to some of the earliest followers of Christ. Likely, it is the oldest part of the New Testament. The people receiving the letter wrapped themselves in the good news of Jesus Christ that they heard from Paul. Part of his understanding of that gospel and their take-away was that Jesus was returning soon and very soon (as in he’s just around the corner).

            When some of these first believers died, those who remained panicked. How would those who died be able to enjoy what Jesus was going to institute when he came back, which should be in just a few moves on the sun dial. Any moment now… Part of the reason this matters is that the early Christians lived in what historians call the Pax Romana. This was a nearly 200-year stretch of peace achieved by Rome, not because it was actually peaceful, but because Rome had so beaten down its enemies that none had the power to rise against it and break the “peace”.

            This did not mean that the surrounding areas, the Roman territories, felt at peace. Local governors and governments had their own discretion and power to wield in local affairs.  Often this passage from Thessalonians is used not only for its “thief in the night” intimidation, but also as a consolation to Christians who worry that they are wrong. Wrong about God, wrong about Jesus, wrong about what it all means. The Thessalonian Christians were among those who hoped Jesus would return, and soon, so that they would know true peace. They would worship without fear. They would see their loved ones again, according to Paul. And they would be able to show everyone that they were right.

The promises of God, however, are not our trump card when our back is against the wall. When rulers say “peace, peace”, but there is not peace, the promises of God are our consolation. The comfort of knowing that God does not lie is not meant to keep us cocooned in denial or ready to say “Told ya so!”, but to break us out in resurrection freedom so that we may take up our baptismal callings, our vocations, our avocations, and be part of the kingdom that come near right now.

            The passage from Matthew has been so misused that I’d prefer if we never read it. (Yeah, I did say that.)  Without its surrounding passages, it means nothing. Pulled from the context of Matthew’s “Little Apocalypse” or revelation, the gospel writer is explaining to the disciples what it means to faithful. In Matthew, there are only either/ors, this or that, goat or sheep. Period. For this writer, the disciples are either keeping the faith and are among the elect or they are not. End of story.

            This call to righteous living has been manipulated to point toward a “rapture” that has its own theology of discipleship around it. When we have stories that are not centered in Christ, that are not anchored in grace, that do not point to the on-going, merciful, inviting work of the Spirit, or do not fit with God’s eternal character of creation and creativity, then these stories (including the rapture, the tribulation, and all their fabled friends) cannot be part of our way of talking about faith and faithfulness. Matthew’s entire gospel is a guide to those who have found themselves outside of the place they once called home and now need to form a new community. Matthew is writing for spiritual refugees.

            The fancy theological word for the return of Christ is “parousia”, meaning presence or arrival. When I think of the parousia, I think of my junior year of college. I was a transfer student, so this was my first year in this school. I noticed the girl who sat behind me in Italian did not come to class for two weeks and this was after the drop period. Not coming meant either she left the school or was planning to fail the class.

            I did not know many people, but she had been friendly to me. I called the office and found out where she lived in the dorms. I made some brownies and went to make a call. I found her in her dorm room, alone and lonely. She’d decided to attend this formerly Baptist women’s college because it was where her girlfriend wanted to go. Two months into their first year, they broke up. The girlfriend had moved out of their room and, being the more social of the two, had taken most of the friends.

            The tearful girl in front of me looked at me and waited to see what I would do. I wasn’t prepared with a good speech. I didn’t come from any church tradition, family practice, or even friend history that gave me a script for what to say the first time someone told me that they were gay and then cringed to see how I would react. Then the parousia happened. My dad’s refrain of “You know what’s right. Do it” played in my head, overlaid on a soundtrack of every hymn about welcome and grace and hope and love I’d ever sung or heard. Here is how the parousia happened: Deep breath, “Okay. Want some brownies?”

________________

            This arrival, the return of Christ, is not just far off. If the body of Jesus wouldn’t stay dead, wouldn’t stay entombed, and wouldn’t bother to only speak to the upstanding in the religious community, how can we believe that the spiritual presence of that body will be contained merely to a future date and time. Surely there is a both/and reality that would make the writer of Matthew go wild, but it cannot be denied. Christ is present and Christ is coming. God created and God is creating. The Spirit resurrected and the Spirit is resurrecting. The return of Christ is coming and the return of Christ is here. In our conversations, in our baptisms, in our communion, in our dark nights of the soul, in our singing of “Joy to the World”, in our brownies, in our learning, in our repenting, in our life, and in our death.  

            Embracing the return of Christ as the mystery that it is means letting go of the false gods of bad theology, releasing our fear of hell, rejecting heaven as a prize that we can earn, and realizing truth of the presence of Christ in, with, under, and for us and all creation at all times and in all places. Furthermore, embracing the return of Christ as the most concrete reality of our sermon series forces us to reject spiritual complacency. We must embrace the tangible things that draw us together as a congregation and push us out toward community. These things, from water and wine to sandwiches and books and peanut butter and Christmas stockings and bible studies, are clues. They are clues that point to mystery of how the Savior of the world can be as close as our hands.

            Christ has died. Christ is living. Christ will come again. And he does.

           

Amen.