Chihuahuas and Cheesecakes

Ah, Valentine’s Day. It is the official day when we scramble to the store to find a card for our significant other, searching among the rows of ridiculous puns and Chihuahua laden cards professing a less-than-Shakespearean sonnet to a generic loved one.

None of them really work, but we buy one anyway.

If you have grade school children and this day falls upon a week day, then you know that you will spend the days leading up to this running back and forth to find the various constructive elements to create a box. 

A box adorned with pink and red hearts and glitter glue. A box that will return home full of, as one Facebook friend puts it – “Some candy and a bunch of colorful trash”

Yes, I do it to. I can describe these things because I go through it. It becomes somewhat of a chore – and perhaps more than that at times. It gets expensive. It is bothersome.

And it is wonderful.

When asked about the “greatest commandment”, Jesus quoted a bit of the Old Testament:

“Love the Lord Your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.”

He followed it up with some clarification: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

We tend to focus on the latter of the two sentences, and when we speak of “God” and “Love”, we speak of it in reference to God’s love for us, and not the other way around. God’s love for us IS important and a fundamental part of who we are, but listen to the prayer Jesus’ was referring to: This prayer he quoted from is known as the “Shema”, and the longer version is something like this:

“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”

There is no mention of loving your neighbor. There is no mention within the Shema because there doesn’t need to be. It was understood as a part of loving God.

To put it in an over-simplified, blunt sort of way, when you love someone, then you respect their stuff.

And the world, and everything in it – that includes everyone in it – belongs to God.

In the text in the book of Luke we are introduced to the man Zacchaeus, a Jewish man who is rather short in stature who has made some choices that are not popular. Luke mentions this, but many miss it. He states that Zacchaeus, I’ll call him “Zach”, is a tax collector. To make it more pronounced, Luke clarifies that Zach is a “ruler among tax collectors”, and that he is rich.

Ouch.

Let me clarify. Zach is a Jew, but he has chosen a life that serves the Roman empire. This would have been by choice. He is in charge of other tax collectors, so he is a leader. And he is rich. The important thing is not that he is rich as much as how he is rich. Tax collectors earned a commission on the taxes they collected. Zach got rich taking from the poor and giving to the rich, and leading a group of others to do the same. Zach was good at what he does, and what he does wasn’t good. In fact, it was a sin.

Zach wants to get a good look at Jesus, but the crowd wont part for him. I can understand why. Maybe Zach was afraid to enter the crowd. I can also understand why. SO Zach did what any reasonable person would do and he climbed a tree. And Jesus noticed.

“Zach! Come on down here! Ima stay in your house tonight!”

Can you imagine Zach’s eyes? The look on his face as everyone looks up at him from below?

I joke about his name, but this was no coincidence – you don’t really find those in the Bible – Zacchaeus is a well known Jewish name that means “The righteous one”, and this man lived a life that no one would have considered righteous. So Luke was making a statement by the very name, and the recognition by Jesus of that name.

And the crowd complains. As if in one massive groan, they lament – “Look! He’s going to be the guest of a sinner!”

Boy, this crowd doesn’t know Jesus, do they?

In fact, the Greek tells us that the word “Everyone” means that even some of his own disciples may have felt this way.

Zach, uncomfortable, looks to plead his case – “I give half my money to the poor, If I have cheated anyone, I repay them four times over!” This was big, too. There were laws for giving to the poor, and the standard was ten percent of one’s earnings. Certainly not HALF. And if you wrong someone, you are to repay them plus one fifth  - NOT four times over.

Christ’s response was that Salvation has come to this household.

And he wasn’t talking about Heaven. Salvation was an immediate change of being. Still is.

You see, Zach got it, and Jesus knew that.

Remember when I said that Everything belongs to God? In the creation poem we are told after each day that ‘God saw that it was good’, and at the end of the week – “God saw that it was VERY good’

In the book of John, we are told that “For God so loved the WORLD, that he gave his only son…”

That means the world, everything in it and everyone in it.

And so Zach was living out the Shema. Zach loved God, and Jesus knew it. This sinner had received salvation. Yes, I said that right. And no, that doesn’t mean he stopped being a tax collector.

We do things when we love someone, don’t we? We seek them out, we look toward their well being. When they are sick, we care for them, when they grieve, we grieve. If the ones we love need help, we go to help them. This is called compassion, from the Hebrew word meaning “womb” or it’s synonym, empathy. Like a mother to her child, we protect and care for the ones we love.

We tell them we love them. God does the same for us. God does not first determine our worth, but instead, responds to us with undeserving and relentless grace and understanding.

THAT, my friends, is LOVE.

We love because God first loved us. It is a marvelous wonderful thing, and it is a two way street.

A two way street where one lane is often empty.

In a truly cliché gesture, my wife receives on an annual basis, a gift of chocolate covered strawberries and an assortment of three chocolate covered personal size cheesecakes (although one could argue that ALL cheesecakes are personal size). This year she also received a box of chocolate covered truffle cakes.

And she will smile as though it is some great surprise, and then she will make a comment about how she is on a diet, and I will say “I know” and they will nonetheless disappear within the next day or so (because, as we all know, chocolates given in love have no calorie count – scientific fact)

I do not give my wife this gift because it is required of me to do so. She would not leave my side if those precious strawberries did not arrive. She would not be angry if the cheesecakes did not miraculously manifest on the doorstep.

I do this for a different reason. I do this because, I find great joy in seeing her eyes light up, in seeing her smile. As much as I hate it when people take pictures of their food and plaster those pictures on their social networking “wall”, I do not complain, because she does this only to things which bring her great joy or concern – and chocolate covered cheesecakes never brought anyone concern.

I do this because I love her, and to remind her that I remember what she likes, and that I will not forget what makes her happy.

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart…”

You are not required to pray. You are not even required to go to church on a weekly basis. Maybe that is news to you, and I hate to be accused of as the one who made the weekly attendance drop, but simply showing up in the pew won’t get you into heaven. Heck, “getting into heaven” should be the least of any Christian’s concerns.

Things like praying and going to worship are the chocolate covered strawberries and cheesecakes that God loves so much. Prayer is the participation and recognition that God is an active and consistent part of who we are and what we do. When we pray to God, and when we do it right, we are saying “I remember you are here, that you love me, and that you want to help me, and I know that if it is right, you will”

Worship is equally important. I often hear that worship is a personal thing that requires no church. Yes, maybe occasionally, but Worship in Church is the reminder that we are part of something bigger, a conscience community of children who are loved by, and who love God. We care for one another because we are God’s children and to care for one another is to show God that we love God. It is essential – not REQUIRED for reward, but essential. God WANTS us to be together, here, and now, and as God explains in Luke, “How long I have wanted to gather you up as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings.” Do you need better imagery than that to come to church?

Maybe you have been ignored by someone you love. Perhaps your sibling, or child, has not called or spoken to you for long stretches. Perhaps you feel taken for granted at times. This must be how the God who loves us feels when we do not participate, when we do not call God on a regular basis, when we do not get together with our family.

Zacchaeus loved his extended family, and he loved God. Zach went out of his way to care for the poor and make things right if he made a mistake.

This is why we do mission. NOT because we believe our “reward will be great”, but because something within us is “moved with compassion”. We love others and take care of others not because we are commanded, but because we love the God who loves us.

To quote James, we show our faith by our works.

We buy God Chocolate covered strawberries, and cheesecakes, and stupid little cards with Chihuahuas on them. And we do this by praying, worshiping, and by loving those around us – even when it is difficult to do so.

I pray that you find this love for God. This passionate, burning love for the God who made you and claims you for her own. I end this sermon on the love of and from God with some words from Augustine, one of the most brilliant and influential early theologians, who found his love for God late in his life:

Late have I loved you,

Beauty so ancient and so new,

late have I loved you!

Lo, you were within me,

but I went outside, seeking there for you,

and upon the worldly things you have made

I rushed headlong,

I, misshapen.

You were with me but I was not with you.

They held me back far from you,

those things which would have no being

were they not in you.

You called, shouted, broke through my deafness;

you flared, blazed, banished my blindness;

you lavished your fragrance,

I gasped, and now I pant for you;

I tasted you, and I hunger and thirst;

you touched me, and I burned for your peace.

Now THAT, my friends, is one heck of a valentine.

Amen.

Sermon: Cautiously Optimistic

Mark 16Common English Bible (CEB)

Empty tomb

16 When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they could go and anoint Jesus’ dead body. 2 Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they came to the tomb. 3 They were saying to each other, “Who’s going to roll the stone away from the entrance for us?” 4 When they looked up, they saw that the stone had been rolled away. (And it was a very large stone!) 5 Going into the tomb, they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right side; and they were startled. 6 But he said to them, “Don’t be alarmed! You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised. He isn’t here. Look, here’s the place where they laid him. 7 Go, tell his disciples, especially Peter, that he is going ahead of you into Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you.” 8 Overcome with terror and dread, they fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.

From the sermon titled "Cautiously Optimistic." Preached on January 3rd at the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary

Just down the hall from my office at the Avon Lake Presbyterian Church sits Cornerstone Preschool. It occupies about one third of our church building – the middle third – and as such has become a part of the daily life of the church. In the summer, these classrooms play host to teams of missionaries – the rooms are stripped bare to give the missioners room to set up mattresses and cots. Toys are put away, many of the wall decorations removed.

But every year in September the rooms once again spring to life. Bold paint schemes, lime green and fire engine red, are nearly covered completely with bright images of happy faces inviting the preschool children to come in and play a while. Brightly colored carpets with jungle animals and ABC’s cover the floor space. Shelves full of learning toys, bricks and blocks beg to be played with. And as though that was not temptation enough, sand and water tables used to inspire play and creativity beckon for the children to create and imagine. “Swimmy”, the class turtle paddles back and forth in his aquarium, just as eager to meet a new classroom full of excited kids.

All the elements are here for countless days of learning and fun. It is a veritable potpourri of endless joy for little hearts and minds. What child would not run into the room and find themselves engrossed in something wonderful? What child would not try and build castle out of blocks, or bake an imaginary pie in the little kitchen playset?

As it turns out, almost all of them would not. Not on that day. Not then. The day I am speaking of is in second week in September. This is day one of preschool. This is, believe it or not, terrifying.

Instead of the jubilant shouts of joy I will soon get used to hearing from down the hall, on this day the laughter is replaced with tears. Walking in the room reveals that a few of the children are getting on with play, a few are slowly examining the toys on the shelf without touching them as though they know that these things do not belong to them.

A majority, though, are ignoring it all. They stand at the feet of their parent, grasping on to the pant legs. Their backpacks, though small, seem to dwarf the little boys and girls and appear almost comical – as though they expect to receive a stack of books in which to do research. Their chubby faces are flush with color, as they look up, with great big eyes full of great big tears as they plead, “No Mommy, I don’t want to do this, I want to go home!”

Parents, knowing that this is the best thing for their little cherubs, reassuring reply “Everything will be fine, trust me.” All the while holding back tears of their own. The process of beginning our children in preschool is part of a bigger plan that we have for them, but knowing this doesn’t make it much easier to let them go that first day.

__________________

Ever since I learned in seminary that scholars believe that the Book of Mark ended here I was hooked.

“Overcome with terror and dread, they fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid”

What a frustratingly terrible ending! All the work of Christ all these years and this is the best ending possible? God does this amazing thing – this thing that they have been waiting for – this thing that they have been promised – and they run away and tell no one. This is like a bad play. This story isn’t supposed to be a tragedy – this is supposed to be a story of conquering death! It is almost as if Mark decided he didn’t want to tell anymore of the story. It is as though he had to be somewhere and so he buttoned it up and put down his pen.

I am not alone in this frustration with Mark. More than a few scribes felt the ending was so off base that they wrote their own. They didn’t even do a very good job – Mark ended the Gospel with “They said nothing to anyone..” and the scribe immediately starts the next verse with “They promptly reported all of the instructions to those who were with Peter…”

The two sentences completely contradict each other. The new ending may be easier to digest, but it simply doesn’t fit Mark’s narrative. This isn’t Mark’s style.

Mark is perfectly fine with ending the gospel this way, because that is what happened

They were afraid. The women were terrified. There is no translation error here, no textual variant to explain away the English. They were so struck with fear that they thought they simply could not continue.

Despite all the hard work, all the struggle, despite God’s promises of this over this moment over the past several generations…they simply cannot process the victory. With the good news staring them in the face, they flee the scene.

What is wrong with these people?

I have a confession to make. I have been there. I have seen the empty tomb and heard the good news and I have still let fear get the better of me. Like in the story of Jonah, I seek desperately for a one way ticket to anywhere else, away from God’s call and into the relative safety of something I can control.

In this day and age it seems as though it is spiraling out of control. A string of bad news articles seemed to start sometime in 2016 and wouldn’t let up. They were relentless. As the spouse of a police officer this has been one of the most difficult years for us. I have been scared. This is a broken world that can be terrifying.

Hearing the recent news that the president has placed a ban on refugees from entering the country breaks my heart. Where are we? What is this place?

Mark’s dismal account was written around 70 AD, when war had ravaged the known world, when militaristic empires held the oppressed and the marginalized to the ground under foot. Mark’s context was a bleak and dark time in history where the temple had been destroyed, when all these people loved had been lost, when life seemed too hard to carry a message of hope.

This world that is still broken, though progress has been made.

This broken world that, in a few months, I am supposed to face head on. In a few months I am supposed to leave the shelter of my seminary, away from my cohort family and friends who lend me support. Away from the wisdom of my professors to go out into this mess and do something to make this world better. 

Me.

For four long years I have clawed my way up this mountain with a small group of individuals who would become friends and something more – team members – brothers and sisters.

And over the past few years of climbing up the mountain, I could look to my right or my left and see that some of us who began the climb are no longer here. And now after nearly four years, I can see the summit.

I can see the summit and even though I know it is faster to go over the top, part of me is terrified to see what is on the other side. I know that I face a broken world that will do what it can to fight against my Christian values - the values that tell me to support the widow, the orphan, the immigrant. To stand for the oppressed, the marginalized, the refugee...

Like a preschooler yearning for the protection of his parent I look up and say “I don’t know if I can do this, God. I think I want to go home.”

Unlike the preschooler,  I have the benefit of hindsight. I know God. I have come to meet God and I have seen God’s glory. I have felt the presence of the spirit. I have been lifted up. I have heard God’s promise.

I am here at this point in this world in this life because God called me here.

You are here because God called you here.

If the current status of the world seems to turn your stomach, you are not alone.

You are chosen for a task. You are elected, selected, raised up, - however you want to say it.

All this because the good God who made everything, the same one who was there before time began, the same God who created the universe and everything in it created you , the same God who set the wheel in motion at the beginning to get to this point to have you sitting right there…

The same God who rolled away the stone, who proclaimed victory over death, who made the lame walk and the blind see

The same God who is coming back to reconcile all things

That God put you right there, in this place, right now. You with all your experiences and your hurt and your pain and your mess. You with all your love and your wisdom and your compassion.

I am not perfect, but thankfully God is aware of this. The angel at the tomb, after all, did specify that the Good News be proclaimed to Peter – who’s most recent deed was to deny Christ. If the Good News is given to a traitor to deliver to the world, surely we can handle it.

Because God will save the world - Christ will redeem the world, not us. Not you. Not me.

But it is through your compassionate heart, your diligent prayer, your helping hands, your message of hope… it is through you that this work is done.

By the grace of this incredible God who always follows through. Though you may be afraid, like I am, at what the world out there holds for you, know that like a mother hen who gathers her chicks under her wing, like the parent of a frightened 4 year old about to start something new, God is saying “Trust me. You will be okay. I have big plans for you”

I think back to the day of epiphany, just a few short weeks ago. The celebration of God's great revelation that is Jesus, born of an ordinary girl in a broken world in the lowliest of places to walk beside us in our task.

God can fix this if we trust the Spirit. God can fix this broken world and we get to help God do just that.

The temptation will be there to shout obscenities, to post nasty words on social media, but then hide in our homes.

The desire may be there to riot in anger, to cause conflict, to hurt others....but this is not the Good News.

We receive no promise that the task will be easy. The temptation will be there to run in fear and tell no one. Maybe that is easier, and like the women in the story – the women chosen to proclaim the gospel – you may think you need to be silent.

But the Good News can’t be hidden under a bushel basket. We may not have the rest of the story at the end of Mark, but the women must have told someone at some point, because the word is out and on display for all to see.

Greet this year not with fear, but with hope. 

Share the message of reconciliation and love. 

At the very least, remain cautiously optimistic, for the world is looking toward you so you can point them toward something bigger than the mess.

The fact that the world is so messed up right now, so hurting, so broken, only means that the world needs you – and that the world needs to hear the life giving message of the gospel – more than ever.

What a wonderful thing to be doing. What an incredible God to proclaim. 

What an exciting time to be a Christian. You have work to do, friends.

Amen.

I leave you with the words of the African American theologian, educator and civil rights leader, Howard Thurman:

When the song of the angels is stilled,

when the star in the sky is gone,

when the kings and princes are home,

when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

the work of Christmas begins:

to find the lost,

to heal the broken,

to feed the hungry,

to release the prisoner,

to rebuild the nations,

to bring peace among the people,

to make music in the heart.

The Present

When you head off to seminary, you are never quite certain what you will encounter. Even with the steady rhythm  of semesters drumming by, things do manage to change.

I am deep into my third of four years. When we started, there was a good deal of excitement about how we were the largest cohort (class) of seminarians at UDTS, at least among those on the distance paradigm, with 23 members strong. I sat in my Homiletics class last week and listened to a sermon from each of the remaining seminarians in my cohort, and there were only 12.

Nearly half of us are gone.

It is true that many have moved on in a good way. Some had begun with a few credits under their belt, and will be graduating early, like my friend and theologian Katy Steinberg, who has started a new worshiping community, The Missing Peace, on Ormond Beach, Florida. Others jumped off paradigm and will graduate early, like Derek Martin, who will follow his dream to become a Navy Chaplain. I am happy for them and I look forward to hearing about the great and wonderful things God is doing in their lives.

Others have transferred to other schools where they continue their work. Still others have dropped out, taking a break to deal with the mess that life can throw at us, or leaving the ministry entirely.

I do miss them so.

With only half of us left, our cohort is small but strong. We have settled into our spiritual identities and we have learned to cope with the balance of life - work and family - as well as our online classes. We frequently chat through social networks and on our smartphones, keeping tabs on one another and encouraging each other not to let up when the going gets tough.

Over the years we have become family, fiercely devoted to one another and our well being. We recognize that we possess different gifts for ministry, and we try and lift each other up in that ability.

The light at the end of the proverbial tunnel can be seen easily enough now. I don't need to squint to see a faint dot in the distance, but rather, I squint because the light is bright.

With that light comes choices that I will need to make. This is a career choice, after all, and I can't be expected to stay right where I am in my current ministry position. In the Presbyterian Church, we refer to this career destination as a "call to ministry", quite literally calling us to move to do God's work in one place or another. I love my church family in the place where I have been a member for over 20 years and where I currently am the Director of Youth and Family Ministries. There are few things that would make me happier. I will also add that the Presbyterian Church has certain rules in place that don't make that prospect an easy one.

And so, the future is uncertain. But then, it is uncertain with all of us, and we have only the present. To quote a great man:

"Do not worry about tomorrow - tomorrow will take care of itself. Today has enough trouble of it's own." - Jesus of Nazareth (Matthew 6:34)

Peace and grace to all of you. Enjoy the journey.

-Beau

"I Do Want To"

This sermon was one of several I preached in my Homiletics class at the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary in January of 2016. 

The story is real, though the names of both the individual and the camp in which he resides have been changed as I have no way to ask permission that they be used. The story is many years old now, and things have changed significantly in the camp since I experienced this.I have been back 5 times since, and I never saw the van of "believers" again.

A note about speaking in tongues: I do realize that "tongues" is a gift of the spirit, and I affirm that gift. However, I also believe, like the occurrence in the book of Acts, that when an individual speaks in tongues part of the miracle is that those in attendance are able to understand that person. That is NOT what I experienced this day, and as such I left my comment in the sermon. If you get hung up on my clear attitude against the way these ladies "speak in tongues", then you are missing the point of the sermon.

If you would like to use this sermon, I invite you to do so, but please link back to this blog if you share it on the web and use my name if you preach it, or a part of it in church. My sermons are for the Glory of God and not my own, but because this is my work, it can get sticky if someone posts or preaches it as their own and then my is read afterward, making it look like I plagiarized. 

One of the resident children at the camp enjoys strumming my ukulele as I create chords with my left hand.
Music is a powerful healer of the soul.

"I Do Want To"

I sat under the shade of the mango tree and ate my lunch. After a morning of mixing concrete by hand in the 100 degree heat, I could eat just about anything. Why I had thought a mission trip to the Bahamas at the end of July was a good idea was something I’ll never understand, but we went, and there I was.

The smell of rotten food and other refuse occasionally drifted over from the dumpster in the center of the camp, and there was the undeniable smell of human waste that would waft up from a nearby trench that ran behind the shacks that the residents of Benedict's Camp called home. The heat only served to exacerbate the problem. I don’t care what anyone says – you don’t get used to it. Not THAT smell. At least I didn’t have to live here.

A large, burgundy van pulled up the one lane road into the camp, up over the hill and through the massive, but now inoperable gates that sat next to the road.

The van was big. When the van reached the top of the hill it came to a stop and the side doors swung open and cool air rushed out. A group of six Bahamian, heavy set women climbed out, adorned in expensive shoes and skirts, their Bible in one hand and a fan in the other. Their makeup was so thick I wondered if it could be removed in one piece. I sat there on the ground in my sweat soaked shirt and shorts, still looking better than those who called this place home, because I had a change of clothes. They walked down the newly constructed path between the resident’s homes. They were headed to see Thomas, a 30 year resident of the camp.

Thomas had been at the camp since he was a child. Even though the camp was created decades earlier as a leper colony on the island, it now housed mostly those with HIV or AIDS. Sprinkled between those with the terrible disease were others with varying degrees of other things, from addiction issues to undiagnosed metal illness. In a way, I guess it was still a leper colony -The camp had become a housing area for the social fodder of the island. It was in the center of the island because, like most of the larger islands, the outer ring was lined with resorts and high paying tourists, most of them white Americans or Europeans. Just outside the camp lay a Haitian community ripe with violence. We heard stories of murder and rape by these residents who would sneak into the un-fenced camp at night to prey on the weak, but we did not know how much of that was to scare us. Huge rats and feral dogs would enter the rickety and mold infested shacks looking for food, crawling over the bedridden who often became the victim of a bite.

Most residents didn’t make it out of the camp alive. This camp had become a dumping ground for people no one wanted anymore.

Thomas doesn’t have AIDS. Thomas has Cerebral Palsy. He cannot take care of himself and no one else wants to. He is confined to a wheelchair or his bed. He has great difficulty speaking, but he can smile and he does so often. Over the past week I had bonded quite a bit with him, as we both shared a love for God and music, and what had started as a relationship born out of some spiritual obligation had blossomed into genuine kinship. I would strum on my ukulele and sing and his eyes would light up and he would smile and ask me to play another. Then it would be time to help him eat or change his linens, as there was no bathroom in his home, the only bathroom was quite a distance down a broken pathway so he would just go and then wait to be changed.

The women walked up to Thomas, who sat outside in his wheelchair. All the women placed their hands on him and one began to pray, eyes closed with one arm held high. They were too far away to hear, but I could see that one was speaking in “tongues”, a behavior common to this area. Whatever, at least they were praying.

The summer staff intern walked up to me, noticing that I was watching. She was an American, like me, but in her early 20’s, though the summer had added years of wear to the lines on her face.

“I hate this. I just hate this”

“Why? No harm no foul I suppose!” I said with a smile.

She looked at me through her mirrored sunglasses that doubled as safety glasses.

“I hate this because when they leave, he’s devastated. He thinks that if he has enough faith, God will heal him – that he will get up and just walk. I hate this, and I hate them for telling him that. They go home and he will shut himself in his room and refuse visitors for days because he says that he is worthless and God has forgotten him and that we should too."

 I look on in awe, helpless to make a move.

In Jesus’ time, Lepers were unclean. They were physically unclean, as in “sick” and they were ritually unclean, as in “can’t be near anyone else”.[i] This was a legal issue – they were literally separated from society. So if a Leper came up to Jesus we know that Jesus wasn’t in a city.[ii]

 Jesus was there on purpose.

Before Christ, no one sick ever got well. The curing of Leprosy, as one theologian put it, was “akin to raising the dead”.[iii]

When this man with leprosy says “You can make me clean, if you want to” he actually suggests that Jesus, through not wanting to be unclean, or because he was busy, or whatever…. That Jesus maybe wouldn’t want to make him clean.

As though he were not worth curing.

This is so telling because it shows that even then, this man who has been marginalized by society has already beat himself up. He already has such low self-esteem and such a low value on his own life that he thinks that the very man who is known for curing this kind of thing won’t want to bother.

This is what being marginalized does to people. It beats them up. The Bible hates it. God hates it. Things like widows and orphans and immigrants were shunned. The sick were, too.

But Jesus went to them. Always moving to the outside. He was about the outskirts, the outsiders, the marginalized.

He called the forgotten his “brothers and sisters”

Because of the way people worshiped in Jesus’ time, having leprosy also meant that you could not worship your God. You could not enter the temple.

The man with Leprosy says Jesus could make him clean if he wanted to.

I missed this the first time and I bet you did too. The leper did not ask Jesus to heal him, as though that was simply too much. He wanted to be made clean.

What the man really wanted was permission to worship his God, to go to the temple and know this God that he was not allowed to know.

All he wanted was to be a part of that love.

And Jesus “Moved with compassion”….some translations say that Jesus was “Incensed”, some say that he was “Angered”,

 he says “I do want to”

There it is.

Jesus isn’t angry at the man. Jesus doesn’t like this. Jesus doesn’t want this man to suffer anymore. Jesus is sick of the shunning. Jesus is sick of the marginalization and so he reaches out and touches the guy. [iv]

Jesus does what the Levitical laws say not to do – Jesus touches the unclean.

The guy was immediately clean AND healed. Right there is an extreme turn of events. From the Jewish perspective, the very opposite of normalcy happened.[v]

Jesus’ cleanliness, his holiness, his love, is contagious.

Jesus affirms the man as a human being and a legitimate part of God’s creation. Jesus shatters the wall that stood between this marginalized man and God and tells him to go to the Temple

in one touch.

The sadness here is that this man thought his life was worthless and that it was, essentially, over.

Millions of people feel this way. Not just the sick, but the poor.

The sinners. The marginalized, pushed to the outside of society.

They are trapped. Trapped in the idea that their flaw has created a wall between God and them.

Like Thomas, the long days continue for them, they hear church bells in the distance and hear the whispers of the Good News that promises that they are loved and they believe that it is another lie, like so many they are told.

Jesus healed the broken and the sick. He saw those with mental illness as genuine people, and he went to them.

He healed and cleansed them when healing and cleansing required touching and touching was simply not allowed.

And it was Jesus’ compassion, God’s love, that demanded this touch.

The leper did not do anything to deserve to be separated from God, and so God found him, and he made him clean.

He does the same for us. God searches desperately in the margins for us, when we had thought that for some reason we are not worthy, not perfect enough, with enough talent. Maybe because of addiction, or abuse, or our mistakes and decisions.

Perhaps it was nothing we did. Consider the homeless desperately seeking shelter. Think of the orphan who wonders why she has no one to call mom or dad. Think of the refugee, fleeing the only home they know and not knowing if they will survive long enough to call another place home.

Think of the child stuck in the cycle of abuse, or human trafficking.

Where is God?

God is there. He is in the eyes of the kind stranger, in the gentle, honest touch of the missionary motivated by love. God is in the police officer who takes a moment to put a blanket around the shoulders of the victim of the tragedy, looking in their eye and saying “you are now safe”

God’s just, powerful, unyielding love, ripe with mercy and grace is there, “Incensed”, “Moved with compassion” telling us that “I do want to”

Though we may not be healed, we will be made clean in God’s touch.

Dare I say that at some point we may all be in their place and I pray that at that time we remember that God is also there, on the outside with us, God’s love and mercy Through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross ready to make us clean again, but we need to eliminate the idea that anything we do or we are can stop God from being with us.

As the women walked away from Thomas I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to ask them if they knew what they were doing to him, but I said nothing. Instead, I placed my lunch back in the cooler and picked up my ukulele. I waited for the women to get back into the van and for the driver to pull the massive beast away and then I walked over to Thomas, who was sitting silently in the same spot, now watching the pigeons roost in the massive branches of the trees. When I got to his chair I said his name.

“Thomas?”

He did not look up at me.

“You okay, Buddy?”

He didn’t look, preferring the safety of the birds who would not judge his tears. “Yes” He said

I didn’t know what to say, so I reach for the only thing my mind can think of “God loves you, buddy”

“I know.” He replied quietly. “Want to sing?” he asked, knowing I had the tiny guitar in my hand.

“Yes.” I said aloud, “I do want to” is what I meant.

Amen.

---

[i] Leviticus 13:1–14:57

[ii] Edwards, James R. The Gospel According to Mark. The Pillar New Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002.

[iii] Kelber, Werner H. Mark’s Story of Jesus. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979.

[iv] Marcus, Joel. Mark 1–8. The Anchor Bible. New York: Doubleday, 1999.^[iv]

[v] France, R. T. The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text. New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI; Carlisle: W.B. Eerdmans; Paternoster Press, 2002.

It's a Girl! Or is it?

Personally, I don't struggle with this issue, but I know many who do. Language can be a tremendous stumbling block, and when we read the Bible in English and make believe that it was actually written in English, we do ourselves, and ultimately God, a great injustice.

So, is God a girl or a boy? The answer, of course, is 'yes'.

Last year while I was on a mission trip, I encountered a group of people who had a rather prominent influence on my missionaries (or who were in a position to have a prominent influence, but probably didn't really) who were vehemently arguing against the role of women as teachers and/or pastors. Despite the irony (One of the people arguing against it was the main teacher of the group - and is a girl), they were spouting all sorts of references from scripture that included gender specific verbiage - in English. While I cannot say for sure as I stayed out of the conversation, I can safely assume that none were able to translate ancient Greek or Hebrew, and therefor really only know what other translators have said, and not necessarily what was actually written. Oh what a tangled web we weave when the bible in Greek we do not read....

Perhaps I said that wrong, but you get my point. One of my professors, the brilliant Rev. Dr. Nesbitt of Dubuque Theological Seminary, posted a small lesson and poem on just this topic, and I thought I'd share. He can say it much better than I...

"I think it would be worthwhile to take a moment to discuss gender and faith, since that is one of the more pernicious issues raised in discussions this week.  Our problem as human beings is that we struggle to keep our anthropomorphic tendencies in language separated from the very reality of the divine nature.  God is not a sexual being and, as such, we cannot say that God "is" a he anymore than we can say the divine one is a she.  All language for God is allegorical.
Indeed, much of scripture is gender-specific in language.  But I think it appropriate to translate, for example, Paul's comments to his "brothers" as "brothers and sisters" because the spirit behind the archaic formulations of language clearly shows that he was speaking to both men and women.
But didn't Jesus call God "Father?"  Yes, and no.  Although it is usually translated as such, "Abba" does not really mean "Father."  It is rendered that way because too many humans are nervous about saying what Jesus actually said:  "daddy" or even "dada."  The purpose of the diminutive expression was not to indicate a gender for God, but a relationship; it is a relationship of absolute intimacy and trust.  Therefore, it would be more appropriate for us to say the Lord's prayer like this, "Our dada, who is in heaven. . . ."
On a different but related topic, you may be shocked to learn that translators have had a long tradition of "softening" not only certain concepts that people might be uncomfortable hearing, but also potentially offensive and earthy language in the Bible.  That which Paul refers to as "filthy rags?"  When King Saul retreats to a cave in order to relieve himself?  The "dirt" that seeps out of King Eglon's gut when he is stabbed?  These are just a few places where translators chose more "socially appropriate" terms than the raw language employed/implied by the ancient writers.  But I digress. . . .
A person I know once argued with me that the Holy Spirit is referenced in male terms in the chapters of John.  True, but here's the kicker:  the Hebrew word for "Spirit" in the Old Testament is feminine.  Always.  While in Greek, there are two words for "Spirit."  "Parakletos," which is masculine, and "pneuma," which is gender neutral.  As such, based on which passage one turns to, it could be appropriate to say "he" or "she" when speaking of the Holy Spirit.
To really blow your mind on gender and divinity, do a little research on "Sophia" (wisdom) as personified in the Old Testament, and as perceived by the earliest Christians.  There were some in ancient times who believed that "she" was the pre-incarnate Christ.
.....
In conclusion, lack of originality by others does not mean politically correct language is wrong. . . only that we haven't caught the knack of it.  I offer the following poem for your consideration.  "

Who Is This One?  By S. A. Nesbitt

I kneel to pray, prepared to utter the old, familiar phrases.But a sudden and profound awareness overcomes me. I cannot speak.Who is this One I so often entreat?
I AM. Almighty Lord. Wonderful Counselor. Ancient of Days. Prince of Peace.
Who is this One I so often entreat?No single term or phrase seems adequate.With every breath, a different truth reverberates in my heart.
Redeemer. Burden Carrier. Renewer. Path Layer. Saviour.
The heavens proclaim Thy glories!The seas declare Thy majesty!
Storm Calmer. Master of Wind. Thunderer. Sparker of Fire. Omnipotent Spirit.
Hallowed be Thy name!Thy kingdom come! Thy will be done!
Abba. Holy of Holies. Lord Sabaoth. Everlasting Father. King of Kings.
Humbled by holy mysteries, I dare not speak.Who is this One I so often entreat?Empowered by awe and intimacy, I cannot keep silent!
Trusted One. Tear Blotter. Friend. Comforter. Thirst Quencher.
Who is this One I so often entreat?Who dazzles the eye and enchants the ear?Who delights the eager heart?
Weaver. Painter. Artist. Conductor. Musician.
Like a baby in its mother's embrace, I sense strong arms around me.Who is this One I so often entreat?Who is this One who gave me life, and to whom I shall return?
Life Giver. Binder of Wounds. Kisser of Hurt. Protector. Hand Holder.
Who is this One I so often entreat?Who moves my clay and leaden feet?
Choreographer. Shoulder Tapper. Nudger. Gentle Power. Whisperer.
God.

Well said, Dr. Nesbitt.

So, call God whatever you want. If you read my last post on God's Name, you'll know you probably won't get that pronunciation right either. Call him want you want, just call him often.

Peace.

Hello, my name is: IS

But it isn't really, is it? Truth be told, it is what we call him (or her, or it - a discussion for another article elsewhere and at another time). It really isn't his name at all. That's a strange thing, but the very name of God tells a lot about who he is, and our understanding of the nature of the divine.

As humans, we like to label things. It is in our very DNA to do so, and bible scholars may point all the way back to Adam and his necessity to name all of the living creatures of the world. Psychoanalysts might call it something of a control issue - we label and name everything that's we encounter. Gods have names. Gods are things, and we name things. Buddha, Shiva, Vishnu, Zeus, Hades....these names are instantly recognizable as names of gods from one religion or another, but not ours.

We have tried to label him: Yahweh, Jehovah.... But these are our own frail attempts. One attempt provides clues into just what I am getting at: LORD

Before we get to that little tidbit, let's look at our own name. We have our first name, our familiar name if you will. Some of us have a middle name, often weighted down with some embarrassing baggage left over from a long gone relative. And then we have our last name, called our family name or surname, which tells the reader where we come from and where we belong, or should belong. Some names provide into our family group, such as Irish surnames like O'Brien, which literally means "from Brien" or "Of Brien". Some provide clues as to the profession of the bearer's ancestors. My descendants were part of the Miller surname, so one can rightfully assume that there was a business of milling in my history. The knowledge of this is long gone now, but it is there somewhere, in each listing of our last name on a piece of paper. Generations of Shoemakers, Smiths, Farmers and Millers have come and gone without ever having done the profession, their name the only link to a lost art. In some places the order by which we list these names changes, but the meaning is largely the same.

Ancient near eastern cultures were part of the early stages of this primitive, but effective labeling system. Jesus didn't have a last name. (It was not "Christ", nor did he possess a middle name that began with the letter "H", though I do sometimes imagine if he did it would be something embarrassing, like "Horatio"). We see instead that Jesus is named according to where he grew up - Jesus of Nazareth. Had he been Irish, it may have been Jesus O'Nazareth. But I digress.....

And here we see the miraculous birth of Jesus O'Nazareth....

Names are important. They tell us who we are and where we are from. In the Hebrew culture names were even more important. We see names in the bible change, such as Abram to Abraham. Jacob became Israel and fathered a nation. Adam literally means "dirt man" or "earth man" in honor of where he came from. In the ancient Hebrew tradition, and Hebrew names to this day, are intentionally chosen and say a great deal about the individual. These are not names that are chosen because they are trendy or sound cool, but explanatory monikers that tell you everything about the bearer. Now back to God, who's name, or lack thereof, tells us everything.

Lord, spelled as capital L, capital O, capital R, capital D, with the last three letters slightly smaller than the first, is not the same as the word "lord" for which we are so familiar - and it should not be spelled "Lord" (Though we do it anyway). Go check one of your bibles.

Go ahead, I'll wait....

There is a reason we spell it as such in the bible - quite simply, it is the best we can do with the information we have.

In the book of Genesis, a man tending his flock in the desert encounters a bush that is on fire, but does not burn. He is curious, goes to check it out, and he encounters God. It is God with a capital G.

God asks the man, called Moses (or Moshe, if we are striving for accuracy here), to perform a task that will require him to act in God's place, as his messenger. Moses will need to introduce himself, and he knows that during the course of this task, people will ask him who have him the authority to make the demands that he is about to make. They are some big demands - the type that will alter history - and so it is not unreasonable for these people to ask who handed down these demands to Moses. And it is not unreasonable for Moses to ask the common question - "Whom shall I say is calling?"

And God answers. But instead of a name like all the millions of other gods in the thousands of other religions, some of which Moses is well acquainted, God gives him something else. It is not a label. God does not provide him with a Joe, or a Steve - not even a tricky name like Amon-Ra. Nothing with hyphens, apostrophes or funky Swedish umlauts... He says that he is.

He is.

He simply, and yet at the same time impossibly, is.

(An image of an artifact found in a small cylindrical metal can in Jerusalem, near the dig sight where the Ark of the Covenant is believed to be…. Other similar tags were inscribed with “Moses”, “Aaron”, and a nearly unpronounceable ancient Hebrew script believed to say something like “Bill’s friend Steve from last year’s Passover party”)

The Hebrew text uses four letters, pronounced yod hey vod hey, which doesn't make any sense. It isn't a word at all. It is unpronounceable. When we match the Hebrew script to the corresponding English equivalent on a letter by letter basis, we get YHWH. Try saying that without adding any vowels. You sound pretty silly, don't you?

Or do you?

There are ancient Hebrew philosophers that will tell you that what you are hearing when you pronounce those letters is the sound of breath. In Hebrew, there is a name for the life-giving breath of all things - the “ruach.” it is the spirit, the soul.

So what did Moses hear? In the bible we are given a small diatribe of explanation - I am all that is, and all that ever will be. I am existence. I AM. But later in scripture we find that there is knowledge of a name, and so it is fair to make the assumption that Moses heard a name.

Was it YHWH? Did he hear the very breath of God?

Was Moses' experience simply the life giving breath of God? Perhaps Moses was opened up at the moment, exposed to the reality that this God had no name, that this God was simply everything. Everything that ever was and ever will be. Maybe is wasn't as much of a hearing as it was a full experience, a sensation. Have you ever tried to put into words a feeling? The incomparable high from the birthed a new child, the exasperating rush of adrenalin from a near brush with death...they are hard to explain. We hear people try, but until we have that experience our words, our labels, fall drastically short.

We write LORD as a pronounceable counterpart, using a familiar word that, at one time, referred to a ruler or king. But we denote the difference by putting it in all caps, as if we are yelling the very word. LORD is our label, our name for the unpronounceable.

Later in the Pentateuch we hear that the high priests of this god were to enter the temple and once a year they say his name. What did they say?

God could not give Moses an answer that would please Moses. Moses wanted a label that defined a package. A package that would tell the recipient all about the contents - where this god was from and what he was about.

Sorry. This god could not be packaged. God has no label because this god was something different - this god was not a creation of humans and therefor able to be labeled. This god is bigger than that, encompassing everything that is good. This god, for the first time and uniquely different from all other gods in all other religions, was existence itself. He had always existed and always will. There was no birth or death for this God - also unique. This God includes all those other gods. Think about that.

At that moment Moses' mind was blown. This explanation, one that we still struggle to grasp today, was brilliant.

He is.

And so, today we use the word "God" with a capital G. Because God is not a name, but a thing. Our god is the god because he is God.

He is. He is everything that ever was and everything that was before that. He is creation, life, and breath. And he is so much more.

Hello, my name is God. You can call me "is". You can call me LORD, Yahweh, Jehovah, or whatever you can pronounce, because your labels cannot change me for they are not me. I AM, and I always will be.