tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79843442024-03-14T01:39:52.330-04:00outWORD by Matte DowneyI have a PhD in dramatic theology and teach theology and spirituality in various settings. Welcome to my musings on life, learning, and theology. Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.comBlogger942125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-79829153608163420882021-11-11T18:08:00.001-05:002021-11-11T18:09:55.060-05:00I am moving!<div>Hello readers. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have spent many weeks building a new online home for my writing, publications, photos, and more. The new website has a lot of flexibility and allows me to be more creative with the content. </div><div><br /></div><div>That means that I will no longer be posting blogs here at outword.blogspot.com. The content here will remain accessible, meaning it is not going away anytime soon. However, you will now find me writing over at mattedowney.wordpress.com. I have made sure to include over 100 of my most recent blogs from this site (mostly on theology) as a way of ensuring continuity and familiarity. But there's a lot more than blogs on the new site.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can find my new website <a href="https://mattedowney.wordpress.com/">here</a>. Hope to see you over there.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N6YnWs-mSMQ/YY2ipwjk7tI/AAAAAAAAb3Y/D0OQcmIqlis-r3j8aCEmHW9jY_iVUfe5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/M%2BAngel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N6YnWs-mSMQ/YY2ipwjk7tI/AAAAAAAAb3Y/D0OQcmIqlis-r3j8aCEmHW9jY_iVUfe5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/M%2BAngel.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Matte </div><div>November 2021</div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-71534672998174737582021-10-22T15:28:00.005-04:002021-10-23T19:54:58.903-04:00what do you want me to do for you?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BT8uMU6JTr4/YXMQEcQ-_HI/AAAAAAAAbxU/3eGSKGdvKEAWF77EICRnwRGd0wCtVj3SACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="349" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BT8uMU6JTr4/YXMQEcQ-_HI/AAAAAAAAbxU/3eGSKGdvKEAWF77EICRnwRGd0wCtVj3SACLcBGAsYHQ/w292-h400/image.png" width="292" /></a></div><br />In the evangelical circles in which I was formed, we were taught that, for the most part, we couldn't trust our desires. Desire was largely equated with lust or greed. What we wanted was deemed mostly irrelevant or even assumed to be detrimental. Unless, of course, it was linked directly to the service of God as defined by the church leaders. Unfortunately, this has resulted in many of us who were raised in the church being ill-equipped to identify our desires and honestly reflect on them. <p></p><p>Jesus had no such hangups about desire. In fact, Jesus made a point of asking people about their desires and engaging with people's responses. Jesus believed people's desires were worth expressing and exploring. </p><p>In Mark 10 we find two stories, one right after the other, in which Jesus asks: "What do you want me to do for you?" The first story takes place as Jesus and his disciples are on their way to Jerusalem. Jesus has mentioned to his close followers what troubles await him in that city. He plainly states that he is to be put to death but will rise again. It is at this point that James and John approach Jesus and state, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask." You have to admire their boldness. Jesus responds with a direct question: "What do you want me to do for you?" It turns out that the two young brothers want to sit on either side of Jesus when he enters his glory, meaning that they want places of privilege and prominence when Jesus establishes his kingdom. They assume this "glory" involves overthrowing the Roman rule in Judea, but Jesus makes it clear that they have misunderstood.</p><p>He counters their request with these words: "You don't know what you're asking. Can you drink the cup I drink or receive the baptism I receive?" James and John know that Jesus is referring to some type of suffering, but they are quick to reply with a confident: "We can." Jesus tells them that they will indeed participate in the cup and baptism, but he also lets them know that positions of honour are not his to dole out. The other disciples are understandably angry when they hear of the presumptuous request made by the sons of Zebedee. Jesus calls the disciples together and reminds them about what it means to be great in the kingdom of heaven. "Whoever wants to be great among you will be your servant. Whoever wants to be first among you will be the slave of all, for the Human One didn't come to be served but rather to serve and to give his life to liberate many people." (Common English Bible)</p><p>After this, Jesus and his followers pass through Jericho. As they are leaving, a blind man, a beggar called Bartimaeus, begins to shout," "Jesus, Son of David, show me mercy!" People scold him, telling him to be quiet, but he shouts louder, "Jesus, Son of David, show me mercy!" Jesus acknowledges the disruption and stops. He gives an instruction, "Call him forward." People call to the blind man and tell him to get up and approach Jesus. Hearing this, Bartimaeus throws his coat to the side, jumps up, and comes to Jesus. Jesus asks the blind man, "What do you want me to do for you?" Bartimaeus responds: "Teacher, I want to see." Jesus responds, "Go, your faith has healed you." At once, Bartimaeus can see and instead of going on his way, he follows Jesus.</p><div style="text-align: left;">These stories revolve around one question: "What do you want me to do for you? One question, but two different scenarios. First, let's notice some similarities between the two stories.<br />1. Jesus is recognized as an agent of God.<br />2. Jesus is believed capable of fulfilling the request.<br />3. Jesus does not assume to know what people want; he invites them to articulate it.<br />4. The people answering Jesus' question express a desire for a change in status.<br />5. Others are angry at both parties for asking something of Jesus.<br />6. Both follow Jesus after the encounter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We can also observe some contrasts between the two stories.</div><div style="text-align: left;">1. The first involves Jesus' inner circle (friends), the second involves an outsider (stranger).</div><div style="text-align: left;">2. One request is granted, the other is not.</div><div style="text-align: left;">3. The first results in a correction, the second in a commendation.</div><div style="text-align: left;">4. James and John want to exclude others, Bartimaeus desires not to be excluded (from society and holy places).</div><div style="text-align: left;">5. James and John have their blindness revealed; Bartimaeus has his blindness healed.</div><div style="text-align: left;">6. James and John consider proximity to Jesus, the anointed one, as a gateway to status and power. Bartimaeus equates the presence of Jesus with mercy, healing, and wholeness. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I read the two stories together, I notice a theme of blindness vs. seeing. When we encounter blindness in the scriptures, it is represented as negative. Blindness disqualifies one from the priesthood and makes animals unfit for sacrifice. God strikes enemies with blindness and people who are blind are seen as weak and helpless. Blindness is also used as a metaphor for wickedness and foolishness. [1]</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the first story, James and John are figuratively blind because they cannot see that their request is inconsistent with the way of Jesus. After their audacious request reveals their blindness, Jesus uses it as an opportunity to explain the nature of greatness in the kingdom of God not just to the two brothers, but to all his students. I think it is important to remember that Jesus is a teacher, and as such, does not expect his students to understand everything right away. We often find him repeating himself or giving the same lesson in different ways. And if we follow the stories of James and John for a few years, we find that they do learn what it means to serve. I almost want to add a scene to this story and give the two brothers a chance to ask a better question, especially after they realize their first one was inappropriate. Instead of "Can we have places of prominence?" perhaps they might have adopted Bartimaeus' plea, "Teacher, we want to see." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The fact that blindness is portrayed as negative in the biblical texts makes several details about Jesus' interaction with Bartimaeus quite interesting. Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, is the featured actor (perhaps even hero?) in the story. He initiates the encounter, most of the action verbs are associated with him, and he speaks as many lines as Jesus does. The naming of a character (as opposed to those who are unnamed) reveals how important they are to the story. Bartimaeus is the only recipient of healing in Mark who is named and he is named twice (Bartimaeus, son - <i>bar</i> in Hebrew - of Timaeus). When Bartimaeus calls Jesus "Son of David" he is invoking a messianic title. Even though he is physically blind, he knows (sees) who is walking past him, and he cries out for divine mercy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The commendation which Jesus gives to Bartimaeus (your trust has healed you) positions the outcast as a collaborator in his own healing. He places his trust in Jesus (whom he cannot see but whom he recognizes as the messiah) and his trust is justified. Jesus does have mercy on him. Because God is merciful. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I find it interesting how a group of Jesus' closest followers, ones who presume to know him well enough to ask him to grant a request before he even hears what it is, fail to understand the merciful nature of God. They believe that God has no problem including some and excluding others, that access to the presence of God is strictly controlled, that divine proximity has limits, and that there is a hierarchy in the glorious kingdom of God. Bartimaeus, the blind man, has no close relationship with Jesus to leverage. He has no friends in religious or political circles to speak on his behalf. As a beggar, he relies on the kindness and mercy of others. Mercy keeps him alive. And that means Bartimaeus is intimately acquainted with how things work in the kingdom of heaven. He is already a participant. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Blessed are the poor in spirit, those with no hope of social or political advancement, those on the fringes of society, the beggars, the insignificant ones who go unnoticed, those who have no trouble asking for mercy every day of their lives, for they already belong to the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 5:3, my paraphrase). </div><p>------------</p><p>[1] Mary Ann L. Beavis, "From the Margin to the Way: A Feminist Reading of the Story of Bartimaeus,"<i> Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion</i> (1998): 19-39.<br /></p><p>Image: "Bartimaeus" from evangile-et-peinture.org</p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-5665211411537387652021-10-01T19:06:00.017-04:002021-10-02T12:41:11.861-04:00three helpful questions to ask when engaging with the biblical texts<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Sof7BpviP-g/YVeT9Ws5fpI/AAAAAAAAbv4/5wgi8kyTu14KK-lSGSi80jjIuhdDfSUiACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="342" height="187" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Sof7BpviP-g/YVeT9Ws5fpI/AAAAAAAAbv4/5wgi8kyTu14KK-lSGSi80jjIuhdDfSUiACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />The collection of texts which make up the Bible (narrative, poetry, laws, prophecy, letters, parables, apocalyptic literature, etc.) are what we call meaning-making texts. Together, they offer a certain view of the relationship between divinity, humanity, and the cosmos. For hundreds and hundreds of years, people have sought to faithfully discern and follow what the biblical texts teach. <p></p><p>When we are looking for meaning or direction from a text, we come with specific questions. Perhaps we ask, "How should we live?" or more broadly, "What does this have to say to us?" For those of us taught to read the Bible as a guide to personal piety, our questions might focus on laws, behaviours, and avoiding sin. For those needing comfort, the questions might be, "What encouragement or reassurance is being offered?" When we find the biblical stories confusing or disturbing, we might ask, "What does this mean?" or "What am I supposed to do with this?" We might even ask, "Why isn't this easier to understand?" </p><p>All of these questions are valid, but not all are equal. Some questions serve to open things up and spark curiosity. Some questions impose presuppositions and limitations on the texts and reveal our biases. I have found that one of the best ways to keep my engagement with the scriptures fresh is to have a variety of good questions to bring to the texts. Below are three questions that I have found helpful when reading the Bible. All of them have caused me to view the texts differently and, as a result, discover insights I had previously overlooked. </p><p><b>1. How is the text critiquing the reader/hearer?</b></p><p>I came across this first question in Walter Brueggemann's inspiring book, <i>The Prophetic Imagination</i>. [1] Brueggemann describes what he identifies as the "royal consciousness" and notes how many of the prophets' messages were directed at critiquing this dominant force in ancient Israel. He identifies three main aspects of the dominant consciousness: a) economic affluence: a focus on being consumers instead of covenant people entering into free and loving relationships with God and others, b) politics of oppression: the exploitation of some for the benefit of others, and c) religion of control: a religion which emphasizes security and order, organized around a leader who is key to the purposes of God and above criticism.</p><p>Brueggemann uses the example of the reign of Solomon to unpack the implications of "royal consciousness," but its characteristics resonate with much of our dominant culture today. I was raised in the church and attended four years of Bible college. I don't recall ever being taught that one of the purposes of the Bible is to critique our unjust ways of living as a society. For the most part, we read the texts for evidence of our personal guilt and assurance of our personal salvation. When did we read about judgments or consequences of evildoing, we always seemed to identify with the righteous. </p><p>The Western church as a whole has a hard time accepting critique from the biblical texts. We are taught to identify with the chosen ones, the charismatic leaders, the innocent victims, and the prophets who expose evil. We seldom see ourselves in those who are being exposed for their duplicitous acts and their participation in oppressive systems. Most of us are conditioned to avoid critique, but critique simply asks us to imagine another way of being or acting. It is not condemnation; it is an invitation to transformation.</p><p>Brueggemann writes: "We ... are children of the royal consciousness. All of us, in one way or another, have deep commitments to it. ... We need to ask if our consciousness and imagination have been so assaulted and co-opted by the royal consciousness that we have been robbed of the courage or power to think an alternative thought." (p. 39) </p><p><b>2. How is the text energizing the reader/hearer?</b></p><p>This question is also from Brueggeman's work, <i>The Prophetic Imagination</i>, and is a corollary to his first point. Most of the time when the biblical prophets brought a stinging critique, they also offered a way to be energized, a way to step into the path of life again. The energizing, life-giving words found in the biblical texts were given to counteract the numbness and despair of the original hearers. The words have continued to serve this purpose for hundreds of years, especially when situations seem overwhelming and suffering is all around us. Words of life can redefine situations and bring hope, offering us ways of reimagining our contexts. Inspired words and stories can cultivate amazement and provide nourishment for our depleted souls. </p><p>Brueggemann says, "The language of amazement is against despair just as the language of grief is against the numbness." (p. 68) The prevalence of lament in the scriptures illustrates this. Grief is expressed, often creatively, but it is not suppressed. Lament keeps us from becoming numb to the pain present in our lives and the world. On the other hand, amazement and appreciation of beauty and goodness counteract the despair we can encounter. The biblical texts show us how to engage with grief in a life-giving way. We also find the texts calling us to pay attention to and appreciate the wondrous presence of love, hope, faith, mercy, and goodness in the world around us. The biblical texts energize us by telling stories of redemption, singing songs of hope, recounting the mysteries of creation, and so much more.</p><p><b>3. Who do I relate to in the text?</b></p><p>A few weeks ago, I came across a video that challenged and, to be honest, convicted me. In it, Janice Lagata comments on a recent sermon streamed from a popular megachurch. The preacher in question was a white woman and her talk was entitled, 'The God Who Sees Me." As you may expect, her talk was about the story of Hagar. In the sermon, she says: "Here is a woman at the lowest point in her life, in a wilderness place, feeling invisible and unseen and unimportant to others. ... I wonder today if you can see yourself in Hagar's story."</p><p>Janice, a Black woman, responds: "Yeah, I wonder too if you can see yourself in Hagar's story ... You, standing on this platform of this multimillion-dollar conglomerate, try to find any commonality with an enslaved girl of colour from any point in history. ... Imagine you, [a] wealthy white woman reading the story of Hagar and trying to see yourself in Hagar when Sarah is right there." [2]</p><p>Ouch. I have preached that sermon. I have asked privileged white people to identify with Hagar and her dire situation. I have taken the promises YHWH made to an enslaved young woman caught between life and death and applied them to myself, a middle-class, educated, property owner. </p><p>Janice invites her listeners to engage with the texts more honestly. "Within the story of Hagar is the reality of a woman [Sarah] who has been treated like property [by her husband], traded like property, participating in the treatment and trading of another woman as property. ... If we want to talk about the God who sees me, then we all need to be way more honest about who we actually look like in these stories."</p><p>We naturally identify with the hero of a story. We want to be the good guy, the beautiful princess, the brave warrior, the clever problem-solver, the one who saves the day, even the mistreated slave girl who gets special attention from God. But this innate desire to be at the centre of a narrative causes us to ignore our social location and all its implications. Most of us are not enslaved, not impoverished, not outcast, not under constant threat from law enforcement, and yet we identify with those characters in the biblical texts because those are the ones to whom God shows loving compassion. As Janice observes, we are not all enslaved Hebrews looking for freedom, some of us are bad Egyptians. </p><p>When I read about the encounters between Jesus and the Pharisees, it is tempting to think that I am team Jesus, but if I consider my social location, I have more in common with the respected, overbearing religious leaders than with a poor ex-carpenter living under an oppressive regime. In the story of Hannah praying and weeping bitterly in the Lord's house (1 Samuel 1), I have more in common with the dismissive and undiscerning priest, Eli, or Peninnah, the wife who considers herself superior to others, than with a barren woman taunted for her condition.</p><p>This third question invites us to 1) be aware of and acknowledge our social location and 2) read the biblical stories with more integrity and honesty. It challenges our impulse to automatically identify ourselves with those biblical characters who receive a special grace from God while ignoring all the disturbing factors (such as systems of oppression) which brought them to that point. It invites us to receive critique in a way that leads to transformation. And it invites us into even richer engagements with the biblical narrative.</p><p>These are but three of the many questions we can ask when we engage with the biblical texts, but they have proven to be especially helpful to me as I seek to divest myself of colonizing ways of reading the Bible. May they bear much good fruit for you as well. </p><p>---------</p><p>[1] Walter Brueggemann. <i>The Prophetic Imagination</i>, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001).</p><p>[2] You can see the entirety of Janice's spicy response on her Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/p/CTJ7dwmg35e/ </p><p>Image from: goodreads.com</p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-76738681589060923652021-09-22T17:20:00.003-04:002021-09-22T17:20:46.138-04:00wheat and weeds<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Wj9jfJPL-_0/YUuJO90WX1I/AAAAAAAAbvQ/MSS06iGXLT8r_r1ju5W04ex72IwQuS8sACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Wj9jfJPL-_0/YUuJO90WX1I/AAAAAAAAbvQ/MSS06iGXLT8r_r1ju5W04ex72IwQuS8sACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from https://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Early in my life, I was taught to identify weeds. My mom took me to the vegetable garden and instructed me to pull up the purslane (we called it Fatta Han) and thistles so they wouldn't interfere with the peas and tomatoes. As an adolescent, I got a job hoeing beets during the summer months and many a weed fell under my hoe's blade. But what are weeds, exactly? How do you know whether something is a weed or not? Basically, weeds are classified as undesirable plants that grow alongside desired plants. There is nothing inherently bad about them; they are just in the wrong place, at least according to the farmer or gardener. In forests, ditches, valleys, and meadows, there are virtually no weeds because there is no intentional planting. </p><p>Whether a plant is a weed or not depends largely on its location. In a vegetable garden, a dandelion is considered a weed. Yet some harvest dandelions for herbal tea. In a field of wheat, grass is a weed. Yet in a pasture, grass is the main crop. In a grazing pasture, a thistle is a weed. Yet in a setting meant to attract bees, thistles are very desirable.</p><p>In Matthew 13, Jesus tells a story about wheat and weeds (tares). A farmer sows good seed (wheat) and then an enemy comes along and plants weeds in the wheat. The farmer's servants are concerned about this development and want to pull up the weeds. The farmer informs them that such action would result in pulling up the wheat along with the weeds. He instructs the servants to let both plants grow and wait until harvest time to sort it out. </p><p>The Greek word translated as "weeds" or "tares" in this story is <i>zizanion</i>, a wheat look-alike called darnel.[1] It is actually poisonous in large doses and an intoxicant when taken in moderation. It has been added to beer and bread for an extra kick and also used for medicinal purposes (i.e. as an anesthetic, to reduce bleeding). Darnel mimics wheat, at least until it ripens, at which point its ears can be quite easily distinguished from those belonging to wheat. Hence the need to wait until the two plants mature before separating them. </p><p>The parable in Matthew 13 ends with the wheat and the darnel being separated at harvest, at which point the wheat goes into the barns and the darnel is bundled and burned. This burning has sometimes been associated with hell and eternal destruction. It should be noted that there was no concept of this type of hell in the first century, so Jesus could not have been referring to eternal punishment. If we stick with the horticultural metaphor (as we should), the notion of burning goes beyond destruction. Burning grass, brush, and other plants is not only a way to get rid of unwanted vegetation but a means of putting nutrients back into the soil. Controlled burning of vegetation has a beneficial purpose within the ecosystem.</p><p>For a long time, I thought weeds were bad plants, useless plants, plants with no purpose other than to make it more difficult for good plants to grow. In Christian circles, I was told they were a result of what is often referred to as "the fall," that point in the creation saga where humans defied one of the divine directives. As a result, they forfeited life in the idyllic garden of Eden and incurred a variety of curses on humankind, one of which was the infestation of weeds. However, if weeds are simply plants that are out of place and not evil in and of themselves, perhaps the curses mentioned in Genesis 3 have more to do with things being out of place than with evil invading the earth. </p><p>But getting back to the parable of the wheat and the weeds. What are we to make of it? I don't believe Jesus was inviting the hearers of this story to categorize all people into good (wheat) and evil (weeds). The distinction between wheat and darnel is more nuanced than that. More importantly, the main contrast in the story is not between the two plants but between the farmer and the enemy. The farmer plants a crop for food. The enemy plants a toxin among the food. </p><p>Darnel is a weed when it infiltrates a cereal grain crop mainly because it should not be ingested as food. It has some value as medicine, but it must be used with care and skill. In this story, it is not the weed that is bad, but the one who sows the darnel among the wheat, poisoning the crop. The enemy in the story seeks to render a crop useless, but perhaps they also mean to poison those who eat the crop. Perhaps the enemy is counting on the farmer and his workers being undiscerning.</p><p>Jesus' explanation of the parable in Matthew 13:36-43 has often been interpreted to refer to a final, eschatological judgement where good people are separated from evil people, the former to shine in God's kingdom, the latter to burn eternally. But is this really what Jesus is saying? The point of Jesus' interpretation seems to be that good will prevail in the end and evil will amount to nothing (bear no lasting fruit). It is not a parable meant to give us details about a final judgment. And since the harvesting of people is certainly not literal, neither would the burning be literal. The focus of the story, according to Jesus, is the enduring nature of that which is good, beautiful, fair, and just and the temporality of that which is destructive or done with malicious intent.</p><p>I believe this parable is also more than a simple contrast between the end results of good and evil. It seems to be an invitation to practice discernment and patience. Are we prone to judge by early appearances instead of waiting for the fruit to reveal itself? Do we know what is good to be eaten in plenty and what is strong medicine to be taken in small doses? Do we have a framework for honouring different purposes and contexts? Can we discern when something is out of place? Are we generating that which nourishes others or spreading toxicity? Are we like panicked servants, substituting reaction for wisdom? Or are we like the good farmer, patient and steady in our vocation to provide sustenance (physical, spiritual, relational, social, economic) for our community? </p><p>--------------------------------</p><p>1. Sarah Laskow. "Wheat's Evil Twin Has Been Intoxicating Human Beings for Centuries." Atlas Obscura. March 22, 2016. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/wheats-evil-twin-has-been-intoxicating-humans-for-centuries</p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-86399399895657725902021-09-01T17:37:00.008-04:002021-09-09T13:27:23.264-04:00Jesus and the thief<p>Recently, I
was listening to a reading from Matthew 24, a story I have heard many times
before. However, this time something seemed out of place. Jesus is talking to
his disciples about the coming of the Human One (Son of Man). He states that
they do not know what day the Lord is coming, so they must keep alert. His
metaphor of choice is unexpected. “But you understand that if the head of the
house knew at what time the thief would come, he would keep alert and wouldn’t
allow the thief to break into his house. Therefore, you also should be
prepared, because the Human One will come at a time you don’t know” (Matthew
24:43-44, CEB).</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Did Jesus just
compare himself to a thief? That would be disturbing. If he wanted to emphasize
the unpredictability of divine/human encounters, why didn’t he use a positive
metaphor, like an unexpected visit from a beloved relative, or a serendipitous
encounter with a long-lost friend? Why a thief? No one wants an encounter with
a thief. Such a visit invokes a sense of danger and produces fear. An
unexpected intrusion can also result in violence. In John 10, Jesus is quoted
as saying, “A thief enters only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that
they could have life – indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest”
(John 10:10, CEB). Jesus clearly states that he is not a thief, that he comes
to give, not take away. Even though it seems that Jesus is comparing himself to
a thief in this passage, the larger context of the Scriptures disallows this
interpretation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Nevertheless,
some have equated God with a thief. This has, unsurprisingly, led to some bad
theology. I was exposed to this in my younger years through films like <i>A
Thief in the Night</i> which depicted frightening eschatological scenarios
based on Matthew 24. The depictions scared and scarred me, leaving me with the notion
that this God frightens unbelievers into becoming believers. This God is not
above stealing, killing, and destroying if it serves divine purposes. It has
taken me years to learn that the person of Jesus is nothing like this thieving God.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The more
you read through the teachings of Jesus, the more you become familiar with his
style. Often, he uses extremes and binaries to challenge assumptions. He
compares unlike things and invites his hearers to work out how they might be
alike. He provokes and argues and changes the subject and answers questions
with more questions and sometimes says nothing at all. Even Jesus’ most straightforward
teachings are incredibly challenging, mostly because they require drastic
changes in how people view and interact with the world. When we observe Jesus’
pedagogy, we begin to expect the unexpected. We look for the plot twist, the unlikely
metaphor, the shocking contrast, the challenge to our presuppositions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">So what do
we do with the passage in Matthew 24? Assuming that Jesus is not just having a
bad metaphor day, it seems likely that the jarring image of a thief in relation
to the Human One is meant to challenge the hearer in some way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Let’s begin
by questioning our assumptions. If Jesus is not the thief, who might he be in
this metaphor? One possibility is that even though Jesus is not a thief, a
thief might be Jesus. Later in this series of teachings on the end of the age (Matt.25),
Jesus recounts a judgment scene of some sort in which he chides those who have neglected
the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the imprisoned. He
then reveals that he was the hungry one, the thirsty one, the stranger, the one
who needed clothes, the sick one, and the one in prison. Could Jesus also be the
thief who is poor and desperate, stealing to provide for himself and his
family? Could the metaphor be reinforcing the notion that Jesus appears in
unexpected forms?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Another
possibility is that Jesus is contrasting himself to the thief. We see Jesus
doing this in other stories. One example is the unjust judge who metes out
justice because a persistent widow does not give up (Luke 18). The point of the
story is not that God needs to be badgered into responding to our requests, but
that God is quick to help those who call out for justice. The unjust judge is a
contrast to God, not a picture of God. Another example is the imperfect (evil)
father who knows better than to deprive his children of food or trick them
(Matt. 7). Here, God is portrayed as a good heavenly Father who goes above and
beyond the human decency expected from earthly fathers. Not all metaphors are
parallels; sometimes they are contrasts. Perhaps the thief is meant to provide a
contrast to the Human One (Son of Man). This is a thief who gives instead of
takes, who incites joy instead of fear, whose coming is like a beloved relative
or friend.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I will
mention one more possibility. Perhaps Jesus is not the thief but the head of
the household. In another version of the parable (Mark 13:32-37), this does indeed seem to be the case. In the parable in Mark, there is no thief; the servants are told to watch for the arrival of the head of the household. In Matthew 25, Jesus as head of the household could be inviting the disciples to be
watchful like he is watchful, careful that the thief does not catch them
unaware. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">When we read the passages preceding and following this metaphor in Matthew 25, watchfulness
is a recurring theme. Jesus alludes to watchfulness at the beginning of chapter
24 when he cautions his disciples not to be deceived by false prophets,
betrayals, people falling away, etc. Watchfulness is also the theme of the
parable of the ten young women who are waiting for the bridegroom (Matt. 25). Like
the metaphor of the thief, the bridegroom turns out to be a less than exemplary
character (late, abrupt, and somewhat inhospitable), so we must not assume that
he represents God or Jesus. It seems fair to conclude that some of these metaphors
and parables are not meant to tell us about the character of God but to relay
some invitation to action. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Jesus urges
his disciples to be watchful against betrayal or falling away. Jesus tells a
story about watchfulness being linked to preparedness. In the events following Jesus’
teachings on the end of the age, he calls his disciples to stay awake and watch
with him while he prays in the garden (Matt. 26). Shortly thereafter, Jesus is betrayed,
and the disillusioned disciples flee. Their watchfulness still needs some
work. These stories and metaphors seem to call the hearer/reader to
watchfulness, even in dangerous or unfortunate circumstances. Especially when
the scenarios are frightening or catch us off guard or don’t make sense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">When
reading Matthew 24, it is important to note that Jesus is not a thief. Jesus comes
to give, not take away, not steal, not kill, not destroy. By invoking the
metaphor of a thief, Jesus calls us to be watchful and attentive to the difficult
and decisive moments right before us. Let us be watchful against distortions of
the good news. Let us be careful not to participate in betrayals. Let us not
let fear rule our thoughts and actions. Let us be watchful for the appearance of Jesus in
distressing disguises. Let us be present in prayer and solidarity with those
facing uncertainty, danger, and injustice. Let us be givers of life, just like
Jesus. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-32783059443909221952021-06-09T13:14:00.006-04:002021-06-09T15:10:47.279-04:00mailing list of life (repost)<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">While scrolling through some stuff on my computer, I came across this piece which I wrote eleven years ago. June 9, 2010. It reads like a "Dear Future Me" letter in some ways. These are words I need to hear right now. They are reminders about what's truly important in navigating the road ahead. And I also see how I have changed in the interim years, less convinced that God is male, less idealistic and certain, less theoretical and more embodied, and more aware of the ways we have turned blind eyes to inequities right under our noses. These days, I would also pair self-forgetfulness (decentring myself) with radical self-love and care. Nevertheless, these words make me smile and look at my body and my life with kindness and appreciation. Thanks, younger me. You did well. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">-----------------</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2k8dEf9G-k0/YMD17J6NrqI/AAAAAAAAbqw/cArz0MHQrrsBO73Fu3Wgns4YMTYxRoLcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s518/wrinkle%2Bhands.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="389" data-original-width="518" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2k8dEf9G-k0/YMD17J6NrqI/AAAAAAAAbqw/cArz0MHQrrsBO73Fu3Wgns4YMTYxRoLcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/wrinkle%2Bhands.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;"><p><span style="color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif;">I was reaching for something the other day when Dean pointed at my arm and said, "Hey, that's new!" He was referring to the triceps swinging lazily in a stretchy hammock of skin under my arm. </span><em>Yes, they are new! They arrived recently without me even having to order them! Other old lady body parts have been showing up as well, all free of charge! Isn't that amazing? Do you like them? I hope so, because I'm not sure I can return them.</em></p></span><p></p><p><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Despite what plastic surgeons and cosmetic manufacturers would have us believe, it is impossible to get off the "Old Person Body Parts" mailing list once you are on it. Packages show up at random and unexpected times. One day you are putting on your clothes and </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Surprise! Here are your new larger and longer buttocks! </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Or you may be just sitting there reading a book and </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Voila! Your hands have been upgraded to the new super-wrinkle skin and hey, here's some bonus brown accent spots!</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;"> I can honestly say that some days it is hard not to get discouraged by all the free and unsolicited upgrades.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Last night I finished reading another book about Evelyn Underhill, an early twentieth century author who popularised the study of mysticism in England and who is the topic of my master's thesis. After reading much of her first book on mysticism, an early work of her fiction, and one biography, I wasn't sure why I had thought the woman would be an interesting subject. She was scattered, opinionated without being totally informed, had a tendency to overwrite, was pretty dated in her concepts, and seemed to lack passion (which for me, is a must in a mystic). Then I read the last two chapters of a biography by Christopher Armstrong, and saw something different. After years of struggling with doubt, jealousy, and self-judgment, she let go of her self-occupation. She moved from introspection of herself to adoration of the Absolute. She no longer sought after mystical experiences; she simply and humbly offered herself to Him. Everything else became incidental.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">"...the individual must lose his life to find it: the longing for personal expression, personal experience, safety, joy, must more and more be swallowed up in Charity. For the goal of Christian sanctification and Christian worship is the ceaseless self-offering of the Church, in and with Christ her head, to the increase of the glory of God." (from </span><em style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Worship</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;"> by Evelyn Underhill, p. 82)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">Evelyn Underhill's journey finally took off when she was in her mid-forties and began to practice self-forgetfulness. She deliberately took her eyes off herself and her petty imperfections and set them on Christ. She wrote of a new awareness, deep and clear, of the all-penetrating presence and love of God. She became a person who friends said carried an aura of peace and radiance with her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">As I continue on this journey of life, things will inevitably change. Some periods of life are more challenging than others in that regard. As I grow older, may my self-preoccupation decrease and my God-awareness increase. May I look at my life and my body with eyes of love as I live more and more in the presence of the supreme Lover. May I be giddy with thankfulness at every day that is given to me and not miss the multitude of blessings that lie hidden within it. May I not hide life's changes in shame, but wear them with grace and dignity. May I bring a sense of beauty and peace wherever I go because I am always with the Beautiful Prince of Peace.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Lora, serif; font-size: 20px;">This is one of my new hands. I think I'll keep it.</span></p><div><br /></div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-91482610836610060212021-05-03T18:05:00.003-04:002021-05-03T18:11:20.016-04:00You are the branches<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e3D5YGS0_MQ/YJBuIc_EsnI/AAAAAAAAbnk/hD-b2c2A76Y0vi4NlkWEovQ3kQIY5AkDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s687/grapevine2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="687" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e3D5YGS0_MQ/YJBuIc_EsnI/AAAAAAAAbnk/hD-b2c2A76Y0vi4NlkWEovQ3kQIY5AkDQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/grapevine2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from evineyardapp.com</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Last week I was reading the beginning of John 15 again. Here, Jesus employs the metaphor of a vineyard to describe the divine/human relationship.</div><div><br /></div>Jesus: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vineyard keeper. He removes any of my branches that don’t produce fruit, and he trims any branch that produces fruit so that it will produce even more fruit. You are already trimmed because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. A branch can’t produce fruit by itself, but must remain in the vine. Likewise, you can’t produce fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, then you will produce much fruit. Without me, you can’t do anything. If you don’t remain in me, you will be like a branch that is thrown out and dries up. Those branches are gathered up, thrown into a fire, and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified when you produce much fruit and in this way prove that you are my disciples." (John 15:1-8, Common English Bible)<div><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, Segoe UI, Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, Noto Sans, sans-serif, Arial"><br /></span></div><div>This is a popular passage, so I have heard many interpretations of it. Some emphasize the theme of abiding, equating this with consistent devotional times and church attendance. Others focus on pruning, framing hardship as a necessary discipline. For others, it is a warning against the fires of hell. Producing fruit is another theme, sometimes employed to fuel an evangelistic thrust. None of these applications strikes me as particularly compelling, mostly because they are not in keeping with an agrarian metaphor. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I want to focus on the bit where Jesus says, "Ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you." Some claim it is a promise that we, as beloved children of God, will receive whatever we ask for because we are connected to a generous and loving heavenly Father. Others infer that the promise is conditional on abiding, so unfulfilled requests are a sign of distance from God. Neither of these interpretations lines up with the Jesus I know. So what are we to make of such a carte blanche statement: "whatever you want?" I don't believe that any follower of Christ has ever had all their wants fulfilled. In fact, not even Jesus had all his desires come to fruition (see Matt. 23:37, Matt. 26:39). And he was more connected to God, was abiding more fully, than any of us. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps part of the problem is that we tend to pull this sentence out of the metaphor, so let's go back to the imagery of the vineyard. Jesus is the vine. We are the branches. Whatever branches ask of the vine they are connected to, it will be done for them. So what do branches ask for? What do branches want? Not fancy cars or fat bank accounts or a life of ease and comfort. Not bigger churches or more influence or even showy miracles. </div><div><br /></div><div>Branches want good soil and sunshine and rain. Branches want the nutrients that flow from the vine. Branches want a supporting structure so they have better access to sunlight and air. They want neighbouring branches which won't compete for resources but grow alongside them. Branches want to produce sweet, juicy fruit in the appropriate season. Branches want someone to pick their fruit and enjoy it (not hold onto it until it rots and falls to the ground). Branches also want to winter well, able to withstand times of cold and dormancy because they are connected to deep roots.</div><div><br /></div><div>The desires of branches are rather simple and organic, related to life and its seasons. They don't want unchecked growth or a harvest that never ends. They want to be part of a living, healthy vineyard which produces sweet fruit in its season, fruit which is not for them but for the hungry and thirsty. And I don't know any vine which would deny a branch that.</div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-2131825934071001602020-12-18T16:56:00.006-05:002020-12-20T15:14:23.939-05:00righteousness and peace have kissed<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I8S6PwGk2m0/X90k0E6um8I/AAAAAAAAbhs/xdIzjcdBY4IIrMKNiK8Lmh0F-wJjW3A1QCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I8S6PwGk2m0/X90k0E6um8I/AAAAAAAAbhs/xdIzjcdBY4IIrMKNiK8Lmh0F-wJjW3A1QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />When we moved to Quebec, I had to adapt to a new way of greeting people. The greeting I received in other parts of Canada was a sturdy handshake which related goodwill without getting too close. In French society, it was a quick kiss on both cheeks, a rather intimate gesture if you are not used to it. I still find it a bit awkward, especially when you can't remember which cheek goes first. I have not greeted anyone with a kiss since March (due to the pandemic) and I sort of miss it. The kiss of greeting reflects vulnerability and a willingness to welcome others into one's personal space, to assume a certain closeness, even with strangers. It is, in many ways, a physical representation of hospitality and welcome. <p></p><p>In Psalm 85, we read: "Unfailing love and truth have met on their way; righteousness and peace have kissed one another" (The Voice Translation). The word "righteousness" is from the Hebrew <i>tsedeq </i>which means to make right and it is sometimes translated "justice." It is not so much a moral category (like uprightness or decency) but the idea of things being as they should be. A suitable word for this might be "right-ness." </p><p>"Peace" is from the Hebrew word <i>shalom </i>which incorporates the ideas of health, prosperity, wellness, rest, safety, wholeness, and harmony. Lisa Sharon Harper describes it this way: "Shalom is what the Kingdom of God smells like ... It's when everyone has enough. It's when families are healed. ... It's when human dignity, bestowed by the image of God in all humanity, is cultivated, protected, and served in families, faith communities, and schools and through public policy." [1] </p><p>So what does it mean for right-ness and peace to kiss, to embrace, to be in close proximity to each other, to extend welcome and hospitality to the other? One story which illustrates the interplay between justice and peace is found in 2 Kings 7. </p><p>The king of Aram has attacked and laid siege to Samaria. The enemy camp surrounds the city for so long that there is a great famine within the city. Four men with a skin disease, outside the gates of the city due to their status as outcasts, fare especially badly. They are staring death in the face, so they say to each other: "What are we doing sitting here until we die? If we decide, ‘Let’s go into the city,’ the famine is there, and we’ll die in the city. But if we stay here, we’ll die just the same. So let’s go and surrender to the Aramean camp. If they let us live, we’ll live. If they kill us, we’ll die." </p><p>The men set out for the Aramean camp and when they arrive, they find it deserted. The text tells us that "the Lord had made the Aramean camp hear the sound of chariots, horses, and a strong army. They had said to each other, 'Listen! Israel’s king has hired the Hittite and Egyptian kings to come against us!' So they had got up and fled in the evening, leaving their tents, horses, and donkeys. They left the camp exactly as it was and ran for their lives."</p><p>The four men who were ready to embrace death just a few hours ago are now beside themselves. They enter a tent and stuff themselves with food. They also gather up silver, gold, and clothing and stash the loot away for safekeeping. They enter another tent, take more goods, and hide them. But then the men pause. Something is wrong. They turn to each other and say: "What we’re doing isn’t right. Today is a day of good news, but we’re keeping quiet about it. If we wait until dawn, something bad will happen to us. Come on! Let’s go and tell the palace." So that's what they do. They go back to the city gate and tell the gatekeepers about all that they have seen, that the attackers' camp is empty and all their tents and animals and goods are left behind. The gatekeepers waste no time in spreading the good news. [2] </p><p>Where is peace present in this story? The obvious answer is that peace comes when the enemy retreats and the city is no longer under siege. Where does right-ness show up? One could say it is when the men with a skin disease share their good fortune with the people inside the city. But there are more layers to the story. </p><p>The conflict between Aram and Israel (and the prophet Elisha) is ongoing. In the past, mercy has been shown to Aram's army through Elisha's intervention (sparing their lives, giving them food and water), but the king of Aram insists on keeping the conflict going. As a result of this particular attack, the people in Samaria are in a desperate state: a donkey head, what Robert Alter refers to as "the most inedible part of an unclean animal," is selling for an outrageous amount and dove dung is in high demand as well. [3] The conflict and injustice experienced by the people in the story stem from the conflict between the two nations. </p><p>But there is conflict and injustice within Samaria as well. Inside the city, people are fighting over food. The king of Israel blames Elisha for this terrible turn of events and wants to have the prophet killed. The men with skin disease are considered unclean and live as outcasts, not allowed in the city. They depend on the goodwill of others to survive, and the siege has dried up any food or resources that might come their way. The conflict has reinforced the injustice of their devalued status. They are so desperate for food and so sure that no one in Samaria will help them that they decide to put themselves at the mercy of the enemy. </p><p>When the four men come to the enemy camp and find it deserted, right-ness and peace enter the story and become inseparable. Most immediately, the men are no longer at death's door. In quick succession, they leave hunger and poverty and danger behind them. There is a certain right-ness in being saved from starvation by eating the food of those who caused the famine. Another aspect of peace and justice is the fact that the conflict is resolved without any further deaths on either side. </p><p>The next movement of justice and peace comes when the men decide that they should share their good fortune with the people of Samaria, even though the people of Samaria have not shared much of their goods with them. The four men make their way back to the city and inform the gatekeepers that the siege is over and there is food to be had. They want everyone to have enough. They want to restore the good fortune of the city. The tide turns when the outcasts show up at the city gates, and there is ironic justice in the outsiders bringing news of salvation to the insiders.</p><p>The story is larger than I have presented here. One of the king's officers mocks the idea that God can reverse the situation (as Elisha has prophesied) and things do not end well for him. The king of Israel is hesitant to believe the good news brought by the four men (those on the lowest rungs of society are not reliable witnesses, it seems), but after a scouting party confirms that the attackers have indeed fled, the people rush to claim the food in the enemy camp. </p><p>It is hard to separate justice from peace in this story, and so it is in our time. In recent years, the rallying cry of "no justice, no peace" is heard whenever people protest the miscarriage of justice, specifically against those devalued by society. When the jury acquitted the man who murdered Trayvon Martin, Charles Howard wrote, "A lack of justice has resulted in a lack of peace ... Heavy hearts now lack peace because of the lack of justice in our nation." [4] Conversely, when you have justice, peace follows close behind. Where you have peace, you see justice being enacted. Right-ness and peace kiss. Love and truth meet. </p><p>What is so interesting (and beautiful) about this story in 2 Kings 7 is that kings and armies and city officials are not the ones instrumental in bringing right-ness and peace. If anything, they have contributed to perpetuating injustice and conflict. The ones with the most power and status and resources are not the ones who make sure that everyone has enough. They are not the ones who restore human dignity, who cultivate and protect the image of God in all humanity. It is the outcasts, the ones considered unclean, the ones whose testimony is doubted, the ones who, it would seem, contribute nothing to society who usher in peace and right-ness. </p><p>The people Jesus calls "the least of these" end up being the peacemakers. They are the ones who recognize right-ness. The despised and rejected ones are the salvation of us all.</p><p>------------------</p><p>1. Lisa Sharon Harper, <i>The Very Good Gospel </i>(New York: Waterbrook, 2016), 14.</p><p>2. 2 Kings 7:3-11, Common English Bible.</p><p>3. See 2 Kings 6. Robert Alter, <i>The Hebrew Bible: The Prophets</i> (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2019), 549.</p><p>4. Charles Howard, "No Justice, No Peace: What I've Felt and What is Next in the Wake of the Trayvon Martin Verdict," Huffpost, September 12, 2013. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/no-justice-no-peace-what-_b_3593307</p><p><i>Image: The Rescuer by Michael D. O'Brien</i></p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-37541076969794193772020-11-28T23:59:00.007-05:002020-11-29T13:53:29.764-05:00stories from exile: belonging and dissenting (part 3)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XFyYFOs49_M/X77y4vUe4CI/AAAAAAAAbes/PWhIh-V5-OwMAA0D_v6LxQ9IIY_uQg4owCLcBGAsYHQ/s255/Daniel%2Bdissents.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="255" height="311" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XFyYFOs49_M/X77y4vUe4CI/AAAAAAAAbes/PWhIh-V5-OwMAA0D_v6LxQ9IIY_uQg4owCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h311/Daniel%2Bdissents.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from pinterest.com<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>This is the third in a series of stories from exile. You can read part one <a href="https://outword.blogspot.com/2020/10/stories-from-exile-part-1.html" target="_blank">here</a> and part two <a href="https://outword.blogspot.com/2020/11/stories-from-exile-part-2.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>We all have a need to belong. This seems obvious. But what is not as obvious is that we also need to dissent, to set ourselves apart from the group. Belonging makes us part of something bigger than ourselves. It gives us a place to call home, a place to feel secure and safe. But without dissent, we become indistinct, a group member with no unique identity or will. Without dissent, we end up going along with everything the group does, no questions asked, a participant in dysfunctional groupthink. Any parent or psychologist will tell you that it is important and healthy for a child to learn dissent in their formative years. We need both belonging and dissent in order to be fully human.</div><div><br /></div><div>When we are experiencing some form of exile (dislocation and separation from what is familiar), belonging is harder to come by, but still vital. In less than ideal situations, we especially need those elements which give us a sense of home and familiarity, some reassurance that we are not abandoned or alone. Without belonging, we resort to survival mode, and that is unsustainable over the long term. On the other hand, if we accept everything that is presented to us, especially when we are dislocated in some way, we run the risk of diminishing our ability to think and act independently. Without dissent, we become institutionalized, substituting compliance for belonging. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two biblical stories which illustrate the interplay between belonging and dissent are that of Daniel and Esther.</div><div><br /></div><div>The book of Daniel opens with these words: "In the third year of the rule of Judah’s King Jehoiakim, Babylon’s King Nebuchadnezzar came to Jerusalem and attacked it." [1] The Babylonian king ended up taking the riches of Jerusalem back to Babylon: precious goods from the temple and the finest of Jerusalem's youth: "good-looking young men without defects, skilled in all wisdom, possessing knowledge, conversant with learning, and capable of serving in the king’s palace." [2] Among the spoils were Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. The young men were given education in Babylonian culture, literature, religion, and language. There were also assigned Babylonian names. Daniel's name went from "God is my Judge" to "Protect the life of the king" (Belteshazzar).</div><div><br /></div><div>As part of their formation for service in Babylon, the young men were entitled to food and wine from the king's rations. Daniel declined to partake in the king's food and appealed to the chief official for an exception. After a brief trial period, this exemption was granted to Daniel and his companions. Why did Daniel accept education in Babylonian culture and a new Babylonian name, but not Babylonian food? A change in diet seemed like the least objectionable of the three. It is likely that the first two were non-negotiable due to the fact that they directly impacted the young men's usefulness to the king. Early in his exile, Daniel intuited that it was important to dissent in some way in order to maintain a sense of his Hebrew identity and reaffirm his loyalty to YHWH. By requesting an alternative diet, Daniel was setting himself apart. Even though Daniel served in the royal house for the rest of his days, every time he ate, he remembered that his home and identity were not in Babylon. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>Hadassah (Esther) was another person who had to resist the pull to comply with every demand of the empire. Esther, a descendant of the Jewish exiles who were taken to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel's time, lived in the Persian empire under King Ahasuerus. At one of the royal feasts, Queen Vashti refused to dance for the king and his guests, and as a result, was dethroned. The search for a new queen began with the king's commissioners taking beautiful young virgins from every province into the king's harem. One of these young women was Hadassah (Esther). Raised by her cousin, Mordecai, she followed his advice not to reveal her Jewish heritage. Her compliance and desire to please soon found her favour in the royal house and she was made the new queen. </div><div><br />When Mordecai overheard a plot to kill the king, he mentioned it to Queen Esther and she passed along the information, thus preventing an assassination attempt. Haman, one the king's officials, became offended at Mordecai for not showing him deferential respect. When Naman discovered that Mordecai was a Jew, he hatched a plot to kill all the Jews and had no problem getting the king to issue an edict to that effect. Cousin Mordecai instructed Esther to appeal to the king to stop this genocide, but Esther was hesitant. She remembered what had happened to Queen Vashti and knew that challenging an order from the king could go badly for her. Mordecai told her that by saving her people, she was saving herself, so Esther revealed her identity and made the request. The king, reminded that Modecai the Jew had saved his life, was sympathetic to Esther's request. Though he did not retract the edict, he gave the Jews permission to assemble and protect themselves against their enemies.</div><div><br /></div><div>Esther had spent her life passing as a daughter of Babylon because things went well for her when she did so. She had learned how to belong by being compliant and fitting in. She was hesitant to dissent and put all that at risk. But when the life of her cousin and her people were at risk, she drew the line. She dissented. She remembered that though she was a Babylonian queen, she was first a Jew in exile. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have used the terms <i>belonging </i>and <i>fitting in</i> somewhat interchangeably, but they are not exactly the same thing. Brene Brown writes about the difference between the two as described by eighth-graders. "Belonging is being somewhere where you want to be, and they want you. Fitting in is being somewhere where you want to be, but they don't care one way or the other. Belonging is being accepted for you. Fitting in is being accepted for being like everyone else. If I get to be me, I belong. If I have to be like you, I fit in." [3] Dissent often reveals if there are any conditions to belonging. In the stories of Daniel and Esther, much of their belonging was dependent on fitting in. They put their lives on the line when they dissented, and later in the story of Daniel, he received a death sentence for his refusal to go along with every rule of the empire. YHWH delivered him from that fate, but not all dissenting worshippers of YHWH experienced divine rescue. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we are in some version of exile, separated from that which is familiar, living with uncertainty due to everchanging landscapes and loyalties, we can be tempted to lean so far into belonging or fitting in that we neglect dissent. Exile chips away at our sense of belonging, so it is important that we find places where we can fit in and feel like we are part of something beyond ourselves. But it is also vital that we do not lose our ability to dissent in order to affirm our (or another person's) humanity, value, identity, culture, freedom to worship, and sense of who the Creator made us to be. </div><div> </div><div>Another way of looking at belonging and dissent is the sacred yes and the sacred no. Richard Rohr explains: "By the sacred yes or sacred no I mean that affirmation or negation that comes from a deep place of wisdom and courage, even if it creates conflict or disagreement. The sacred yes is not willful or egocentric, but rather is willing and surrendered. The sacred no is not rebellion or refusal, but always the necessary protecting of boundaries." [4] </div><div><br /></div><div>True belonging requires mutuality between parties. If one party is always the compliant or submissive one, it is not true belonging. It is a power dynamic. True belonging makes room for the sacred no. Dissenting is the courageous means by which we protect ourselves and others who are at risk of being subjugated or erased or disregarded.</div><div><br /></div><div>In Matthew 22, we find a story where the religious leaders try to trap Jesus with a question: Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not? Jesus responds by pointing to a coin which has the image of Caesar imprinted on it. Then he invokes the language of belonging: "Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God." [5] The implication is that those things marked by the image of Caesar (or any ruler or government) belong to Caesar, but those who bear the image of God belong to God. And nothing can erase that divine belonging. Not even dissent. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like Daniel and Esther, may we never forget that we belong to God, And may we remember that anything which threatens to denigrate that belonging might require our dissent.</div><div><br /></div><div>Courage, my friends.</div><div><p></p></div></div><div>--------------</div><div>[1] Daniel 1:1, Common English Bible</div><div>[2] Daniel 1:4, CEB</div><div>[3] Brene Brown, <i>Braving the Wilderness</i> (New York: Random House, 2017), 160.</div><div>[4] Fr. Bob Connor, "Naming the Father Hunger." Interview with Richard Rohr. March 6, 2020. https://actingpersonblog.wordpress.com/2020/03/06/naming-the-father-hunger-richard-rohr/</div><div>[5] Matthew 22:21, CEB</div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-70597143527821793122020-11-11T14:22:00.004-05:002020-11-11T14:22:28.677-05:00stories from exile (part 2)<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyGLv3R0hTk/X6w4LgOzrFI/AAAAAAAAbcc/s00NznYq-OsC4REFudn7ju8ncQrDU4yVwCLcBGAsYHQ/s750/Jacob%2527s%2Bdream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="750" height="305" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TyGLv3R0hTk/X6w4LgOzrFI/AAAAAAAAbcc/s00NznYq-OsC4REFudn7ju8ncQrDU4yVwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h305/Jacob%2527s%2Bdream.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob's Dream by Jusepe de Ribera<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This is the second in a series: Stories from Exile. You can read part one <a href="https://outword.blogspot.com/2020/10/stories-from-exile-part-1.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p>The biblical texts are full of stories featuring people who leave home for one reason or another and find themselves in an in-between place. The entire saga of Abraham and Sarah is underscored by a sense of un-belonging. The history of Israel is filled with tales situated in liminal spaces. People are running from danger, travelling to find a wife, searching for livestock, going to war, passing through a foreign land, or wandering in the wilderness. </p><p>One of these in-between stories is found in Genesis 28. Barbara Brown Taylor summarizes the familiar tale:</p><p><i>There he
was, still a young man, running away from home because the whole screwy family
had finally imploded. His father was dying. He and his twin brother, Esau, had
both wanted their father’s blessing. Jacob’s mother had colluded with him to
get it, and though his scheme worked, it enraged his brother to the point that
Jacob fled for his life. He and his brother were not identical twins. Esau
could have squashed him like a bug. So Jacob left with little more than the
clothes on his back, and when he had walked as far as he could, he looked
around for a stone he could use for a pillow.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-US">When he had
found one the right size, Jacob lay down to sleep, turning his cheek against
the stone that was still warm from the sun. Maybe the dream was in the stone,
or maybe it fell out of the sky. Wherever the dream came from, it was vivid: a
ladder set up on the earth, with the top of it reaching to heaven and the
angels of God ascending and descending it like bright-winged ants. Then, all of
a sudden, God said to him, “I will not leave you until I have done what I have
promised you.”</span><o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><i>Jacob woke
while God’s breath was still stirring the air, although he saw nothing out of
the ordinary around him: same wilderness, same rocks, same sand. If someone had
held a mirror in front of his face, Jacob would not have seen anything
different there either, except for the circles of surprise in his eyes. “Surely
the Lord is in this place,” he said out loud, “ – and I did not know it!”
Shaken by what he had seen, he could not seem to stop talking. “How awesome is
this place!” he went on. “This is none other than the house of God, and this is
the gate of heaven.”</i> [1]</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -18pt;">We pick up the story in Genesis 28:18: “After Jacob got up early in the
morning, he took the stone that he had put near his head, set it up as a sacred
pillar, and poured oil on the top of it. He named that sacred place Bethel
[God’s House],<sup> </sup>though Luz was the city’s original name. Jacob
made a solemn promise: 'If God is with me and protects me on this trip I’m
taking, and gives me bread to eat and clothes to wear, and I return safely
to my father’s household, then the Lord will be my God.'" (Genesis
28:18-21, CEB)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">What do we notice about Jacob? He is alone, running away from bad choices and trying to hang onto stolen blessings. He is vulnerable in this wilderness place located somewhere between the danger of an angry brother and the presumed safety of his mother's relatives. Jacob's dream is a reassuring message from God, a promise that God will not leave him until the divine promises and blessings are fulfilled. Jacob is not quick to return the confidence. He makes a conditional offer of loyalty to God, contingent on his safe journey and eventual return to his family. Robert Alter observes: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="text-indent: -18pt;">“God has already promised him in the
dream that He will do all these things for him. Jacob, however, remains the
suspicious bargainer – a ‘wrestler’ with words and condition just as he is a
physical wrestler, a heel-grabber.” [2]</span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">What do we notice about God? This is a God who shows up in deserted, liminal places. This is a God who reaffirms divine presence, promise, and faithfulness, even to those who have not acted in good faith. This is a God who comforts those living in uncertainty. The connection between the heavenly realm and the earthly realm is represented as constant, characterized by movement. The messengers of God are both ascending and descending, implying that communication flows steadily both ways. God hears and God speaks.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -24px;">Robert Alter observes that Jacob is represented as a “border crosser, a man of liminal experiences.” [3] Jacob's dream speaks to more than just this one escape from danger. It speaks to him as a man constantly between places, between family members, between loyalties, and even between cultures. The dream is a message of reassurance not only for this particular night but for all the other precarious places which he will occupy. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -24px;">W</span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">hen God is revealed as being closer than ever in an unexpected, in-between place, Jacob is surprised at the incongruence. He has just bet his future well-being on God being present in a particular way and in a particular place: the birthright of the first-born, the laying on of hands, the ritual meal, the words of a patriarch's blessing. But God shows up outside the ritual, outside the weighty words, outside the conventional setting. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Jacob’s dream communicates that YHWH is present and
accessible in all the border places in which he will find himself. To a man
always seeking to have the upper hand, yet finding himself time and again in
perilous places of uncertainty, the dream tells him that in every place,
whether it is up or down or in-between, YHWH is present and attentive and active. This is the God of the in-between, the God of those not quite at home in life, not quite at peace with circumstances or people. This is the God of uncertain places, the places where we do not know how things will turn out. In the precarious places, we find Beth-el, the house of God.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">These are unsettling days. We cannot map the future regarding collective health and well-being and the political climate is unstable in many ways. This story reminds us that God's reassuring, faithful presence is in the in-between places of life. God can be found in surprising locations like the trees standing tall in the forest or the delivery person walking down the sidewalk or the line-up at the grocery store or the geese flying overhead or the construction worksite or the rocks in the park or the online meeting. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">When we pause and notice the divine presence in unexpected places, we can exclaim with the God-wrestler: "God lives here! ... I've stumbled into God's home!" [4] </p><p class="MsoNormal">We are at home with God, even in places of exile.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">-----------</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US">1. Barbara Brown Taylor, <i>An Altar in the World</i> (New York: HarperOne, 2009), 2-3.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US">2. Robert Alter, <i>The Five Books of Moses</i> (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019), 101.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US">3. Ibid., 100.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt; text-indent: -18pt;"><span lang="EN-US">4. Genesis 28:16, The Living Bible.</span></p><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2K5ma_nw49M/X49NAqAkhRI/AAAAAAAAbZ0/qclUlZ6dwqMAJaIf9NAFFYkLTab7-243ACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="67" data-original-width="7671" height="3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2K5ma_nw49M/X49NAqAkhRI/AAAAAAAAbZ0/qclUlZ6dwqMAJaIf9NAFFYkLTab7-243ACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-42020006189087738362020-10-20T16:32:00.006-04:002020-10-21T13:14:01.348-04:00stories from exile (part 1)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HfNPlakud9Q/X49JK747WuI/AAAAAAAAbZo/YP1jHU5myKontBv2Ak1xoNchBvNJ8GFdQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2521/Exile.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1247" data-original-width="2521" height="198" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HfNPlakud9Q/X49JK747WuI/AAAAAAAAbZo/YP1jHU5myKontBv2Ak1xoNchBvNJ8GFdQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h198/Exile.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Exile</i> by Shelby McQuilkin<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />These are unsettling times in which to live. We are home more than ever due to the pandemic, yet less at home in our lives in many ways. Upheaval seems a constant in social and political realms. What do we name this sense of being displaced from what we assumed was normal? Who can be our guides in navigating everchanging landscapes? In the past few weeks, I have been drawn to the biblical stories of exile. Here we find people who know what it is like to live with uncertainty. And here we also find hope in unexpected places.<div><br /></div><div>What does it mean to be in exile? There are many ways people experience some degree of displacement. <div>1) prolonged separation from one's home by circumstances or authoritative decree</div><div>2) banishment</div><div>3) loss of control over where you live or belong</div><div>4) dislocation and separation from what is familiar (voluntary or involuntary)</div><div>5) physical exile (removed from home and land)</div><div>6) exile in your own home (under foreign occupation, travel restrictions)</div><div>7) social exile (cast out from society)</div><div>8) spiritual exile (separation from God or religious community)</div><div>9) interior exile (not at home in your own life)</div><div>10) financial exile (excluded from access to housing, jobs, resources, etc.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Some contemporary examples of exile are refugees fleeing dangerous homelands, indigenous people displaced by colonizers, and people in prison. Biblical examples of people in exile abound: Adam and Eve dislodged from the garden, Cain expelled from his family, the slave woman Hagar sent into the wilderness with her son, Ruth voluntarily leaving her homeland to adopt a new country and religion, Mary and Joseph protecting their young family by fleeing to Egypt, and lepers who were relegated to living outside the city.</div><div><br /></div><div>The most persistent biblical example of exile is found in the nation of Israel itself. Rabbi Dovie Schochet notes that "For almost as long as the Jewish nation has existed, it has been persecuted and forced to wander from land to land: starting with slavery in Egypt, to the destruction of both temples in Jerusalem, to the Crusades, the pogroms, the Holocaust, and finally, modern day anti-Semitism." [1]</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the exiles mentioned in the Hebrew Bible took place in the 6th century BCE. It began when Nebuchadnezzar destroyed the Temple in Jerusalem and took thousands of the highest-ranked, skilled, learned Israelites to Babylon (the book of Daniel recounts this). The general labourers remained behind, but all metalworkers were exiled so that no weapons could be crafted. Those left in Israel came under the rule of King Zedekiah and soon began to talk of rebelling against Nebuchadnezzar. Jeremiah warned against an uprising but was not heeded. Nebuchadnezzar soon quashed the rebellion and sent the remaining people into exile in Babylon. People were devastated by the accumulated losses: their place of worship, their way of life, their freedom, their homes, and those killed in the failed rebellion. Psalm 137 expresses their sense of desolation: "By the rivers of Babylon, we sat and wept when we remembered Zion." </div><div><br /></div><div>The anguish of Israel's exile went beyond the discomfort caused by geographical dislocation. The people of Israel feared that they had been abandoned by God. Rabbi Schochet writes: "On a deeper level, the tragedy of <i>galut </i>[exile] isn't limited to physical displacement, and is not necessarily defined by persecution and suffering. <i>Galut </i>is a time when G-d's presence is concealed, when nearly all perceptible traces of the relationship we share with Him have vanished. We don't feel or see G-d's love for us, and we don't really feel like His children." [1]</div><div><br /></div><div>In difficult, unsettling times, people look for good news, for messages from God. The book of Jeremiah records two such messages from two different prophets. The first was a message to the exiles still in Israel, spoken in the despoiled temple. The second was to the exiles already in Babylon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Message one: </div><div>"Early in
the rule of Judah’s King Zedekiah, in the fifth month of his fourth year, the
prophet Hananiah, Azzur’s son from Gibeon, spoke … in the Lord’s temple
before the priests and all the people. He said: 'The Lord of heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims: I have
broken the yoke of the king of Babylon. In two years I will restore to
this place all of the temple equipment that Babylon’s King Nebuchadnezzar
carted off to Babylon. I will also restore to this place Judah’s King
Jeconiah, Jehoiakim’s son, along with all the exiles from Judah who were deported
to Babylon, for I will break the yoke of the king of Babylon, declares
the Lord.'" (Jeremiah 28: 1-4, CEB)</div><div><br /></div><div>Message two: </div><div>"The prophet
Jeremiah sent a letter from Jerusalem to the few surviving elders among the
exiles, to the priests and the prophets, and to all the people Nebuchadnezzar
had taken to Babylon from Jerusalem. … 'The Lord of
heavenly forces, the God of Israel, proclaims to all the exiles I have carried
off from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and settle down; cultivate
gardens and eat what they produce. Get married and have children; then
help your sons find wives and your daughters find husbands in order that they
too may have children. Increase in number there so that you don’t dwindle
away. Promote the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile.
Pray to the Lord for it, because your future depends on its welfare….
The Lord proclaims: When Babylon’s seventy years are up, I will come
and fulfill my gracious promise to bring you back to this place.'" (Jeremiah 29: 1-7,10, CEB)</div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Note the differences between the two messages. One claims that in only two short years, all will be restored. The other tells people to make a home in their place of dislocation because many long years of exile lie ahead of them. The first posits that God will soon break the yoke of their oppressor. The second urges people to work for the wellbeing of their oppressor's city because their future depends on it. The first requires nothing of its hearers but to passively sit back and watch God fight on their behalf. The second insists that the hearers do the hard work of home-making in a foreign place. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">If you were in exile, which message would you want to hear? That things will go back to normal in two years or that people will be living in displacement for the next few generations? If we are honest, most of us would probably prefer having our ears tickled with the promise of a quick solution rather than having to do the hard work of reordering our lives in a strange and unfriendly place. In the story in Jeremiah, the first message is found to be false and the second message is identified as legitimate, enduring the test of time. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">It is not difficult to identify these two different messages in our current world. Certain political and religious leaders are eager to promise a quick return to normalcy with minimum effort. The more difficult message to hear is the one that requires us to act in ways which not only acknowledge the present suffering but require us to rethink how we live in this world. What does it mean to make a home in a place of dislocation and separation? How do we find God in this uncertain place, especially when we are prone to thinking of God as the one who easily fixes all our problems? </p><p class="MsoNormal">Let's go back to Jeremiah's message (the second one) and read to the end. This is what God says to people experiencing long-term dislocation and separation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">"This is
what the Lord says: 'When seventy years are completed for
Babylon, I will come to you and fulfill my good promise to bring you
back to this place. </span>I know the
plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace,
not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope. When you call me and
come and pray to me, I will listen to you. When you search for me, yes,
search for me with all your heart, you will find me. I will be present for
you, declares the Lord, and I will end your captivity. I will gather you
from all the nations and places where I have scattered you, and I will bring
you home after your long exile, declares the Lord. (Jer. 29:10-14, CEB)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Too often, I have heard this message taken out of context to suggest that God has good plans for me personally, that all of my dreams will be fulfilled and God will make my life wonderful. It is often separated from the hard work of calling, coming, praying, listening, searching, and finding God in a godforsaken place. It is rarely presented as a message meant to bring hope to a hopeless community faced with the difficult, long-term task of starting life over after devastating loss and upheaval. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">This is no message of quick fixes. </span>There is no instant gratification here. There is no easy solution on offer. But there is hope. And an invitation to live. <span lang="EN-US">By planting gardens and eating the fruit of those labours. </span>By getting married and having children. By taking care of the next generation and the next. And by praying and working for the wellbeing of our city, our country, and our world. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Our future depends on it. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">----------------</p></div><div>1. Dovie Schochet, "Discover the Four Exiles of the Jewish People," Chabad.org. </div><div>https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/3671017/jewish/Discover-the-Four-Exiles-of-the-Jewish-People.htm</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-98042504179312762020-09-02T16:33:00.006-04:002020-10-20T21:41:31.554-04:00John 3:16 : a fresh look<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S258uCzdJRU/X0_35obnQlI/AAAAAAAAbT8/BdmGIsiNTGMsRF6WXhHkSNk13RxwjF4RACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/john316sign.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="241" data-original-width="320" height="376" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S258uCzdJRU/X0_35obnQlI/AAAAAAAAbT8/BdmGIsiNTGMsRF6WXhHkSNk13RxwjF4RACLcBGAsYHQ/w500-h376/john316sign.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>In John 3, we find two of the most popular concepts in evangelicalism: the idea of being born again and the famous verse 16 which anyone brought up in Sunday School can recite at will. I wrote about the idea of being born again <a href="https://outword.blogspot.com/2020/08/looking-again-at-being-born-again.html">here</a> if you want to check it out. In this post, I take a fresh look at John 3:16. The context for the two is the same. Jesus has just cleared the temple of money changers and many people have witnessed the signs he performed in Jerusalem during the Passover festival. In other words, he has gone public in a big way. This causes a religious leader, a well-known, socially and politically involved member of the Jewish ruling council, to approach Jesus privately at night. He wants to know what Jesus has that he is missing. <p>Before the man can pose a proper question, Jesus confronts him with the idea of spiritual rebirth, of having to start again like a vulnerable and helpless baby in order to enter into Jesus' world, the kingdom of God. Jesus then rebukes the religious teacher for not knowing much about heavenly things (the things of God), references an ancient story of rescue through the raising up of a bronze snake (Numbers 21), and then says these words which have become somewhat synonymous with the gospel: "God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won't perish but will have eternal life."</p><p>But let's not stop there. Let's continue to the end of the conversation. "God didn't send his Son into the world to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him isn't judged; whoever doesn't believe in him is already judged, because they don't believe in the name of God's only Son. This is the basis for judgment: The light came into the world, and people loved darkness more than the light, for their actions are evil. All who do wicked things hate the light and don't come to the light for fear that their actions will be exposed to the light. Whoever does the truth comes to the light so that it can be seen that their actions were done in God" (John 3:16-21, Common English Bible).</p><p>Let's notice a few things about the text. The word pictures include a snake of healing and the idea of being lifted up. Some of the contrasts featured are earthly/heavenly, judging/saving, light/dark, and exposure/hiding. The themes of seeing, knowing, and trusting are related to being rescued and saved. The object of love and salvation is the world. </p><p>How does this passage relate to being born again/anew/from above? Basically, it appears that Jesus is tying together the idea of new birth (starting anew and becoming vulnerable) to the picture of a loving and self-sacrificing father. In addition, Jesus is showing the religious leader how to see or recognize the kingdom of God. It looks like paternal love which is broad and inclusive. It looks like an invitation to participate in fullness and flourishing. It looks like transparency and humility (not coming in secret at night, perhaps?). It looks like rescue and not judgment. It looks like doing the truth. One can almost hear Jesus asking an unspoken question at the end of this conversation: "Can you see it now, my friend?" </p><p>Keeping the arc of the conversation in mind, let's take a closer look at verse 16. Martin Luther referred to this verse as "the heart of the Bible, the Gospel in miniature." And that is mostly how it has been used by evangelicals. In the evangelism tool known as <i>The Four Spiritual Laws</i>, the first "law" states, "God loves you and created you to know Him personally" and references John 3:16.[1] The reference has also been used as a way to draw attention to the Christian message at public and sporting events. From the late 70s onward, it was not uncommon to see someone holding up a sign that said "John 3:16" in arenas and stadiums. In many ways, this verse has functioned as a shortcut for the gospel, but might this also have diluted or distorted the message in the process?</p><p>Let's recalibrate a bit by paying attention to the meanings of the words in the text. </p><p>1. "God so loved the world' is not a statement of quantity (<i>so</i> very much) but a reference to <i>how </i>God enacted love. God loved the world <i>in this way</i>... The first reading puts the focus on us and how much we are valued. The second, more accurate reading places the attention on the giving nature of God and God's love which is boundless, selfless, and gracious.</p><p>2. The world (<i>kosmos</i>) is the focus of God's love. The emphasis is not on personal salvation but on the redemption of all creation.</p><p>3. To believe (<i>pisteuo</i>) means to trust in and rely on, not merely give mental assent to or recite a creed.</p><p>4. "Eternal life" is not about going to heaven when we die, but an invitation to experience flourishing, shalom, and justice by participating in the life of Christ. "This is eternal life: to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you sent" (John 17:3, CEB). N. T. Wright translates this verse by saying that God gave his son "so that everyone who believes in him should not be lost but should share in the life of God's new age." [2]</p><p>5. To judge/condemn (<i>krino</i>) means to separate, to make a distinction between, to call to account, to try as a judge, to bring to trial, to sentence. The idea of separation is in contrast to knowing and trusting God. </p><p>6. To be saved (<i>sozo</i>) means to be rescued, cured, restored to health, set free, saved from ruin. The reference to the healing of the people of Israel from a plague of poisonous snakes gives us a clue that salvation pertains to much more than the afterlife.</p><p>7. Light (<i>phos</i>) means radiance, means of light, God's presence, spiritual illumination, brightness.</p><p>8. Darkness (<i>skotos</i>) means misery, spiritual darkness, punishment.</p><p>So, what is John 3:16 saying? It is more than a concise way to tell people they need to accept Jesus as their personal saviour (remember, it's not about personal salvation). Jesus is saying that the new paradigm, being born anew, seeing God's kingdom, is possible because of God's love for the cosmos. </p><p>Our familiarity with John 3:16 means that we can be prone to forget the context, the conversation it came out of, the original audience, and the startling rebuke and astounding invitation it was and is for religious leaders. </p><p>Reading familiar biblical texts in different translations and paraphrases is helpful because it invites us to hear the words with fresh ears and put our preconceived notions aside. Often, a fresh reading will highlight connections and insights we had previously missed. With that in mind, I offer my own paraphrase of this familiar passage from John 3, incorporating many of the ideas mentioned above.</p><p><i>God loved the whole world in this way: selflessly giving his only son so that all those who trust in and rely on him won't be lost or ruined but will share in the life of God's new paradigm. God didn't send his son, his emissary, his very self, into the whole world to put the cosmos on trial, but in order that the whole world might be saved from ruin and restored to health through him. </i></p><p>And that is really good news (gospel).</p><p>------------</p><p>1. http://www.4laws.com/laws/englishkgp/default.htm</p><p>2.<i> New Testament for Everyone</i> translated by N. T. Wright. Westminster John Knox Press, 2011. </p><p>Image from cracked.com</p><p><br /></p>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-41188249230388028782020-08-20T18:23:00.000-04:002020-08-20T18:23:02.435-04:00looking again at being born again<div><img alt="Questions in the Dark – Our Nicodemus Moment | The Millennial Pastor" height="270" src="https://millennialpastor.files.wordpress.com/2017/03/jesus_and_moderndaynicodemus-richard-hook__93883_zoom.jpg?w=640" width="400" /></div><div><br /></div>If you have spent any time in the evangelical world, you will have heard the phrase <i>born again</i>. It is usually used as a synonym for becoming a Christian or experiencing salvation from the condemnation of sin. Many times the emphasis is on spiritual rebirth through the Holy Spirit. But is this what Jesus means when he uses the phrase? The concept itself comes from a conversation between Jesus and a religious leader, so let's take another look at the original context. <div><br /></div><div>In the second chapter of John's gospel, we find Jesus clearing the temple of the opportunistic moneychangers and performing signs in Jerusalem during the Passover festival. In other words, Jesus is doing some pretty controversial public stuff and, no doubt, word gets around to the religious leaders. In the next chapter, one of those leaders, Nicodemus, decides to approach Jesus. He is an esteemed man, a man serious about religious devotion, a member of the Jewish ruling council, socially and politically involved in his community. Jesus intrigues him. Something about Jesus' words and actions makes him wonder, what is he missing? What does this rogue teacher know that he doesn't? Nicodemus decides to ask Jesus directly and approaches him after dark in order to ensure some privacy. </div><div><br /></div>Nicodemus begins by acknowledging that Jesus is closely connected to God, but he doesn't get the chance to pose any questions before Jesus tells him that "unless someone is born anew, it's not possible to see God's kingdom" (John 3:3, CEB). Jesus relates being born again (born anew, born from above) to being able to see. He implies that Nicodemus is blind in some way, that he cannot recognize what God is doing. Jesus is telling Nicodemus that he needs a paradigm shift.<br /><br />Daniel Hill writes: "How discombobulated Nicodemus must have felt when he heard those words! He didn’t perceive himself as a newborn looking for direction but as a seasoned practitioner who had long ago solidified the religious foundation of his life. As a Pharisee, he had a structured routine of the rules, regulations, and religious practices. All that was missing was that last bit of advice, that extra something ...." [1] <div><br /></div><div>Nicodemus comes to Jesus to question him, but instead, finds his religious assumptions being questioned. He is understandably confused and concerned. How does rebirth happen, he wonders. And how does one start again? Jesus replies: "I assure you, unless someone is born of water and the Spirit, it's not possible to enter God's kingdom (John 3:5, CEB)." </div><div><br /></div><div>There are different interpretations about what it means to be born of water and spirit (human birth and spiritual birth, baptism and spiritual renewal), but instead of parsing the two ideas separately, it might be helpful to reference another biblical text where these two concepts are presented together. In Ezekiel, we read, “I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be cleansed of all your pollution. I will cleanse you of all your idols. I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you. I will remove your stony heart from your body and replace it with a living one, and I will give you my spirit so that you may walk according to my regulations and carefully observe my case laws” (Ezekiel 36:25-27, CEB). In this passage, the two words together, water and spirit, refer to cleansing and newness which result in a new heart, a living, flexible heart which is aligned with God's heart. This sounds a lot like being born anew. </div><div><br /></div>Jesus' explanation does not make things any clearer for Nicodemus. He continues to ask, "How are these things possible?" It seems that the religious leader is looking for a more concrete response, a plan of action, a rule, regulation, or guideline. The question that his paradigm has trained him to ask is: "What am I supposed to do?" Jesus operates in a different paradigm, so he does not give Nicodemus a rule to follow. Instead, he tells him how to recognize the movement of the Spirit of God: "God's Spirit blows wherever it wishes. You hear its sound, but you don't know where it comes from or where it is going. It's the same with everyone who is born of the Spirit (John 3:8, CEB). <br /><br />Being born again (starting over, undergoing a reboot, changing our perspective) requires great humility and vulnerability. It is a big ask. Daniel Hill observes: “When Jesus told Nicodemus that no one can see the kingdom without a spiritual rebirth, he said something pervasive and far-reaching as well as confrontational, potentially insulting, and even inflammatory. Jesus told Nicodemus that while he may be religiously, socially, and politically accomplished, none of those accomplishments could obscure the fact that he was spiritually blind. Nicodemus was a big shot in his world, but if he wanted to enter into Jesus’ world, he would have to start from the very beginning.” [2]<div><br /></div><div>It seems that being born again is less about escaping eternal punishment or gaining a personal Saviour and more about a change of perspective, a letting go of underlying assumptions, a completely different way of seeing. When we come to Jesus with Nicodemus' unspoken question, "What am I supposed to do?” we assume that we are ready to spring into (unexamined) action. A better question might be, "Where am I blind?" This second question helps us to take an honest look at our perspectives, our paradigms, and our assumptions. It leads us to pray, "Jesus, will you help me to see?" </div><div><br /></div><div>It is never to late to be born anew, to become a beginner again. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Let’s embrace the reality that, like Nicodemus, we are stumbling toward Jesus in the dark. </div><div>Let’s embrace the reality that we don’t know the right questions, much less the right answers. </div><div>Let’s embrace the fact that God’s kingdom is at stake and that we need revelation from Jesus Christ in order to see what the kingdom of God is.</div><div>Let’s enter this journey with new eyes – eyes like a child.</div><div>Let’s pray like the blind man: 'Lord, help me to see.'" [3] </div><div><div><div>-------------</div><div>1. Daniel Hill, <i>White Awake</i> (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Books, 2017), ch. 2.</div></div><div>2. Ibid.</div></div><div>3. Ibid.</div><div><i>Image from millennialpastor.ca</i></div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-46031199939048953932020-07-17T16:04:00.001-04:002020-07-17T16:22:06.888-04:00parable of the fig tree: 3 ways<div><img alt="Fig Trees" height="300" src="https://www.coolgarden.me/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/fig-tree.jpg" title="Fig tree. Image from coolgarden.me" width="400" /></div><div><br /></div>One of the more obscure parables which Jesus tells is found in Luke 13:6-9. "A man owned a fig tree planted in his vineyard. He came looking for fruit on it and found none. He said to his gardener, ‘Look, I’ve come looking for fruit on this fig tree for the past three years, and I’ve never found any. Cut it down! Why should it continue depleting the soil’s nutrients?’ The gardener responded, ‘Lord, give it one more year, and I will dig around it and give it fertilizer. Maybe it will produce fruit next year; if not, then you can cut it down.’” (Common English Bible)<div><br /></div><div>This story comes after a discussion on the connection between oppression, suffering, and right living. Jesus dismantles the idea that those who suffer are more sinful than others, but then tells his listeners that unless they change their hearts and lives (<i>metanoia</i>), they will die just like those unfortunate ones who were slaughtered by Pilate or were killed when a tower fell. It is a mixed message in some ways, but Jesus seems to be telling people to take their focus off of judging others and onto reevaluating their own lives. He also reorients the discussion away from the mistakes of the past and onto the opportunity for repentance (changing one's mind and life) available in the present. Jesus is inviting people to change their lives in order to move forward in a good way. </div><div><br /></div><div>With that conversation as a backdrop, Jesus tells the story of a fruitless fig tree. There are several ways of interpreting this parable. The Catholic tradition took this story to mean that God is always checking to see if Christians are bearing fruit worthy of their baptism and conversion. If not, they will be condemned. In other words, faith without works is dead. While this could be seen as a fair interpretation of the parable, it does leave out the emphasis on mercy which seems to be the main point of the story. I have no doubt that this rather harsh reading of the parable has been used by church leaders to admonish their congregants into complying with church practices.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Protestant tradition has generally seen the owner as God and the gardener as Jesus. God demands fruit or evidence of faith, but Jesus requests mercy and patience from God in order to make more favourable conditions for righteousness (fruit) to appear. The main problem with this interpretation is that the members of the Godhead are pitted against each other. God is portrayed as an absentee owner interested solely in return on investment. Jesus is the ally who saves the unfortunate tree from destruction (at least for the moment). This is a dismal and harmful portrayal of the Trinity. This interpretation also contradicts Jesus' declaration that divine love is exhibited in sacrifice, not demands. </div><div><br /></div><div>A Jewish take on the story would relate it back to the laws concerning harvest in Leviticus 19:23-25. "When you enter the land and plant any fruit tree, you must consider its fruit off-limits. For three years it will be off-limits to you; it must not be eaten. In the fourth year, all of the tree’s fruit will be holy, a celebration for the Lord. In the fifth year you can eat the fruit. This is so as to increase its produce for you; I am the Lord your God." (Common English Bible) In this reading of the story, the owner is a Gentile, unfamiliar with Hebrew husbandry, and the gardener ends up teaching the owner the proper way to steward the earth. It could be that the gardener removed the fruit from the tree for the first three years in order that it would not be eaten. After another year of care, enriching the soil and leaving the fruit alone, the tree would be primed to produce mature fruit. This interpretation focuses on learning good stewardship and resisting the urge to amputate or cut off that which is not immediately profitable or fruitful.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>How does this parable relate to the earlier conversation about suffering and sin? I believe that Jesus is directly undermining the idea that God is a landowner who cuts things down (kills them) if they are not producing fruits of righteousness to his satisfaction. God does not destroy people, either through natural disasters or through the murderous actions of a power-hungry despot, because they are sinful. God does not destroy; God creates. God plants, God digs in the soil, God spreads manure. And God waits patiently, often leaving things alone to see what develops. God is a gardener and we are part of the beloved garden. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our faith traditions play a large part in how we interpret scriptures and how we see God. When we have been told one thing over and over again by trusted leaders, it can be hard to see things any other way. That is why it is important to learn from other traditions, to seek out a multitude of voices, to ask more questions and make less definitive statements, and to prayerfully listen to the Spirit. Followers of Jesus do not own the truth; we humbly seek the truth. The invitation Jesus extended to his followers still extends to us today: Come, follow me. Let me show you who God is. Let me challenge and correct your misperceptions. Learn my ways. Unlearn the ways of empire and domination. Repent (change your way of thinking and living). </div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-88434541333646998482020-06-30T15:58:00.003-04:002020-07-01T12:06:32.353-04:00the learning Jesus<div><img alt="Was Jesus Really a Carpenter? The Work of Christ" height="403" src="https://media.swncdn.com/cms/CCOM/65076-was-jesus-a-carpenter.1200w.tn.jpg" width="768" /></div><div><br /></div>I grew up believing that Jesus was God, perfect (immutable, free from flaws) and sinless. That he never made a misstep. That every word that came out of his mouth was inspired, absolute, universal truth. That his special relationship with YHWH and the Spirit gave him abilities like knowing what people were going to do before they did it and reading people's minds. I understood that since God was omnipotent, Jesus was no doubt all-powerful, too, but he laid down some of that power when he was on earth. Since God was omniscient, this meant that Jesus knew everything as well, but in order to become one of us, Jesus limited his knowledge in certain ways. And since God was omnipresent, Jesus probably could have been in two places at once, but chose not to. He did mysteriously slip through a crowd that one time, though (Luke 4:30), so who knows what was going on there.<div><br /></div><div>In hindsight, I realise that I was taught a very high Christology, which means that the person of Jesus is viewed through his divinity (from above). As a result, the humanity of Jesus is downplayed a great deal. In my early Christian formation, the idea that Jesus might have disobeyed his parents was never considered. The thought that Jesus might have exhibited the prejudicial biases of his culture and time was akin to blasphemy. Jesus was perfect, so every action and word of his had to be perfect as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>This concept of perfection misrepresents what the New Testament actually says about Jesus. The word translated as "perfect" is <i>teleios </i>and refers to wholeness, completeness, or being fully realized. It has less to do with flawlessness and more to do with being fully grown or fulfilling a good purpose. The problem is this: ideas of perfection that focus on being without fault or error negate pretty much the entire human enterprise of learning. If Jesus was truly human, not just pretending to be human (that would be the heresy of Docetism), then he spent much of life learning, especially the first few years. </div><div><br /></div><div>He learned how to eat solid food, how to talk, how to poop on the potty, and how to walk. This meant that he also dropped food on the floor, said words incorrectly, pooped his pants, and lost his balance. Because that's what children do. He also had to learn how to share, how to follow his parents' direction, and how to say I'm sorry. Because he wasn't born knowing how to do those things. No human is. He would have learned something about geography and mathematics and literature and politics and religion, because his brain didn't come preloaded with that information. He would have made childhood friends. They would have played together and sometimes fought. He would have learned practical skills like carpentry and made a bunch of bad cuts before he learned to make mostly good ones. He would have dropped eggs and spilled milk and forgot where he put his tunic. And he would have learned what it means to be loved and what it means to be despised. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>If we dismiss or erase the learning curve from the life of Jesus, we end up with some bad theology regarding the nature of God and how God interacts with humans. We can also end up with a reductionist view of change and transformation, preferring supernatural interventions and reversals, divine shortcuts if you will, over walking the long, difficult road to maturity with Jesus and his disciples. There is no shortcut to learning humility, compassion, love, peacemaking, or wisdom. The Jesus way demands that we become students and followers, not dispensers of certainty. </div><div><br /></div><div>Little is written about the first thirty years of Jesus's life, perhaps because not much about that time was extraordinary. In all likelihood, Jesus was simply learning how to be a good Jewish boy. A story in Matthew 13 hints at this. Shortly after Jesus began his ministry, he returned to his hometown and was teaching in the synagogue. People were amazed, but not in a good way. They said: "Where did this man get this wisdom and these miraculous powers? Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas? Aren’t all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all these things?" (Matthew 13:54-57, NIV). The text indicates that they took offense at Jesus. Why? Perhaps because they viewed him as just one of the regular kids in the neighbourhood and now he was acting like he knew better than the religious leaders. Who did he think he was? </div><div><br /></div><div>Over the centuries, many Christians have adopted an idealized notion of Jesus, seeing him as an exceptional, intelligent, attractive boy/man with extraordinary charisma and perfectly kempt hair. His relatives and neighbours had no such illusions. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>With this in mind, let us consider two narratives from the life of Jesus. How do these stories read if we do not assume that Jesus was the epitome of human perfection from the moment he was born? What if Jesus shows us a God who enters into the human experience fully, embracing all the learning that comes with that? </div><div><br /></div><div>We find the first story in Luke 2. Jesus is twelve years old, in Jerusalem with his family for their annual pilgrimage. He is still considered a child (thirteen being the age of maturity for Jewish males), so it is remarkable that he decides to extend his stay in Jerusalem without consulting his parents. It takes Mary and Joseph three days until they finally locate their son in the temple, sitting in on a discussion with the religious teachers. Understandably, they are almost out of their minds (<i>ekplesso</i>). Mary confronts Jesus: "Why did you treat us this way? We were tormented and distressed looking for you!" Jesus replies rather precociously: "Why were you looking for me? Didn't you know I would have to be in my Father's house?" His parents cannot comprehend his answer. Why would he dismiss their pain and worry like that? Why would he fail to acknowledge that he should have consulted with them before going off on his own? The rest of the conversation is not recorded, but the actions that follow speak for themselves. Jesus leaves the temple and goes home with his parents, once again submitting to them, listening to them, and coming under their guidance. In other words, he repents (<i>metanoia</i>) and changes his behaviour. He learns something about how to honour his parents. </div><div><br /></div><div>The second story is found in Mark 7. Jesus and his followers are in Tyre, a busy and prosperous port city away from Galilee. A Greek woman tracks Jesus down and asks him to heal her daughter. Jesus responds with a rather harsh answer, indicating that children should receive bread before it is fed to the family dogs (meaning that the good news of the kingdom of heaven was first for the Jews). The woman persists, replying that even the dogs under the table may eat the crumbs which fall from the children’s meal. Jesus commends her for this answer and heals her daughter. </div><div><br /></div>Some interpreters suggest that this story is a lesson for the disciples. At first, Jesus voices what would be a normalized Jewish prejudice toward outsiders, then turns that prejudice on its head. But what if this is a lesson for Jesus as well? He grew up in a culture which reinforced the idea that God favoured the Jewish people and that Gentiles were to be viewed with suspicion. Is it unreasonable to expect that he internalized some of this? This story recounts one of the first times that a non-Jew receives the ministry of Jesus, hinting at the full inclusion of the Gentiles still to be revealed. Note that Jesus is not the one who initiates the encounter; the Greek woman persists until Jesus grants her request. Could it be that Jesus learns something about the expansive and inclusive mercy of God from a Gentile woman? Might she be the teacher and Jesus the student? <div><br /></div><div>This idea of Jesus learning things from others can seem strange to us, especially if we have been told that God is immutable, immortal, and impassible. However, in Jesus we see that the divine is indeed capable of changing and growing, of suffering and being moved by the plight of others, and even dying. And this is not a new development. In the Hebrew Bible, we see a God who is steadfast in love and faithfulness (Malachi 3:6) but also known for changing pronouncements of judgment into occasions for mercy (Jonah 4:2, Joel 2:13-14). We have a God who cries out like a woman in labour (Isaiah 42:14) and delights, rejoices, and sings over beloved ones (Zeph. 3:17). This God is like a rock, yes (Deut. 32:4), but also compared to a nursing mother (Is. 49:15). YHWH is a God who enters into negotiations, seeking common ground with Moses (Exodus 32), Abraham (Genesis 18), and Hezekiah (2 Kings 20). This is not an intransigent God, but a God moved by compassion, responsive to the plight of the other. </div><div><br />So what does it mean to see Jesus as a learning person? Does it diminish his divinity? Not at all. Instead, it heightens the astonishing, loving, and scandalous nature of the incarnation. Does it call into question his words and actions? No, it simply puts them into perspective. Instead of a God pretending to be human, we have a God who actually IS human, a God who fully identifies with the human condition. Here is a God whose "with-ness" extends beyond teaching truths and performing miracles and enacting salvation (which are divine functions) to include the humbling and creative human vocation of learning and maturing. It frees us from the pressure to be perfect (flawless) and to get (do) everything right. It replaces the need for certainty with an invitation to explore the landscape of faith, hope, and love as devoted learners, students, and disciples. When we see Jesus as a learning person, it means that we are never alone as we stumble toward wholeness and maturity. Jesus is our companion and guide on the learning journey.<br /><br />--------------<br />Image: <i>Christ in the House of His Parents</i> (1849-50) by John Everett Millais. </div>The painting depicts the young Jesus assisting Joseph in his workshop. Jesus has cut his hand on an exposed nail and some of the blood has fallen onto his foot (signifying the stigmata). The painting was controversial at the time because it depicted Jesus in an ordinary, realistic setting along with dirt and debris. Charles Dickens complained that Jesus was portrayed as a "wry-necked, blubbering red-headed boy in a bed-gown, who appears to have received a poke...playing in an adjacent gutter." See <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christ_in_the_House_of_His_Parents">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christ_in_the_House_of_His_Parents</a>.Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-53334211334166842592020-06-18T19:11:00.004-04:002020-06-25T16:52:46.342-04:00the school of humility<p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span><font face="inherit"> </font></span><img alt="Rule of Saint Benedict - Wikipedia" height="356" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/fc/St._Benedict_delivering_his_rule_to_the_monks_of_his_order.jpg/220px-St._Benedict_delivering_his_rule_to_the_monks_of_his_order.jpg" style="text-indent: -0.1in;" width="344" /></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span><font face="inherit">These past months have been a school for me and, I am sure, for many others. I am (re)learning how to wash my hands, how a virus spreads, what it means to live and work and play in the same spaces, how to navigate a barrage of (changing) information, how to host an online meeting, and probably most importantly, how much I can do without. I am also learning that systemic oppression and violence toward indigenous people and people of colour, a poisonous seed that European colonists planted in North America, has not been rooted out as many believe, but continues to grow and spread in our supposedly enlightened societies. I ask myself: how could we be so blind and apathetic to the blatant bias and brutality our neighbours experience on a daily basis? </font></span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><font face="inherit"><font face="inherit">We have no one to blame but ourselves. Let me rephrase that. We white f</font>olks have no one to blame but ourselves. However, we are slow to do just that. Our first instincts are to avoid responsibility, shift blame, and change the topic. No one likes to be the bad guy, I get that, but right now we are being invited to face some hard truths and learn some humility. Are we willing to enrol in that school? To take on the role of the student instead of assuming we know it all? To drop the paternalism and become like children? To be corrected over and over again as we listen to the witness of those whose experiences contradict our own? To recognize that some have suffered abuse and endured pain while we have been offered opportunity and comfort? At the same time? In the same place?</font></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="text-indent: -0.1in;"><font face="inherit">Humility is not fun. Neither is it comfortable. But if we believe life should be mostly fun and comfortable, we have believed a lie. Humility is necessary if we are to mature as people, especially as followers of Christ. Humility must become our constant companion if we want to walk in the way of Jesus. Read Matthew 5 - 7 again if you have any doubts. Unfortunately, Western society is not set up to teach us white folk the value of humility. Instead, we are fed a daily diet of how we can be successful, how we can beat the competition, and how we can change our circumstances to get what we want. None of this is the way of Jesus. And it saddens me to say that the Church does not have a good track record of resisting the pull of self-absorption and self-importance. </font></span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><font face="inherit">This past month, I have been reading a book which explores the twelve steps of humility found in chapter 7 of the <i>Rule of Benedict.</i> [1] The Rule was written around 530 CE, so to modern ears trained to hear mostly positive reinforcement, Benedict's language sounds harsh: fear the Lord, love not your own will, submit to your overseer, endure difficulties, confess sinful thoughts to the overseer, be content with menial treatment, believe you are inferior to others, do only those things endorsed by the community, remain silent, speak gently and without laughter, and manifest humility in your bearing. </font></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span><font face="inherit">How do we receive these words meant to instruct followers of Christ in humility? Do we find ourselves getting defensive because they chip away at what we perceive to be our rights, our independence, our self-expression, even our self-worth? Do we resist their corrective, restrictive tone? Do we think that we are more informed, more open-minded, more progressive than primitive 6th-century monks? If so, we could probably use a lesson or two in humility. </font></span><span style="text-indent: -9.6px;">We could start by wondering why these words seem so foreign and difficult for us.</span><span style="text-indent: -9.6px;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.1in;">We could then let our hearts be pierced by how far removed we are from the practices of humility. We could listen and invite the Spirit to convict us of our arrogance and self-interest. Hopefully, we could begin to admit the ways in which we are blind to our own presumption of superiority.</span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><font face="inherit"><font face="inherit">Joan Chittister notes that "Benedict's chapter on humility, written in a period of decline and</font> transition in Rome, was written for Roman males in a society that had always privileged Roman males. Benedict saw arrogance and narcissism at the centre of the empire and he discounted both. Instead, he began his work of spiritual renewal by making humility the very heart of his spirituality. The kind of greatness Benedict offered was the greatness at the heart of the Gospel. It was a life dedicated to God, to growth, to peace, and to community rather than to the aggrandizement of the self." [2]</font></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><font face="inherit">Benedict's strong words were written to the privileged, to those who moved through the world with the assumption that they belonged, that they were to be respected, that they had inalienable rights, that the authorities were there to protect them, and that they would have access to the best education and housing and jobs. His words were written to people like us. They were meant to challenge habits steeped in self-reliance and self-importance. They were meant to disorient in order to reorient. They were meant as invitations to die to self. Jesus told his disciples that "unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it can only be a single seed. But if it dies, it bears much fruit." (John 12:24, CEB)</font></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">Humility is the pathway to inner freedom and flourishing. I like that sentence, especially the last bit. I like where humility leads us, but I tend to baulk at the steps to get there. Surely I am not expected to follow Benedict's directives to </span><span style="text-indent: -9.6px;">be content with menial treatment, believe I am inferior to others, and do only those things endorsed by the community. T</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">hose instructions were written for monks; surely they don't apply to us. Or do they? Our unwillingness to consider what wisdom Benedict might offer us today might be another indication that we are skipping out of the classroom of humility. And our dismissal of Benedict's insights might also reflect a general unwillingness to listen and assign value to those whose experiences are different from our own. Benedict begins his Rule with the words, "Listen carefully." This is how we enter the school of humility. </span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">Richard Rohr writes about five messages common to cultural initiation rites, rites which are meant to move persons, especially young males, from being "self-referential boys" to become "generative, compassionate adults." [3] They are difficult truths which, for the most part, are no longer taught, especially to those whom society privileges. But, like Benedict's Rule, they are invitations to learn a different way, a humble way. They are lessons in the school of humility.</span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">1.<b> Life is hard.</b> Many of us </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">have become so accustomed to comfort, ease, and convenience that we are surprised and dismayed when life is hard and we suffer. Jesus, an oppressed brown person, was never surprised by suffering. He did not try to escape the pain of human existence but entered into it with dignity and grace.</span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">2. <b>You are not important</b>. This does not mean that we are not valued and precious human beings who carry the image of God, but that the world does not revolve around us. We are but one person in the universe. Our culture teaches us to overestimate our own importance. Jesus teaches us to take the seat of least importance, to humble ourselves instead of assuming we should be exalted (Luke 14).</span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">3. <b>Your life is not about you.</b> It is very difficult to decentre the self, but this is what maturity is all about. Rohr states: "Life is not about you; you are about life." Jesus invites us to deny the self in order to experience abundant life. This means we stop looking out mostly for ourselves and become connected to and concerned about the larger community. It means we learn contentment in serving instead of expecting to be served. </span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">4. <b>You are not in control</b>. I have spent much of my life trying to make things happen the way I want them to, but it is a losing battle. Like love, humility never seeks to control or get its own way. Jesus taught us this when, agonizing over his impending torture and death, he prayed: "Yet not as I will, but as you will" (Matt. 26:39). </span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0px;">5. <b>You are going to die.</b> Our culture is obsessed with youth, beauty, and strength. We are taught to avoid death or anything to do with ageing. Jesus talked a lot about death to his disciples. Instead of running away from it, he turned his face toward it. He prepared for it. He confronted it. He underwent a ritual (baptism) which symbolises death as a way to enter new life. He instated a feast which commemorates his death (the Eucharist). Those who are humble learn how to die before they die. They daily die to the ego, to self-importance, to self-will, and to self-centredness. </span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="text-indent: 0px;">I believe that the invitation to enrol in the school of humility is being extended to many of us during these unsettling times. Benedict, Chittister, and Rohr have outlined a few ways in which we can begin. Humility is an uncomfortable journey</span> (again, Jesus shows us the way)<span style="text-indent: 0px;">. It will stretch us to our limits. It will cause us pain, but it will also set us free from smallmindedness, false bravado, the need to be right, and the pressure to impress. Along the way, it will bring us great joy and peace as well. When we encounter tough times in the school of humility, our first impulse might be to run the other way, to go back to what we know, to retreat to our comfort zone, to the way things were before the pandemic and the protests championing the value of Black lives and the polarizing rifts in families and churches and communities and cities and countries about sexuality, ways to interpret the Bible, political power, and the economy. But there is no way back. We are here, now, in this moment. Do we demand the seat of importance or take the lowest place?<font face="inherit"> </font></span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: 0px;"><font face="inherit">"Humility is the virtue of liberation from the tyranny of the self. ... The humble, no matter how great, do not spend their lives intent on controlling the rest of their tiny little worlds. On the contrary. Once we learn to let God be God, once we accept the fact that the will of God is greater, broader, deeper, more loving than our own, we are content to learn from others. We begin to see everyone around us as a lesson in living. We find ourselves stretched to honor the gifts of others as well as the value of our own." [4]</font></span></p><p style="line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;"><font face="inherit">Time for school.</font></span></p><p style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"></p><p><font color="#4e4e4e" face="inherit">--------------</font><br /><span style="color: #4e4e4e; font-family: inherit;">[1] Joan Chittister, </span><i style="color: #4e4e4e; font-family: inherit;">Radical Spirit </i><span style="color: #4e4e4e; font-family: inherit;">(New York: Convergent Books, 2017).</span></p><p><span style="color: #4e4e4e; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">[2] Chittister, </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">128.</span></span></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><font color="#4e4e4e">[3] Richard Rohr, "The Patterns That are Always True," March 29, 2020. Daily Meditation.</font><br /><a href="https://cac.org/the-patterns-that-are-always-true-2020-03-29/">https://cac.org/the-patterns-that-are-always-true-2020-03-29/</a></p><p style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: #4e4e4e;">[4] Chittister, 49-50.</span></p><p style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: #4e4e4e;"><i>Image: Rule of St. Benedict. From wikipedia.org.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><font face="inherit"><font color="#4e4e4e"><br /></font></font></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="direction: ltr; language: en-CA; line-height: 120%; margin-bottom: 2pt; margin-left: 0.1in; margin-top: 12pt; mso-line-break-override: none; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-align: left; text-indent: -0.1in; unicode-bidi: embed; word-break: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial nova light";"><p style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4e4e4e; text-indent: 0px;"><br /></p></span></div><br /></div>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-81367801133981667232020-05-29T19:07:00.000-04:002020-05-30T11:07:47.881-04:00what about obedience?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Obedience has never been one of my favourite words. I thrive in an atmosphere of freedom, creativity, and independence. Submitting my will to that of another person is sometimes difficult for me (my parents were witnesses to this), but I have learned that this is what love does, so I practice loving what others love and saying Yes to people. But this type of loving, mutual submission is not what is commonly meant by obedience, especially in religious settings.<br />
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In the English language, obedience generally refers to compliance with a rule or law or submission to someone's authority. Obedience is touted as a Christian virtue: we are to obey God and those God has set in leadership over us. In my evangelical tradition, this was presented as a rather self-evident doctrine. God is sovereign and righteous, Ruler over heaven and earth, therefore we must obey God. Similarly, God has set leaders in authority in our churches (who happen to be men), so we must obey them as we would obey God. This kind of authoritative structure (often phrased as a protective necessity so that all would be under a spiritual "covering") was no doubt influenced by millennia of patriarchy, centuries of hierarchical church government, and the more recent heavy-handed shepherding/discipleship movement which sought to control the life decisions of people.<br />
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I admit, there is a certain orderliness in authority structures such as these which makes them attractive, especially for those who wield the power. So much can be accomplished with little opposition or hassle when one has willing, compliant subjects. But (and it is a big "but"), the problem with church leaders demanding obedience from their "underlings" is that they are requiring more than God ever does.<br />
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Joan Chittister writes: "...of the 613 laws in the Torah, Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks points out, not one uses the word <i>obey</i>. God, the rabbi says, does not impose the intractable on Israel. God uses the word <i>shema</i>. Attend to. Take seriously. Pay attention. Listen to me, O Israel." [1] The well-known phrase, "to obey is better than sacrifice," (1 Samuel 15:22) is better translated as "For heeding is better than sacrifice, hearkening, than the fat of rams" [2]. In the Greek New Testament, the word often translated as obedience is some version of <i>hupakouo</i> and it means giving ear to, attentive listening. Philippians 2:8 reads a bit differently if we incorporate this meaning into the text. "[Christ] humbled himself and became [so attentive to the Father and to the plight of humanity that he went] to the point of death, even death on a cross." Loving attentiveness is a very different posture than unquestioning subservience.<br />
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The difference between obeying and listening is significant. One forces compliance and the other invites dialogue and attentiveness. The relationship represented by the first is transactional and impersonal. If Subject B complies with the demands of Ruler A, bad consequences will be averted. Or something like that. And we do see instances where the people of Israel interact with YHWH as if the Eternal One is just like the short-tempered tyrant kings of the land. However, the point of so many of the Hebrew narratives, prophecies, and poetry is that YHWH is not like other gods, not like the despots and dictators who abuse their people. YHWH is merciful and compassionate (Exodus 34:6, Psalm 145), the God who sets people free (Exodus 20:2), the One who never runs out of lovingkindness (Psalm 100, 136), who is faithful even when others are faithless (see the story of Abraham in Genesis 12-25, 2 Timothy 2:13). The relationship between YHWH and Israel is not meant to be transactional but covenantal, a relationship in which the freedom of both parties is taken into account.<br />
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So how did we end up with this idea that God demands docility and unconditional compliance? How did we then extrapolate that demand for obedience onto our own systems of church and family government? I don't think we got this from Jesus. The relationship he modelled with the Father/Creator was one of mutuality, freedom, and love. I turn to Joan Chittister again. "The contemporary answer is that the word obedience itself emerged in the thirteenth century from a Latin word meaning 'to listen.' Repeat: to listen. Not to kowtow. Not to capitulate. Only later, in a climate of courts and courtiers, did it begin to mean 'bow down,' curtsy or genuflect. Nowhere in any etymology text is obedience translated as 'to jump on command.' To grovel. To defer. To relinquish all judgment in the process. On the contrary. Those words came out of submission to ruling powers, to ecclesiastical figures, to symbols of power in the secular world. They were not the language of God." [3]<br />
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The fact that God does not demand unquestioning obedience is jarring to some of us who have been raised in the church. And yet, if we look closely at the biblical narratives, we notice how the multitude of laws given to the nation of Israel never translate into the development of a compliant, submissive people. The chronicles of the nation of Israel are messy. People stray from law-keeping immediately (Exodus 32), leaders seemingly get away with bad behaviour, self-important rulers abuse their subjects, even in the name of YHWH, and many times, no clear line can be drawn between actions and consequences. The stories do not bear the marks of orderliness which should accompany a divine sovereign's insistence on obedience and compliance. Instead, time and again, we see freedom playing out in both good and harmful ways. We see laws ignored, overturned, and even changed. Some of these infractions were divinely sanctioned (the actions of the prophet Hosea and Jesus are two examples). In the past few centuries, obedience has been championed as the way to live a godly life, but this is not what the biblical witness teaches us. In fact, in the letter to the Roman church, Paul clearly states that law-keeping does not make for a relationship with God. Only participation in the life of Christ through the Spirit of Jesus can do that. It is a gift from the good Creator, not a transaction where we give obedience in exchange for a reward.<br />
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Listen. Pay attention. These things are harder to do than obeying or even sacrificing because we have to be present, not just tick a task off a to-do list. Listening means that we bring our whole selves into an encounter, that we make ourselves available, vulnerable, and open to change (even YHWH does this, see Genesis 18). By truly listening, we invite learning and transformation. When we listen, we are willing to have our viewpoint challenged and to be confronted with the reality and experience of another. Listening and paying attention means that we will inevitably witness injustice and suffering. And we will not be able to turn away with the excuse that we have kept our share of laws.<br />
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Obedience is a power word that leaders wield over followers. Listening is a humility word which invites all parties to be fully present to each other in order to truly see and hear and know the other. Listening is the long, difficult work required to bring peace, to enact justice, and to build any form of community. This is the work which YHWH, Jesus, and the Spirit of life invite us to participate in.<br />
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Listen.<br />
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Listen.<br />
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And then listen some more.<br />
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1. Joan Chittister, <i>Radical Spirit</i> (New York: Convergent Books, 2017), 61.<br />
2. Robert Alter, <i>The Hebrew Bible, Vol. 2, Prophets</i> (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019).<br />
3. Chittister, 60.<br />
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Image: Could Have by Wisława Szymborska. From yadvashem.orgMatte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-82337001986520937482020-05-05T17:48:00.000-04:002020-05-05T17:48:02.907-04:00a pilgrim on public transit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two years ago, I wrote: "Catching the early train downtown. Going to travel through this brief moment of life with beautiful strangers. Peace and grace to you, my fellow pilgrims. It was a privilege to share the ride with you all this morning."<br />
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It is one of my greatest joys to be chauffeured around a city by a trusty driver while in the company of strangers and neighbours. It has been almost two months since I took public transit and I miss riding on the bus and the subway. On a cold day, the first minute inside the bus is spent being grateful to be out of the chilly wind. And on a sunny day, I love squinting out the window at the world aglow with light. But no matter what the weather, I always find myself delighted to be on a journey with random companions. On the bus, I don't have to worry about traffic or changing lanes or running out of gas or finding parking; I just step through the door which magically open for me and the adventure begins.<br />
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While the experiences of riding on the bus and riding the subway are slightly different, both are sacred spaces to me. On the bus, I never know who my driver will be. He might be singing along to French tunes or she might be quiet and watchful. Whoever is sitting in the driver's seat when I board, I am always delighted to see them because they are taking me where I need to go. So I greet them with an upbeat "Bonjour" as I step into their domain. On the subway, I sometimes catch a glimpse of the driver as the train whizzes into the station, but we have no interaction. Unlike the bus, there is no view out the window. The view is all on the inside. <br />
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I usually have a book with me when I take public transit because there is no better place to read about being human than when surrounded by living beings from all walks of life. The people on the journey are always different, but I assume that they are good citizens in our temporary community. And most of the time, I am not disappointed. People give up their seats for others. People move aside to let people enter and exit. People shift their belongings in order to give more space to others. We all accommodate each other, usually wordlessly, as we navigate the journey together.<br />
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A few months ago, I decided to make note of interesting and delightful moments on my trip downtown via public transit. There were so many fascinating people around me that I could hardly jot things down fast enough in my kitty notebook. Perhaps that day was exceptional. Or perhaps I was just paying more attention to the people around me. I suspect it was mostly the latter. Whatever the case, here is my list of delights from a ride on public transit earlier this year.<br />
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There are two girls sitting across from me, chatting with ease like good friends do. Their French is beautiful and lilting, like they are reciting poetry.<br />
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There is a young woman whose scarf I really like. It is a knitted scarf: grey with white and red ends and it looks super cosy. I have seen her three times in the past two weeks and I want to tell her that I think her scarf is lovely. But she exits out the rear door and I exit out the front. I whisper, "I really like your scarf," under my breath as she disappears into the crowd.<br />
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There is a guy with tattoos on his neck, checking out his reflection in the subway car window. He looks a bit unsure of himself. I want to tell him: "You're okay, man, you're good. I accept you just the way you are."<br />
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A man smelling of cigarettes and not-bathing lowers himself onto the seat next to me. I find myself breathing shallowly and I am not proud of it. I wonder what his story is and where life has been unkind to him.<br />
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An older lady gets on the subway and a young man offers her his seat. She says, "It's okay, I'm getting off at the next stop." They smile and nod at each other. There are a few of us who witness this interaction and all of us soften in our faces and bodies. At that moment I think: humans are the best things ever.<br />
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There is a man standing in my subway car who is wearing a sharp, well-tailored business suit underneath a plaid coat. I admire his impeccable style and nominate him for the "best-dressed person on this subway" award. <br />
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On the other side of my subway car, a young guy is leaning against the door. He is holding a balloon bouquet and looking at his phone as if carrying brightly coloured balloons is an everyday occurrence. One balloon has a unicorn on it and two are yellow and have smiley faces. I want to ask him what party he is going to.<br />
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There is a middle-aged man sitting a few rows in front of me who is wearing the most stunning teal turban. The colour makes me catch my breath, like bright flowers in the spring after a black and white winter.<br />
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There is a young woman with pink flower pins in her hair and red-checked shoelaces in her shoes. I admire her bold style and want to catch her eye so I can give her a warm smile. She never looks up.<br />
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An older woman sits next to me and she smells really good. I discreetly take a deep breath and turn my head toward her slightly.<br />
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Two people get on the subway, each with large pieces of luggage. Are they going to the airport? Or the bus station? Or their accommodations? I listen closely to see if I can catch a hint as to where they are from, but I am too far away to hear what they are saying. I sense their excitement and enter into it for a moment. <br />
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As the subway travels from station to station, people enter and exit the space. Some move gracefully and some are a bit clumsy. Some are energetic and others are tired. Some are purposeful while others are distracted. Together, we perform an improvised dance of coming and going. I am so grateful to be part of this diverse company.<br />
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photo by meMatte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-43243183534042172712020-04-24T18:34:00.000-04:002020-04-25T12:39:46.095-04:00the essentials<img alt="Detail of <i>Wheatfield with Crows</i> (1890) by Vincent van Gogh" height="167" src="https://www.theartstory.org/images20/new_design/bio_box/bio_box_van_gogh_vincent.jpg?2" width="400" /><br />
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We were supposed to go on vacation on March 15. On March 13, due to travel restrictions put in place to slow down the spread of COVID-19, we cancelled everything. The plane tickets to California. The hotel reservation a block away from the beach. The car rental. The bungalow in the desert. All of it. It was a hard day. I tried not to cry. And then I did cry because I needed to let the grief go somewhere.<br />
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We had forgone a vacation last winter because we were busy renovating our bathrooms and time and money were tight. We promised ourselves that we would make up for it this year: taking a much-needed break from busy work/volunteer schedules and countering the demoralizing effect of a long, cold winter. We were so ready for ten days spent in warm temperatures, walking along the ocean, driving through desert landscapes, and eating tacos. Instead, Dean went back to work and I started making phone calls and sending emails in an effort to recoup the money we had already spent on the trip.<br />
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Life ground to a halt and picked up speed at the same time. Future plans slowed to a crawl as events and outings were cancelled. Every day a new layer of unsettling information landed on our world, locally and globally, until we were heavy with the weight of it all. I grappled with my disappointment by drawing a picture of a palm tree and storytelling my way through a new version of the vacation that never happened. It was hope deferred onto a two-dimensional representation of warmth and rest. Day by day, I said goodbye to each bit of delight and rejuvenation that did not materialize.<br />
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Then the non-vacation was over and I had to figure out what the new normal was going to look like. No more weekly movie outings, no meals at favourite restaurants, no shopping for new shoes, no trips to the gym, no haircuts, no church gatherings, no having friends over for meals, no upcoming concerts and outings, no spiritual formation meetings, no chatting over coffee with colleagues.<br />
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By this time, Dean was working from home and that was another adjustment. Instead of having a quiet place to read and write, I now shared space with a boisterous officemate who was participating in video meetings and making phone calls most of the day. I cooked and baked a lot more and the number of dishes seemed to quadruple. Somehow, the laundry piles were smaller. Plenty of online articles suggested that one should make a daily schedule during these unsettling times, so I did that. My list included workouts, spiritual practices, reading books and writing essays, making the best home-cooked meals, cleaning, taking daily walks outside, implementing consistent waking and bedtimes, watching interesting shows I never had time for, and having meaningful interactions with Dean. I hung the ambitious schedule above my desk. Perhaps to no one's surprise, I have never managed to follow more than a fraction of it.<br />
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Though this seemed like the perfect time to write, I found it hard to put words together. Just the thought of sitting down at the computer and opening up a blank page was overwhelming. I felt numb. Though I had creative thoughts, I had no idea what to do with them. I had a writing project on the go that needed attention, but I couldn't get any traction on it. I didn't want to write. I wanted to watch medical dramas and baking contests and home improvement shows.<br />
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A few weeks into the new normal, I came across this quote from poet Rainer Maria Wilke and it gave me some relief from the constant, internalized pressure to produce and write: "I want to beg you as much as I can ... to be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves ... Do not now seek answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into answer." [1]<br />
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So I gave myself permission to live things instead of writing them. No need to comment on the pandemic. No need to offer tips for how to be creative during self-isolation. No need to offer inspirational quotes or thoughtful responses about how to deal with disappointments. Instead of writing things for others to consume, I tried to pay attention. To my body. To my emotions. To my soul. To my mental state. To Dean. To my neighbours. To creation. To the world. To the Spirit. It was enough.<br />
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I realize that my experience in all of this comes from a privileged place. We have a comfortable home which is warm and safe. There is plenty of food in the pantry and in the fridge and we have ready access to grocery stores. We have savings set aside so we can pay our bills even if our income fluctuates. We enjoy good health and are connected to a faith community. We have phones and computers and the internet so can freely communicate with family members, colleagues, and friends. We can order products online if we need to. We have a wonderful system of parks and green spaces within walking distance. There is much to be thankful for. At the same time, I don't want to diminish the impact of living in the shifting sands of a pandemic: the disappointment, the restrictions, the uncertainty, the loss of so many daily activities, the cancellation of events I was looking forward to, including a theological conference I was helping to organize. Loss and abundance are my uneasy, constant companions.<br />
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In times like this, we are forced to consider what is essential and what is not. By all accounts, I have access to all the essentials: food, shelter, safety, and good health. But there is more to life than sustaining a heartbeat (though that is vital) or having sustenance (totally necessary) or having a measure of security (I wish this for everyone in the world). In addition to having our physical needs met, humans crave those things which the ancient Greeks identified as the transcendentals: truth, goodness, and beauty. These are the things which give life meaning and I would venture to say, are necessary, even in a crisis. So, even though I am not an essential service provider by the government's definition, I seek to contribute truth, goodness, and beauty to the world in whatever small way I can. And here is why.<br />
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<b>Truth. </b>Without it, we have no compass. Truth is what trains us to engage with the world as it is and ourselves as we are. Truth keeps us from fooling ourselves with fanciful fiction and deluding ourselves with defensive denials. Truth keeps us from falling into the temptation to hear only those things which are pleasant to our ears, things which confirm our biases or reinforce our self-importance. Truth challenges us to acknowledge that life is bigger than our limited experience. Truth demands humility. Truth asks us pointed, probing questions and expects us to respond with thoughtful, honest answers. Truth makes us say, "I don't know," more often than we would like. Truth demands that we own up to our part in contributing to the problem. Truth commits us to responsibly handling the barrage of information coming our way, taking the time to discern between reliable sources and propaganda or self-interested opinions. Truth asks us to be people of integrity who practice repenting (changing our thinking) as often as necessary. Truth is not a weapon but only and always to be used in service to others. Truth is always related to goodness.<br />
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<b>Goodness.</b> Without goodness, we become islands, isolated from the world. Goodness connects us to both the well-being and the pain of others. Goodness is generous, not transactional. Goodness is gracious, not forcing others to live up to our unrealistic expectations. Goodness is never "me first." Goodness makes us good neighbours, no matter who that neighbour is. Goodness recognizes the value of each person, not just the rich, the CEOs, the influential, the out-spoken, the beautiful, the highly-qualified, those in the majority, the respected. Goodness cheers for the underdog, the struggling, the overlooked, the weak, the invisible, the poor. Goodness gives up its advantage so that others can benefit. Goodness is faithful even when others are unfaithful. Goodness stands against fear, against bullying, against injustice, against prejudice, against misinformation, against self-protectionism. Goodness opens doors for people instead of locking them out. Goodness does not insist on having its own way. Goodness is not primarily concerned with personal freedom but wants the whole community to flourish. Goodness is beautiful.<br />
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<b>Beauty. </b>Without beauty, life would lack meaning. Beauty is the life-blood of the soul. Beauty is ubiquitous and extravagant, present in every corner of creation. Beauty can be found in a badly-drawn rainbow stuck in a window so that passersby might be encouraged. Beauty is evident in a masterpiece where each dab of paint is carefully placed by a skilled artist. Beauty is a baby's first smile. Beauty is an elderly man's hand gently caressing his dying wife's cheek. Beauty never demands attention but waits to be noticed. Beauty is the gift which we can receive anytime, anywhere, if we are willing to look, listen, and pay attention. Beauty often leaves us speechless because it bypasses our mind and goes straight to our heart. Beauty is buds on trees, blue skies, the sound of birds chirping, and the shoots of plants which survived the winter. Beauty is herds of goats in the Swiss Alps, lambs surviving difficult births, an indoor squirrel who loves to wash her hands, a household of rescued animals which includes two foxes and a possum, and a man and his cat travelling the world on a bike. [2] Truly, the world is a beautiful place and every blade of grass, every blink of the eye, is precious and worth noticing and celebrating.</div>
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Truth, goodness, and beauty. May you find these essentials in your life today.<br />
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1. Rainer Maria Wilke. <i>Letters to a Young Poet</i>.<br />
2. These are all Instagram accounts which I follow.<br />
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Image: <i>Wheatfield with Crows</i> by Vincent van Gogh. Image from theartstory.org. </div>
Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-13962492034086208092020-04-01T17:31:00.002-04:002020-04-25T12:35:11.198-04:00more than words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Many of our interactions in this day and age are via video screens or through written messages. This at-a-distance type of interaction can be challenging, not just because it is always mediated (done through a medium) but because the distance requires both parties to do some extra work.<br />
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This is especially true when it comes to written texts. Words have the wonderful ability to engage our imaginations, to enlarge our understanding, and to create narratives and connections which help us make sense of things. Words also have the capacity to be misread, misunderstood, and misrepresented. Have you ever mistaken the meaning of someone's email or text or had your own message misinterpreted? I certainly have. Because the writer is not face to face with the reader, there is no body language or vocal inflection or facial expression to help the reader understand the nuances behind the writer's words. Often, the reader is not privy to the specific situation or context in which the words were birthed. In addition, the writer cannot depend on immediate feedback from the reader and thus cannot gauge whether or not their words are received as intended. The communicator must be diligent to faithfully deliver their meaning as best they can. And the recipient must pay careful attention if they want to decipher the message contained within the communication.<br />
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Recognizing that there might be a gap between intent and impact in written communication seems like common sense, but when it comes to dealing with sacred texts, we often ignore the challenges (and gifts) that come with distances of time, location, culture, context, and language. [1]<br />
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The written witness which tells about God (the Bible) and the living embodiment of God, Jesus, are meant to work together as one cohesive, ongoing revelation of the divine nature and character. However, when Jesus came on the scene, those who knew the holy scriptures best had the most trouble recognizing him as the Son of God. They had assumed certain priorities and values which made sense in their religious context, but these things ended up being in direct conflict with the kingdom of God in person: Jesus. When faced with a choice between their particular interpretation of an ancient text and the living, breathing God standing in the flesh right in front of them, they chose to double down on their limited understanding of the religious texts.<br />
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We often look down on the religious leaders (Pharisees and Sadducees) portrayed in the gospel accounts. We believe them to be imperceptive, obtuse, and stubbornly attached to a flawed tradition. We mock them for not seeing what was right in front of their eyes, for not recognizing that a certain Jesus from ignoble beginnings revealed the nature of God in ways which words on a scroll never could. Perhaps we need a gentle reminder that we (those who study and teach and minister) are the religious leaders of our time. The gospel accounts of the Pharisees and Sadducees implore us to recognize our own lack of perception and religious stubbornness.<br />
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I don't know about you, but I have resisted and dismissed ideas which challenged my interpretation of scripture, contradicted my understanding of who God is, or critiqued traditions which were familiar, comfortable, and dear to me. Resisting and dismissing are rarely helpful postures when it comes to spiritual formation. The church fathers and mothers teach us that it is by encountering and wrestling with different ideas and experiences, especially in the context of community, that we develop discernment, wisdom, and love. Truth and goodness are much bigger than many of us have been led to believe, and the only way we can enter more fully into the way, truth, and life of Jesus is by enlarging our understanding, not by hobbling it.<br />
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Below are a few practices which help me remain mindful and respectful of the distances between the ancient world of the biblical texts and my own context. At the same time, these practices invite me to engage deeply and robustly with the meaning behind the words and, ultimately, with the divine Creator and Lover revealed in the texts. I have found these practices helpful in enlarging my understanding of who God is, in mitigating my tendency to squeeze Jesus into a particular tradition or worldview, and in fostering humility in my life of study. May they do the same for you.<br />
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<b>1. Focus on the big picture, not the specifics. </b>The details of the biblical texts are fascinating, and we do well to notice and appreciate them. However, we must be careful not to equate specific details in an ancient text with our present context. For example, marriages were an entirely other thing in the Ancient Near East. Accepted practices included abduction marriages, rape marriages, and multiple wives and concubines. It should also be noted that there is not a specific word for marriage in Biblical Hebrew. Language changes over time, as do culture, social mores, and contexts. We should expect that the way a group of believers heard a certain letter from Paul in the first century would be different from how Christians in the 21st century receive those same words.<br />
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Throughout church history, devout, Spirit-filled followers of Christ have had different ways of interpreting the biblical texts. That is a good thing. It shows us that the texts (like all fine literature) have layers of meaning to discover. The words are not static. The Bible's purpose is not to dictate universal laws and practices for all time. Instead, these texts offer to train us in wisdom. Instead of trying to replicate biblical specifics (enforcing ancient laws or blindly following directives given to early churches), we are invited to learn what these texts have to teach us about shared human experiences such as dealing with power dynamics, practicing forgiveness, finding unity in diversity, serving the vulnerable, enacting justice, loving God, and loving our neighbour.<br />
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<b>2. Place your confidence in the source, not the text.</b> Let me offer a simple analogy. Suppose you have read a biography about Susie and then have the privilege of meeting Susie in person. In your encounter with Susie, you begin to notice some discrepancies between the written account and the actual person, so you tell Susie that she needs to change to be more like her biography. Susie tells you that you have it backwards. The book is not the source; she is. Let me state it plainly (and somewhat strongly). A written text is never definitively authoritative; it is merely a witness to life. And life is always bigger than words, even inspired words. The spirit of Jesus is our guide in matters of faith and practice, not a few Bible verses pulled out of context.<br />
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Like the Pharisees, our certainty regarding the meaning of the biblical texts can make us resistant to change, even if Jesus were to show up in person and challenge our understanding. This misplaced trust can put our faith at risk when discrepancies related to the texts arise. One example of this is the perceived conflict between science and the Bible, a result of literalists reacting to the scientific revolution in the 18th century and insisting that the scriptures were authoritative in all matters, including science. In contrast, early church fathers had no problem reading the creation story as metaphor and allegory. When we place our confidence in the incarnate revelation of God, Jesus, instead of the written witness, then discrepancies between modern science and the scriptures or contradictions in parallel narratives (like the gospels or Kings and Chronicles) or scribal errors in ancient scrolls or unjust practices (genocide, slavery, etc.) are not unexpected nor do they need to be defended.<br />
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<b>3. Embrace the joy (and challenge) of engaging with an ancient, inspired text.</b> It is a wondrous thing (and, I believe, holy work) to explore the details of translation conundrums, to delve into the purposes behind different versions of the same events, and to learn to see the many ways the Spirit of God is counter-cultural, innovative, and always moving toward merciful justice. If Jesus is the in-person revelation of God and the Spirit is the one who guides and teaches us, then we can stop spending our energies on defending the Bible and concentrate on the real work at hand: growing in love and wisdom.<br />
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We do this by engaging with the scriptures in community. We do this by searching out what scholars have to say. We read the biblical texts with eyes of wonder and look for meanings which find their home in Jesus. We study the culture and the history and the languages of the biblical world and do our best to understand what the Spirit might be saying to us right now. We look for the trajectory which is invoked from Genesis to Revelation, a trajectory which includes creation, growth, suffering, sacrifice, love, and community, and pray that we learn how to live into that trajectory. We look at the biblical witness and seek the source of life and truth: Jesus.<br />
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[1] Translator Wilda Gafney chooses to transliterate names of biblical characters directly from Hebrew instead of using Anglicized versions. "Using the less familiar form ... reminds the contemporary non-Jewish reader that we are at a great distance - geographically and temporally - from the original context of these Scriptures; we need to be wary of interpreting as though they were composed in our immediate context or their messages directed toward us." Wilda C. Gafney, <i>Womanist Midrash</i> (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2017), 289.<br />
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<i>Image: St. John the Theologian. Image from pinterest.ca. </i>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-70844364767158485702020-02-05T14:54:00.000-05:002020-02-05T16:29:49.848-05:00the kindness of God<br />
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In recent years, I have heard and read many conversations in which Christians comment on potentially divisive issues such as sexuality, politics, economics, nationhood, leadership, socialism, etc. We are an increasingly polarized society, it seems, and the Church is not immune to this dynamic. What has saddened me most about these interactions is how often kindness is in short supply. We can get so worked up about an issue that we think it is okay to disrespect, shame, or mock those who do not share our views. In other words, we make <i>things </i>more important than <i>people</i>, and that is not the way of Jesus.<br />
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In English, kindness is defined as being friendly, generous, and considerate. Kindness is when someone gives up their seat on the bus for an elderly gentleman. Or lets someone go in front of them in a line. Or offers to pay for a stranger's coffee. However, the word translated as kindness in the New Testament is a bit more robust than our English version. <i>Chrestotes </i>(Gk) combines the ideas of goodness and kindness. It stems from a root which means well-fit for use, what is really needed. <i>Chrestotes </i>means integrity, moral goodness, and rightness as well as harmlessness (something is benign) or kindness. It is translated as goodness, do good, uprightness, kindness, and gentleness in the New Testament. But none of these words captures the dual idea of not only doing good or right but also doing it in a kind way, in a way which causes no harm. <i>Chrestotes </i>addresses not only <i>what</i> we do (rightness) but <i>how </i>we do it (kindness).</div>
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Kindness and goodness originate in the character of God. We are to be kind and good to others because this is God's posture toward us, even when we do not return the favour. Kindness and goodness are to be part of our identities as followers of Jesus. When Jesus addresses a group gathered on the plain, he says: "I tell you, love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You'll never - I promise - regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we're at our worst. Our Father is kind (<i>chrestotes</i>); you be kind" (Luke 6:35-36, The Message).</div>
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Paul, in writing to a church where two factions are hurling insults at each other, has this to say: "<i>Here’s what is happening:</i> you attack and criticize others and then turn around to commit the same offenses yourselves! Do you think you will somehow dodge God’s judgment? Do you take the kindness (<i>chrestotes</i>) of God for granted? Do you see His patience and tolerance as signs that He is a pushover <i>when it comes to sin</i>? How could you not know that His kindness (<i>chrestotes</i>) is guiding our hearts to turn away from <i>distractions and habitual</i> sin to walk a new path?" (Romans 2:3-4, The Voice). [1] Here we see the presence of both uprightness (walking a new path which leaves destructive ways behind) and kindness (not attacking, judging or harshly criticizing one another). We, like Paul's friends, can become so focused on the rightness of something that we forget all about kindness. Jesus repeatedly rebuked the Pharisees for this type of harshness. In fact, sometimes Jesus seemed to place more emphasis on kindness than on uprightness (healing on the Sabbath, touching the unclean, eating with sinners, etc.) and he got into a lot of trouble with the "good religious folks" for this.</div>
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Perhaps one of the most familiar passages about kindness is in Galatians 5 where we find it in a list describing the nature of the fruit of the Spirit. In order to help us hear it with fresh ears, I cite Eugene Peterson's translation: "But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart (<i>chrestotes</i>), and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely. Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way" (Galatians 5:22-24, The Message). In this passage, Paul is writing about a life of freedom, one not bound by legalism or defined by law-keeping (rightness). Instead, the goodness of God is evident because things such as love and kindness flow out of us when we are filled with and living in communion with the Spirit of Jesus. Goodness does not happen because we follow or enforce strict rules and boundaries. Jesus critiqued this type of external uprightness with fairly strong words (white-washed tombs which look good on the outside but stink on the inside - Matt. 23:27). True goodness flows from the inside. It brings life and not death, and it is never removed from kindness.</div>
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One final passage I want to consider. Paul is instructing a church about what it means to do life in Christ as a community. He writes: "So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness (<i>chrestotes</i>), humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it. Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other, in step with each other. None of this going off and doing your own thing. And cultivate thankfulness" (Colossians 3:12-15, The Message). In using the metaphor of a garment or cloak, Paul indicates that these are the things people should see first when they encounter followers of Jesus. All actions, words, working and living and being, should be covered in love. People should not see good works or uprightness first; compassion, kindness, and humility are to be at the forefront. Jesus did not spend his life enforcing a standard of rightness, and it is not the life he calls us to. We are invited to participate in the goodness of God, and kindness is the beautiful garment in which it is clothed.<br />
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The kindness of God involves doing good without harshness or harm. It is a form of justice which does not enforce rightness but invokes solidarity. In other words, kindness is a type of goodness which does not seek to separate itself from what is perceived as badness but comes close to those who, for whatever reason, find themselves on the wrong side of the law. Kindness is willing to enter into the suffering, shame, and isolation of others. This kind of goodness happens from the inside-out; it is never something which can be accomplished through external mandate or pressure. Jesus was always making friends with those considered unclean, troublemakers, sinners, partiers, or even traitors. Jesus was not afraid of having his rightness tainted by associating with the outcasts or the unrighteous. Through kindness, he let outsiders know that they were closer to the heart of God than they had been led to believe.</div>
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When you have been schooled in being upright, it is hard not to see kindness as a bit of a compromise, a weakness, or even a lack of morality. It pains me to realize that much of my early religious education was, in fact, focused on how to be a good Pharisee, keeping myself separate from those who did not abide by divine laws, and not so much about how to be a friend and companion to those who are suffering, oppressed, and rejected. Thankfully, the master teacher, Jesus, is here to re-educate us all. </div>
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Let me finish by relating two stories, both of which have to do with wedding cakes. I am aware that the contexts and relationships represented in these stories are somewhat different, but they merit our consideration.<br />
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The first concerns a rather famous court case from 2012 in which Jack Phillips, owner of Masterpiece Cakeshop in Lakewood, Colorado, declined to make a wedding cake for a gay couple, citing his religious beliefs and the fact that same-sex marriage was not recognized in Colorado (the couple was getting married in Massachusetts and returning to Colorado for a celebration with family and friends). However, Colorado did have a public accommodations law which prohibited businesses open to the public from discriminating against their customers on the basis of race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation. Subsequently, a complaint was filed and the case went to court where it was decided in favour of the plaintiffs. It then went on to the Colorado court of appeals where the decision was upheld. The case finally ended up in the US Supreme court in 2018 where a 7-2 decision reversed the Commission's decision, ruling that the Commission did not employ religious neutrality. This protracted process could not have been easy or pleasant for either party.</div>
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The second story comes from Danielle L. Mayfield who writes about her interactions with Somali Bantu refugees in Portland, Oregon. She befriended two young sisters (13 and 14), and as a good Christian mentor, encouraged them to make future plans for college and overcome the misogyny present around them. One day, the eldest one started to chatter excitedly about a much older boy she had met on the internet. This prompted Danielle to once again raise the question of going to college. When pressed, the girls admitted that they did not know any Somali Bantu girls who had ever gone to college and any desire they had expressed in doing so was simply to humour Danielle. </div>
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Danielle writes: "The Somali Bantu girls I knew were getting married at younger and younger ages, entering a patriarchal and polygamous system where they will be expected to have lots of babies and cook three times a day. From the first day I met them, I had made it a goal of mine to see these girls through to college. Now, it looked like I might have to put those dreams away to die. But the biggest emotion I felt was relief: for the first time it felt like we were finally being honest with each other." [2] </div>
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Danielle continues: "...part of me wants to petition child protection services or write a journalistic expose of polygamy or do a self-esteem workshop. But the reality is that the best way to humanize an issue is to actually be involved in it. ... to be a friend, the truest form of advocacy there is. To listen to them talk about their boyfriends or how much they love Chris Brown or plan their weddings. This is the new reality, and I have to work with it. Love God, love your neighbor, Jesus said, a perfect sound bite for the ages. But did Christ know how complicated my neighbors were? How hard they were to love sometimes? How much easier it is to surround myself with people who look and think and act like me, to love only myself? Yes, yes, yes, he does, but he is polite and firm in his response. A messy, present, incarnational love is the simplest and hardest call of all, the call that all of us were created to follow. And this is how I find myself offering to bake the d*** wedding cake." [3]</div>
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I have spent much of life asking the question, "What is right?" It was the question that the Pharisees were always asking Jesus, and it revealed how obsessed they were with keeping everything within certain boundaries. I am discovering that there is a better question, one which is implied in pretty much every encounter Jesus has: "How can I help?" The first query stresses external compliance and is focused on a thing (law, rightness). The second makes room for companionship and compassionate action by focusing on the person right in front of the questioner.<br />
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The idea that certain things (laws/uprightness/stability/security, etc.) are more important than people is deeply embedded in our religious sensibility. Jesus, come and re-educate us all. Amen.</div>
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[1] Italics in the text indicate words added by the translators for clarification.</div>
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[2] Mayfield, D.L. <i>Assimilate or Go Home: Notes From Failed Missionary on Rediscovering Faith</i> (New York: HarperOne, 2016), 90.</div>
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[3] Ibid, 91.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Image from acts.kindness.org</span></div>
Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-29726483218431890212020-01-06T18:29:00.000-05:002020-01-06T18:30:45.805-05:00come and see...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When people contacted Mother Teresa to find out more about her and her work among the poor in India, she was often known to reply with the words of Jesus: <i>come and see</i>. Mother Teresa knew that no amount of explanation could adequately communicate the nature of the world in which she lived and laboured. A person had to experience it for themselves. Come and see.<br />
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Come and see is a favourite phrase of children. I am often invited to come to a child's room to see something. I know that the child is not asking me to stay at a discreet distance and observe as if collecting data for a report. The child is inviting me to get up close and personal, to sit on the floor and hold each precious toy that is handed to me. The child is inviting me to enter into their world, to join in their experience. I am expected to press buttons that make noises. I am expected to hug a plush animal. I am expected to join in a silly song or dance. I am expected to smell yellow candies in order to tell which is lemon and which is banana, and then plop the mystery candy into my mouth.<br />
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To come and see indicates movement; we move from our own situation into another person's context. We become a guest in another person's world. When someone says, "Come and see," they are issuing an invitation to experience what they experience and thus enter into a deeper relationship with them.<br />
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At the beginning of the gospel of John [1], two disciples of John the Baptist become curious about Jesus, so they start to walk after him. Jesus stops and asks the two men what they want. They reply that they would like to know where Jesus is staying. In other words, they want to know more about who he is and what he does. Jesus's answer is two verbs: come and see. He invites them to enter into his world and experience it for themselves.<br />
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Later in John's gospel [2], we come across this phrase again, but it is not Jesus who issues the invitation. When Lazarus dies, Jesus travels to Bethany to be with Lazarus's family. After greeting the dead man's sisters, Mary and Martha, Jesus asks where the body of his friend has been laid. The group of mourners replies: "Come and see." Jesus weeps, entering into their experience. Jesus gets up close and personal with the grief all around him. He does not hurry past the moment. He does not reassure the mourners that all will be well. He simply accepts the invitation to join in the suffering.<br />
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When we respond to an invitation to come and see, to get up close and personal with another person, to experience what they experience, something changes. Jesus invited two men to come and see where he lived. After they spent the day with him, they became his disciples. One of the men was named Andrew, and he wasted no time in asking his brother, Simon Peter, to join Jesus as well. The lives of these three men were changed forever because they responded to an invitation to come and see.<br />
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But Jesus is not the only one inviting people to come and see. The invitation goes both ways. Jesus wants to enter into our experience as well. When the mourners invited Jesus to come and see the body of their friend, Jesus paused and wept. We so often rush to the next part of the story, eager to get to the bit where Lazarus is alive again. Jesus did not rush to resurrection, not with his dear friend, Lazarus, and not when it came to his own death. There is no shortcut to entering into the experience of another. It requires vulnerability. It requires de-centring ourselves. It requires patience. It requires surrender. It requires being present for as long as is necessary.<br />
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Come and see. The invitation is not to witness something astounding or amazing which will titillate our senses, but to enter into another's experience, to taste and see, to come and touch, to be near, to smell and hear and be present to others in a new way.</div>
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What is God inviting you to come and see?<br />
What do you want to invite God to come and see?<br />
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[1] John 1:35-47.<br />
[2] John 11:17-37.<br />
Image: Jesus Weeps by Linda Richardson</div>
Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-13638559824458000722019-12-05T18:40:00.001-05:002019-12-06T11:46:53.654-05:00the spiritual practice of humiliation<img height="266" src="https://cdn.tinybuddha.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Hiding-face.png" width="400" /><br />
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In <i>Falling Upward</i>, Richard Rohr writes: “I have prayed for years for one good humiliation a day, and then I must watch my reaction to it. ... I have no other way of spotting both my well-denied shadow self and my idealized persona.” [1] When I first read those words, I resisted them. Humiliating another person is a cruel and unkind act, so why would I ask to be on the receiving end of that? No one needs humiliation, do they? According to Christian saints, both ancient and contemporary, the answer to that question is an unqualified yes. As Rohr indicates, it is easy to lie to ourselves, especially if we are capable leaders. We want to believe that we are good at what we do, that people should look up to us, that we are mature and wise and special and perhaps even somewhat impressive. We swallow small doses of superiority and pride until we are immune to the distastefulness and deception. Rohr tells us that the most effective antidote to living falsely is accepting humiliation.<br />
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Recently, my spiritual director suggested implementing mid-day spiritual practices to help me counter the feeling of being a bit unmoored. Because I like variety, I decided to go with a different spiritual practice every day and quickly listed six which I found helpful. I contemplated taking Sundays off but concluded that it would be better to have a plan for that day in case I needed it. For some reason, I wrote down the word <i>humiliation</i>. I immediately doubted and regretted my choice, but I decided to give it a try anyway.<br />
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Sundays are my best and worst days. I am a leader in my faith community, so Sunday is a busy day. Just this past week I set up the room, played on the worship team, acted as MC for the meeting, prayed, engaged with a variety of people, took care of organizational details, cleaned up, and went out for lunch with members of the community. Once a month I add speaking to that list. My primary vocation and skill set is not pastoring (though I have learned to be pastoral) and I am an introvert, so Sundays tax me in all the ways. I generally love being in our gatherings but I feel drained. I want to contribute to the life of the community but I have limited social energy. I see the benefit of the weekly communal rhythms but get fatigued by the work required to keep them going.<br />
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If I think back on recent Sundays, humiliation features in pretty much all of them. At some point, I am usually judgmental, impatient, or anti-social. I inevitably play or sing a wrong note, my mind might go blank in the middle of a talk, or I might say something inappropriate or inaccurate during the meeting. I am frequently trying to do too many things at once, so something or someone gets left out or forgotten. When my social energy is depleted, I struggle to be loving or even courteous. I can ignore and avoid people. Sometimes I say unkind things to my husband. Not all the humiliation is internal. Because our community is filled with imperfect human beings, situations can arise which make me cringe, especially when visitors drop in. When I wrote the word, <i>humiliation,</i> I was really acknowledging what was already happening on Sundays.<br />
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Humiliation generally brings with it a sense of shame, but when I began to frame it as a spiritual practice, my perspective changed. Basically, I realized that humiliation is an invitation for me to lean into the ways of Jesus.<br />
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Humiliation invites me to shift the focus off my (and my community's) inadequacies and onto the generous provision of God. When a situation requires wisdom, insight, love, encouragement, or discernment, and humiliation shows up instead, I am invited to trust that the Holy Spirit has it covered. When I make a mistake (both things I do and things I don't do), I am invited to believe that the gaps will be filled with divine grace. When I demand perfection of myself and fail, I am invited to become present to my humanity and see all the ways it binds me to my fellow humans. When I do not meet the expectations of others, I am invited to acknowledge my limitations and ask for help. When I feel pressure to perform or produce certain results, I am invited to be my most authentic self, knowing that this is the best gift I can give to God and to the world. Humiliation invites me to repent quickly, to resist defensiveness, to let go of reputation, to act justly, and to embrace the lowest places.<br />
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Humiliation invites me to let go and fall, fall, fall into the arms of one who knows all about humiliation. One who has given good gifts and watched them be smashed and perverted. One who has made covenant after covenant only to suffer unfaithfulness. One who has been stripped naked in public and mocked. One who has suffered every humiliation known to humankind because that is what love does.<br />
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Humiliation is a doorway to the way of Jesus. I pray for the courage to open that door whenever it presents itself to me. Which is probably next Sunday.<br />
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[1] Richard Rohr. <i>Falling Upward</i>. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2011. 128.<br />
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<i>Image from tinybuddha.com</i>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-71146867284708432922019-11-07T16:06:00.003-05:002019-11-08T11:15:27.525-05:00the two sides of hospitality<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img height="400" src="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/52e8e368e4b09c239b5d8b7e/1410271687344-EP20VZU7K1NXCD6BIHCS/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kHinP6DnJL9y2qIyTCLrNg9Zw-zPPgdn4jUwVcJE1ZvWQUxwkmyExglNqGp0IvTJZamWLI2zvYWH8K3-s_4yszcp2ryTI0HqTOaaUohrI8PIKiMeXeyxBWunExBqR4pCYLcM1T14ukClyhx3Gq-7BQkKMshLAGzx4R3EDFOm1kBS/image-asset.jpeg?format=750w" width="399" /><br />
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I recently attended a lecture on <i>Narrative Hospitality</i> by Richard Kearney. It was inspiring and thought-provoking in many ways. He told about his work which seeks to foster reconciliation through the exchange of stories. [1] His ideas on the nature of hospitality reminded me of some study I had done on the topic a few years ago which helped to broaden my thinking about the whole concept of hospitality.<br />
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We often think of hospitality as opening our home to people, but it is much more than that. There are basically two expressions of hospitality. In the first, we invite people to share in our experience. This usually takes the form of having people over for a meal, giving them a place to sleep in our home, or involving them in something we are doing. The second type of hospitality is that which requires us to enter someone else's experience. This happens every time we visit someone else's home or experience a context or culture which is different from our own. This second type of hospitality requires that we adapt to another person's normal. Depending on the host's wishes, we may take off our shoes or leave them on, we may shake hands or hug or even bow, we may sit quietly on a chair or play with children on the floor. The host might invite us to help prepare the meal or keep us away from the kitchen. If we are good guests, we accept whatever food and drink are offered, partaking with gratitude and without complaint. The first expression of hospitality locates us on home turf, where we, for the most part, control the environment and the rules of engagement. However, when we are the guest, the stranger, we must accommodate ourselves to the host's way of doing things.</div>
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There is a certain vulnerability associated with hospitality, and this is reflected in the Latin root: <i>hostis</i>. The original meaning, "to have power," reflects the dynamics at play in acts of hospitality. Kearney notes that the same root (<i>hostis</i>) is used to form two words: hostility and hospitality. This is not as strange as it may first seem. Hospitality, in its purest form, puts strangers together in close quarters. Both become vulnerable to each other, have a certain amount of power over the other, if you will. When we invite a stranger into our home, the nature of the relationship is unknown. Will they turn out to be a friend or an enemy? When we are strangers in a foreign land, will we be met with goodwill or hostility? Can a stranger be trusted or will they take advantage of us? Hospitality positions both host and guest in the realm of uncertainty.</div>
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Kearney tells the story behind the Irish expression, "chance your arm," which demonstrates the precarious nature of hospitality. The phrase originated in the 15th century when <span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">two Irish families (the Butlers and the
FitzGeralds) were involved in a bitter feud over a position of power. The disagreement resulted in violent fighting and finally, the Butlers fled from the scene and took refuge in the Chapter House of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. The FitzGeralds followed them into the church and asked the Butlers to come out of the room and make peace. The Butlers, afraid that they would be slaughtered if they came out, refused. The head of the FitzGerald family had a hole cut in the door of the Chapter House, removed his armour, and thrust his arm through the opening. "You can cut it off or you can shake it," he offered. "I come in peace." The Butlers decided to shake the extended hand and the two families made peace. This door, known as the "Door of Reconciliation," hangs in Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin to this day.</span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Hospitality is risky work. It invites us to make friends out of strangers (or even enemies). It invites us to leave our comfort and imagine (and enter) into life as "the other." It invites us to take a risk, to "chance our arm," even when we are threatened. There are two stories in Genesis which illustrate how closely vulnerability and hospitality are linked. One turns out well; the other results in disaster.</span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">In Genesis 18, three visitors come upon Abraham and Sarah and their encampment near some trees. In the Ancient Near East, resources were limited in the desert climate, so travellers relied on the kindness of strangers. Abraham sees the men and invites them to stop, wash their feet, refresh themselves, and have a meal. He has his servants quickly prepare a calf as well as bread, butter, and milk and ends up offering the strangers not just the basics, but a feast. The strangers turn out to be messengers from YHWH and they tell Abraham that within a year, his wife will have a son. It is very good news for Abraham and Sarah who have been waiting over twenty years for the divine promise of a child to be fulfilled.</span><br />
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<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">In Genesis 19, two of the visitors continue on to the town of Sodom. The text says that YHWH has heard of the injustices in this city and is sending messengers to see if these reports are true. YHWH tells Abraham that if ten righteous people can be found, the town will be spared (Genesis 18). Late in the day, the two men come to the city gate. Lot, Abraham's nephew, greets them and invites them to spend the night at his house. The strangers refuse at first, saying they will sleep in the town square, but Lot insists. The visitors come to Lot's house and he gives them bread to eat. Then the men of the town show up at Lot's house and demand that he hand over the strangers so that the mob can abuse them sexually (an act of violence meant to humiliate the strangers and establish the mob's dominance). Lot tries to dissuade the men, even offering his daughters instead (willing to protect his guests at the expense of his family), but the townsmen threaten to break down the door. The messengers of YHWH pull Lot to safety and blind the assailants so they cannot find the entrance to the house. The injustices of Sodom are thus confirmed and the town ends up being destroyed. </span>It is important to note the correlation between injustice and inhospitality. Instead of welcoming outsiders, the people of Sodom saw them as enemies and sought to harm them.</div>
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If we look at hospitality from the viewpoint of the strangers, we notice that they came to Abraham to give good news. Because Abraham received them, he received the news they were carrying. The messengers came to Sodom looking for signs of goodness, but because they were threatened instead of welcomed, the town did not receive the mercy that was on offer. When we receive guests, we are receiving much more than a person who needs food and lodging; many times strangers have precious gifts to give us if we can but receive them. Hospitality expands our idea of who belongs and who doesn't, who is part of us and who is not.<br />
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Richard Kearney recounts the following story:<br />
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<i>I was moderating a conversation between two
groups: IRA [Irish Republican Army] prisoners on the nationalist/Catholic/
republican side and UDA [Ulster Defence Association] prisoners on the unionist
side. One of the republicans told the story of how he had nearly been shot. He
had been taken out of his bed, blindfolded, handcuffed, brought to a barn in
the boot of a car, tied up, and was about to be shot. He asked his assassin,
could he smoke a last cigarette? The assassin said yes; and as he was smoking
the cigarette he told the story of how he himself had joined the IRA and why he
had shot people. He described what had happened to his grandfather, being
tortured by the B-Specials12, and then how his father had been taken out and
kneecapped; how his mother had had a breakdown and become an alcoholic and
ended up on the street, and how his brother had been tortured… He went through
a litany of appalling brutalities, and told how he had become so full of anger
and hatred that he went out and shot his enemies. There was a silence after
he’d finished the cigarette and he waited – five minutes, ten minutes, twenty
minutes – for the gun to go off, but no gun went off. When finally he untied
himself and turned around – there was nobody there. The barn was empty. He
walked home. He finished telling that story, and another person stood up at the
back of the room and said 'I was the loyalist paramilitary who was about to
shoot you, but when I heard your story, I realised it was also my story, and I couldn’t
shoot you'.</i><br />
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Hospitality is seeing ourselves in the story of others, even in those we might consider our enemies. Hospitality invites us to "chance our arm" in acts of vulnerability instead of always seeking to protect ourselves. Hospitality invites us not only to welcome the stranger into our home but to enter into the world of "the other." Hospitality seeks to build bridges and not walls. This is the radical hospitality that is at the very heart of the incarnation: God becoming human. And because we have entered into the divine hospitality, are undeserving recipients of mercy and love, we are invited to extend that same hospitality to others, both by inviting them into our world and by entering into their experience.<br />
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“Keep loving each other like family. Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it. Remember prisoners as if you were in prison with them, and people who are mistreated as if you were in their place.” (Hebrews 13:1-3, CEB)<br />
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[1] Richard Kearney is the Co-Director of an initiative called the Guestbook Project which “invites young people from divided communities to meet and exchange their stories of conflict, and to engage in a new, shared, imaginative project that can end the gap and build a better future.” You can find more information at <a href="http://guestbookproject.org/media/">http://guestbookproject.org/media/</a>.<br />
[2] Breffni O’Rourke. "Intercultural encounters as hospitality.
An interview with Richard Kearney," UniCollaboration: Journal of Virtual Exchange, 2018, p. 36. Accessed at<br />
<a href="https://richardmkearney.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/878-2347-1-pb.pdf">https://richardmkearney.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/878-2347-1-pb.pdf</a><br />
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<i>Image: Door of Reconciliation, Saint Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. Found at vox.ie. </i></div>
Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7984344.post-53267215445164593392019-10-29T18:36:00.000-04:002019-11-01T12:43:26.129-04:00wisdom from the book of Judges<img alt="Image result for gustave dore deborah" src="https://www.artbible.info/images/medium/debora.jpg" /><br />
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I have been re-reading some of the most violent books of the Bible. In Judges, we have stories of mutilation, mass murder, war, assassination, stabbing, familicide, crushed skulls, human sacrifice, gang rape, dismemberment, slavery, and abduction. It is not a pleasant read by any means. Surprisingly, some of these brutal stories have made their way into the Sunday School curriculum. The story of Gideon and his mighty men (found in the book of Joshua) is told as a lesson in relying on God's strength, not on human might. The Sunday School version highlights marching around the city, using torches and horns to disorient the enemy, but downplays Gideon rousing an army to kill men and women, old and young, cattle and sheep, and burn down the entire town (except for Rahab and her family). The story of Samson and Delilah is often told as an illustration of God giving superhuman strength to a man in order to accomplish divine purposes. Sometimes it is also framed as a tale of warning against being seduced by the enemy (and/or women). In the end, God's strength returns to the wayward Samson so that he can kill more people with one action than all his previous violent actions put together. The whole narrative is disturbing in many ways. And these are but two of the grisly, troubling stories we find scattered throughout the history of Israel.<br />
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Finding the wisdom of God in these stories is a challenge. When we have a whole collection of them, like the brutal book of Judges, it makes one wonder: what are the lessons to be learned here? Are we to wipe out our enemies without mercy? Are we never to marry outside our cultural group? Are we to sacrifice a member of our family just because we made a thoughtless vow to God? Are we to incite a civil war in order to revenge the murder of one person? In light of the whole witness of scripture, I would say the answer to all of the above is no.<br />
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So, what exactly is the purpose of the book of Judges? Biblical scholar, Robert Alter, suggests that the narratives found here do not give us patterns to follow but offer a critique. Alter states that the intentional and cohesive purpose of these stories is to trace "the breakdown of the whole system of charismatic leadership." [1] The leaders are charismatic in the sense that they gain authority not through being chosen by the people or inheriting their role, but by some charism (gift). The judges or chieftains are mostly ad hoc military leaders who have some form of encounter with the spirit of the Lord by which he or she "is filled with a sense of power and urgency that is recognized by those around him [her], who thus become his [her] followers." [2]<br />
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The failure of this system of governance is laid out in chapter 2: "And then the Lord raised up judges for them [Israel], the Lord was with the judge and rescued them from the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge, for the Lord felt regret for their groaning because of their oppressors and their harassers. And it happened, when the judge died, they went back and acted more ruinously than their fathers, to go after other gods, to serve them, to bow to them. They left off nothing of their actions and their stubborn way." (Judges 2:16-20) Alter nicknames Judges "the Wild West era of the biblical story" and this description captures the dangerous, violent, lawless, "take what you can get," "every person for themselves," tone of the stories which recount the downward spiral of Israel and Israel's leadership. [3]<br />
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As one brought up with a high view of the Bible, I know firsthand the tendency to make heroes and saints out of biblical characters and downplay their imperfections, mistakes, and harmful actions. When we read these troubling stories as hagiographies, we become blind to the critiques and warnings embedded in the texts. Samson and David may be heroic in some ways, but their actions born out of revenge, lust, and self-interest are as instructive as their mighty deeds.<br />
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Some read the chaos of Judges as a set-up for the coming monarchy, and to some extent, it does do that. However, these are not merely tales about an adequate (though imperfect) system of leadership giving way to a better system. The judges are not a foil to the ultimate hero-king, David. No, these stories mean to train us in recognizing the various pitfalls of leadership so that when we finally come to the story of David, we are not dazzled by his military prowess or his good looks or his charisma; we can see both the man after God's heart as well as the cruel, sly mercenary. Even Samuel had a hard time looking beyond outward appearances (1 Sam. 10:24; 1 Sam 16:1-13). That a prophet of God, a seer, has trouble seeing rightly, is a bit of irony meant to alert the hearer/reader that the characters and storylines are complex: everyone is on a learning curve, anointed leaders get some things right and some things wrong, very little happens without some form of struggle, people lead from weakness as much as strength, and very few characters are wholly good or wholly evil.<br />
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Troubling stories invite the reader to engage with the text deeply, to ponder the meaning, to wrestle with the inconsistencies, and to resist looking for easy answers. There are a few principles that I have found helpful when reading challenging texts (especially violent ones) in the Bible. Perhaps they will be of use to you.<br />
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<b>1. Remember the trajectory of the story of God. </b><br />
Every story, every set of rules, every song and prophecy, every letter, every book, is but a part of the greater story. How does this particular story/text relate to earlier stories? How does it set the stage for later events? How does it harken back to the origin story focused on goodness and caretaking? How does it look forward to the appearance of God in human form: Jesus? How does it hint at the unfolding justice and mercy of God? How does it make us long for all things to be made new? If we think of the basic elements of a story or drama (anticipation, adventure, success, frustration, loss, challenge, hopelessness, transformation/learning, creative solution, resolution, celebration), where does it fit into the overall arc?<br />
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<b>2. Look for the exceptions.</b><br />
Many of the profound insights in the biblical texts come from noticing the exceptions. The life and teachings of Jesus are rife with them. There is a despised Samaritan fulfilling the law better than respected religious leaders, unlearned fishermen chosen as disciples, Jesus inviting himself to a tax collector's house, a woman evangelist, and a poor widow exemplified as a generous benefactor. In Judges, some of the exceptions are the women who influence the course of history (Deborah as judge, women dealing the death blow to evil men, Delilah saving her family from death), a left-handed warrior (probably considered unclean), a chieftain who was the son of a prostitute, a messenger of God who sidesteps the man and appears to his wife, etc. Noticing exceptions does require some knowledge of the culture when the text was written, so find a good commentary and dig in.<br />
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<b>3. Read the texts in light of Jesus.</b><br />
In the case of Judges, notice where these judges, warriors, and chieftains contrast or point forward to Jesus as just judge and servant king. What rituals or practices foreshadow a coming Messiah? What words or actions are echoed by Jesus in his teachings? Where do we see salvation or rescue taking place?<br />
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<b>4. Notice recurring themes.</b><br />
An oft-repeated phase in Judges is: "Isreal did evil in the sight of the Lord." This highlights the pattern of Isreal turning away from God, trouble coming their way, and God sending help. In 1 Samuel we find the story of Samuel and Saul which features a theme of seeing and not seeing. It is fascinating to trace this element throughout the narrative. Another recurring motif in the history of Israel is all the ways divisiveness creeps into what is supposed to be a unified nation. In Judges, these themes are mostly warnings, but they also offer hope for a better way forward.<br />
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<b>5. Where is wisdom?</b><br />
No one part of the biblical text carries the whole wisdom of God, so we must be careful not to read one story or one directive and make it universal. Sometimes what is inferred or stated in one text is mitigated or even contradicted in another text. This is not meant to confuse us, but to give us a fuller picture of how God interacts with the world. In some ways, our faith traditions have taught us to look for commands or laws so that we have a set rule to follow. However, the Bible does not function as a rulebook; it offers us training in wisdom. The biblical texts can help us discern what is best, right, fitting, just, loving, and the most beautiful action in a particular situation. When reading a story, ask what wisdom (not just a rule or principle) it might be offering.<br />
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<b>6. What does it tell us about the nature of God?</b><br />
Some have interpreted the stories we find in the Hebrew Bible to mean that God uses whatever means necessary to achieve a good end, even if that is murder. In light of the life and teachings of Jesus, I don't believe this is a good interpretation of these narratives. Despite (not because of) the brutal violence, YHWH bends the story toward rescue, time and time again. One would think that God would tire of forgiving and saving, but these terrible stories bear witness to the patience and longsuffering of YHWH. And yet, evil does not go unpunished. YHWH is not blind to injustice. There is consistency as well as creativity in the character of YHWH and when we read the biblical texts, we must be careful not to confuse the two. We must avoid extrapolating universal principles from particularities. Instead, look for the fruit of the Spirit of God in the text (Galatians 5). Look for faithfulness. Look for mercy. Look for justice. Look for hospitality. This is the consistent nature of God. And it shows up in so many creative ways.<br />
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Learning wisdom is hard work and it is never done. But wisdom is the gift that the scriptures offer to us: if we engage with them well, they can teach us the way of Jesus.<br />
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[1] Robert Alter, "Introduction to Judges," <i>The Hebrew Bible, vol. 2, Prophets</i> (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019), 78.<br />
[2] Ibid.<br />
[3] Ibid., 80.<br />
[4] Ibid., 79.<br />
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<i>Image: Deborah Praises Jael by Gustave Doré. Public Domain.</i>Matte Downeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13475890740790772858noreply@blogger.com0