Epiphany (2nd Sunday of Epiphany, 18th January 2009)

2nd Sunday of Epiphany (18 January 2009)

Wolf Kirchmeir 

Epiphany

[1 Samuel 3:1-20; Psalm 39:1-16; 1 Corinthians 6:12-20; John 1:43-51]

May the words of my lips and the meditations of all our hearts be ever acceptable in your sight, O Lord.

Dear Friends in Christ,

The season of Epiphany celebrates the revelation of the boy and the man Jesus, son of Joseph of Nazareth, as the Messiah. Today’s readings deal with the Epiphany as an encounter with God. Samuel hears God speak to him. The Psalmist recognises God as the source of his being. Paul understands the human body as the temple of the Holy Spirit. Nathaniel meets Jesus, and says, Thou art the Son of God.

I like etymology, the history of words. Most English dictionaries give you that information. Epiphany comes to us from the Greek, and it has two parts. The first is epi-, which means “outer, outward.” You may know that the outermost layer of your skin is called the epidermis, which just means “outer skin”. A lot of medical terminology is merely a translation from English into Greek or Latin. It makes the doctor sound learned, which is a great comfort to patients. Tucholsky, an Austrian humorist, said that more patients are cured by words than by medicine. There may be some truth to that.

The other part of the word, -phany, comes from a Greek word meaning “to appear, to be visible.” It’s related to the word phenomenon, which in English means “That which is visible.”

The Latin equivalent of “epiphany” is “revelation”. The English word for it is “uncovering.” So you see that in these three language there are three different takes on the process. The Greek word implies that the hidden thing shows itself. The English word suggests that we, the onlooker, move aside the veil. The Latin word encompasses both ideas.

So much for etymology. Interesting, but it doesn’t explain what’s going on in the readings appointed for today. I want to think of epiphany from another angle. Think of it as an encounter. From this angle, the season of Epiphany focusses on and celebrates the first encounters between Jesus the Messiah and the world he had come to redeem. 

The Gospel story is part of the history of the Apostles, whom Jesus called to follow him, and who saw in him the Messiah. “Thou art the Son of God,” says Nathaniel, when Jesus invites him to come along. Pretty simple story: the Apostles all one way or another say what Nathaniel said, and that’s why they were the Apostles, I think. Many people met Jesus, heard him speak, encountered him as preacher and healer and prophet. Many of them became his followers. A few saw in him the fulfilment of the promise, that God would send his Anointed One to redeem his people. And fewer still saw in that Messiah as the Son of the living God. A dozen of these few were chosen to accompany Jesus on his mission journeys.

So we may read this Gospel passage as testimony: these men and women testified, they spoke about what they encountered when they met Jesus.

We can’t prove that Jesus is what they claimed he was. “Thou art the Son of God” is not a logical conclusion. It can’t be proven by reasonable deduction from first principles. Nor is it by itself evidence in the legal sense. To be legal evidence, personal testimony must be objective, it must describe what any reasonable person could have known if he or she had been in the same situation. It’s about what you saw or heard or tasted or smelled, it’s about what you did or saw others do. It’s not about what you believe, it’s not about what you think, it’s not even about what you, being a sensible person, conclude. Conclusions are not evidence, since a few additional facts or data could change the conclusion. It helps if there is some material evidence, that supports the testimony. And so on.

In other words, what the Apostles tell of their experience, and what they came to believe because of it, wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. But of course it wasn’t and isn’t meant to be presented in court. Nor would their testimony pass the test of scientific analysis or experiment. But of course it wasn’t and isn’t meant to pass that test. As for common sense, that much misunderstood capacity to navigate this rather confusing world we live in –  what does talk about a man-god or god-man have to do with that? Nothing.

In the end, we are left with people’s accounts of what they experienced, what they encountered, what they believe is the truth. When Nathaniel says Thou art the Son of God, we confront a mystery. He’s either babbling nonsense, or he’s trying to say something that can’t be said in merely human language.

We may claim to share that belief. That is, we may say the same or similar words. We may believe that by doing so we mean exactly what Nathaniel meant. But of course that’s not so. We don’t exactly know what Nathaniel experienced. We don’t exactly know what we experience when we encounter God, for that matter. Saying it, talking about it, describing it, that is an attempt to make clear to ourselves what it was we experienced.

Nathaniel encountered a mystery. His response was a statement that on the surface is sheer nonsense. We too encounter a mystery. We may use the same language that Nathaniel uses. That’s one reason I believe it’s the same mystery. But that’s about all we can know for sure, if we can know it at all: that Nathaniel and we encountered the same mystery. For there is something about Jesus that defies human logic and understanding, and extends beyond human experience. We read the stories in the Bible, we read the life stories of the mystics and saints, we study theology, we testify and discuss and argue, and we talk and talk and talk.

Like I’m doing now, trying to explain why I think I can’t explain anything.

That phrase “the Son of God” will have as many meanings as the people who utter it, as many meanings as the times it’s uttered. Trying to communicate to someone else just what it means to you is like trying to point at something you see out of the corner of your eye. By the time you turn to look at it, it’s moved. There it is, just at the fringe of your vision, and if only it stood still, you could look at it, and see it clear.

But it won’t stand still.

So you’re left with this whatever-it-is that you express by saying that Jesus is the Lord, the Messiah, the Anointed of God, the Son of the Father, the Redeemer. Being able to say that, being able to say those words with some sense of their truth, being able to say them as an expression of something you’ve experienced, that’s what it means to have received the epiphany, the revelation of Jesus as God and Man.

Well, perhaps I’ve gone a little further than is good for me and you. Let’s leave this part of the meditation with this thought: that if you can echo Nathaniel’s “You are the Son of God”, then you’ve arrived at the starting point.

Because, you see, we still have to respond. The Epiphany, wherein God reveals himself to a human being, is not the end of the story. The other readings appointed for today each tell of a response to an encounter with God. Each shows us one of the ways we respond to God’s revelation of himself.

There’s the story of Samuel, whom God called in the night, and who thought at first it was his master Eli calling. Eventually Samuel was able to say, “Speak; for thy servant heareth.”

The Psalmist reflects on how God knows him intimately, has known him in the past, even before his birth, and will know him in the future. His response is praise: I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

The excerpt from Paul is one of his many attacks on bodily lusts and passions, and another reminder that there is more to us than our bodies. 

I’ll focus on the story of Samuel. It shows us what happens when we first encounter God. We’re puzzled, we’re not sure what’s going on, we don’t immediately recognise it. Three times Samuel thought Eli had called him, three times Eli told him no. Then Eli told him to listen again. What Samuel heard was not good news for Eli, but Eli accepted it. We know that Samuel became one of the great prophets, a great truth-speaker.

I think there are at least three lessons to be drawn from this story. First, when we encounter God, we don’t always realise that’s what is happening. Second, that it sometimes takes another person to help us make sense of that encounter. And third, that the encounter may or may not be a pleasant one.

So how do we recognise an encounter with God? How do you know that the voice you hear in the night is God’s voice? Samuel didn’t know – but it sounded a lot like Eli’s voice. Like the voice of an older, more experienced person. It was Eli who told him to listen, and find out what the voice would say to him.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t hear voices in the night, leastways none that I don’t recognise or can’t identify. But God speaks to us in many ways. He speaks to us in the very nature of this world we are part of, in the bodies we inhabit, in the mind with which we think on these things. That’s what the Psalmist has experienced, and that’s what he testifies to.

But of course, just because two people look at the same object doesn’t mean they will see the same thing. Even to recognise that one is fearfully and wonderfully made is an insight that takes us a good way beyond the everyday taking for granted of the exquisite machine that is us. To see in that intricacy the mind and hand of God goes several steps beyond that. And to see that thereby our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit takes us another few steps.

Now it’s easy to say these things, but is it easy to understand what they imply? Paul sees that this means we must honour God in our bodies. I add to this that we must honour God in each other’s bodies – that we must not let bodily harm and degradation and pain be visited upon the bodies of other people, neither by our action nor by our inaction.

So Paul’s insight is not only a call to discipline ourselves, but also a call to protect and support each other. That’s some of the theology behind what we call charity, which is the giving of time, service, and treasure to the healing of the sick, the comforting of the lonely, the rescue of those in peril, the feeding and clothing of the poor. We may do these things directly and personally by helping those we know, or indirectly by charitable giving or paying taxes. In other parts of his letters, Paul goes into this and related questions surrounding our living together in mutual love in many ways, and you have heard many sermons exploring his insights.

However, Samuel needed Eli’s advice in order to learn how to listen to God. Just so, we need other people’s advice. We know it, too, which is why we so often ask other people for advice. But how often do we want advice on what to do, and how often do we want approval for what we’ve already decided to do?

Samuel thought he knew what was wanted, but he was mistaken. Just so we may also be mistaken. After all, how do we know what God wants from us? Because it feels right, right? But sometimes what we want to do also feels right. We need another opinion, an Eli to direct us to listen again, to help us distinguish between what feels good and what feels right. Because what’s the right thing to do is sometimes the difficult thing to do, as I’m sure we all know only too well.

Then when Samuel listened, he heard something he didn’t really want to share. He was told that things would go badly for Eli. He didn’t want to tell, but Eli insisted. And when Eli has heard God’s message, he accepts it. God will do what is right, says Eli. He submits. And the story of Eli ends there, with his submission to the will of God. So also we should submit to the will of God, we should accept his message. Even when we don’t like it. And I’ll end there, for to consider what it means to understand and accept the will of God is another sermon, and this one has gone on long enough.

Let us end with a prayer.

Lord God, give us the grace to recognise you in each other, in the world around us, in the promptings of our reason and faith. And having recognised you, give us grace to accept your will, that your Kingdom may be established here and in the world to come, according to your word. We pray in the name of that Word, in whom and through whom you reveal yourself to the Apostles, to the saints, and to us. That Word redeems us your creatures, and your Spirit sustains us. May it be so now and forever. Amen.

The Leper (6th Sunday after Epiphany, 15th February, 2015, Mark 1:40-45)

 The Leper 

 6th Sunday after Epiphany, 15th February, 2015, Mark 1:40-45

          The Gospel of Mark doesn’t shilly-shally. It’s short and to the point. It starts in the middle of the action, and it moves fast, wasting no words. In the first chapter, just a page and half in a typical bible, this is what we get:
     John the Baptist preaches in the desert;
     John baptises Jesus;
     The Spirit of God descends upon Jesus;
     Jesus announces that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand;
     Jesus calls four disciples to follow him;
     Jesus teaches in the synagogue at Capernaum;
     Jesus casts out an unclean spirit from a sick man;
     Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law;
     Jesus heals many other people;
     Jesus goes into the desert to pray;
     Jesus preaches in other synagogues in Galilee;
     Jesus heals a leper;
     Jesus withdraws into the desert to escape the crowds.

     That’s quite a list. Mark doesn’t give us much in the way of dates and times; he wasn’t writing an essay for a history course. But it’s clear that this first chapter covers a lot of ground and time, many miles, and many days if not weeks.
     Mark also doesn’t give us much in the way of help about how to understand the stories of Jesus’s ministry that he has chosen to tell us. He simply tells us what happened, sometimes saying it was the next day, sometimes not. For example, he mentions in passing that John was put in prison. We are left to infer that some time must have passed between Jesus’s baptism and this event.
     Then there’s Mark’s narrative method. In some places he uses dialogue to move the story along, for example when Jesus tells Simon and Andrew he will make them fishers of men. In other places, he uses dialogue to slow down the story, so that we will dwell on that event a little longer, as in the healing of the leper. And many things are merely mentioned, such as the teaching and preaching in the synagogues. Jesus did that, but Mark doesn’t tell us what Jesus said. In many ways, Mark’s Gospel is more of a chronicle than a history. History deals not only with what happened, but with why, with people’s motives and desires and goals, how they achieved their goals, or not. And so on.
   Mark usually just tells us “This happened, then this happened, then that happened.”

     So we have to pick up every hint of meaning that we can. There are two here that I noticed among many. First, in the second half of this chapter, Jesus’s ministry consists of preaching and healing. Second, there are references to his growing fame. People were talking. People were talking a lot. And Jesus wasn’t exactly happy about that.
     What are the lessons can we draw from this first chapter of Mark?

     Let’s start with the leper. Leprosy is a nasty disease. It can be cured with antibiotics these days, but it can still cause disfigurement. In Jesus’s time, its causes weren’t understood, and there was no cure. Lepers were outcasts, they were homeless. They were allowed to beg by the roadside, but they were not allowed to live in town. No one touched them, no one even handed food to them. They had to leave their bowls by the side of the road, then go away while someone came by to bring food.
     Imagine being told you have to leave home because of your illness. Imagine people being afraid of you because of your illness. Imagine people not even looking at you when they give you a coin.
     Jesus heals the leper, and he tells him, “Don’t talk to anybody; but show yourself to the priest, and perform the sacrifices according to the law.”
     So the leper dances off. Well, I think of him as dancing off, I mean wouldn’t you dance if you’d just been healed of a horrible disease that made you an outcast? He dances off, shows himself to the priest, and starts talking to everybody whose ears are close enough about this wonderful thing that’s happened to him, and who did it. So much so, that Jesus was recognised everywhere he went, and had to go to less populated places. Yet still people came to see and hear him.
     By curing him, Jesus gave the leper his life back. He could once again be a part of his family and community. No wonder he told everybody about the wonderful thing Jesus had done. Wouldn’t you?

     Why then did Jesus tell the leper to keep it quiet? Jesus had no qualms about preaching and teaching in the synagogues. He didn’t object when people admired his insights into the Torah and the Commentaries. Mark tells us that he went all over Galilee preaching and casting out devils, and healing people of diverse diseases.
     To understand Jesus’s unwillingness to have the leper talk about his healing we have to look further. Jesus makes the same request of some other people he healed. And most significantly, he complains that people want him to perform signs and wonders.  He doesn’t want people to believe his message just because they see him doing miracles. He wants them to understand his message and apply it to their own lives. Miracles can be a distraction.

     If we consider the miracles that Jesus did, we can see a pattern, a pattern that reinforces Jesus’s message to us. The miracles weren’t merely tricks that demonstrated his power. They weren’t designed to amaze us. They weren’t even proofs that he was the Son of God. The disciples performed miracles, too. So did Elijah. Magicians do things that seem impossible. In both Jesus’s day and ours, most magicians made a living entertaining people, and some made a living deceiving people. Why would Jesus want to compete with them?
     Well, he didn’t. All of Jesus’s miracles helped people. He cured their diseases. He filled their bellies. He calmed their fears. In his very first miracle he turned water into wine at a wedding. He turned what could have been a failed celebration into a better feast than the groom had planned. His miracles all remove pain, the pain of illness, the pangs of hunger, the anguish of fear, the misery of social disgrace.
     In short, Jesus’s miracles made life better for people. That’s the first lesson for today.

     The second lesson comes from an earlier part of this first chapter of Mark: The kingdom of God is at hand, says Jesus. That’s the framework, the context, the purpose of Jesus’s ministry. Repent, and believe the good news, he says. The good news is that he’s come to make our lives better in every way, physically, socially, spiritually. And Mark’s focus throughout his account is on how Jesus does just that. This first chapter sets up two major themes of Mark’s Gospel: That the Kingdom of God is at hand, and that Jesus heals us.

     The healing of the leper touches on both of these themes. It touches on healing directly, and on the presence of the Kingdom of God indirectly. The healing of the leper is the healing of an outcast. We aren’t likely to get leprosy these days, and we no longer have rules and regulations that would make us homeless if we do get it. But there are many ways in which we can be outcasts, or feel like one.
     It’s terrible to feel outcast, to be an outsider because other people don’t want you. In my first draft of this meditation, I had a long passage about mental illness and homelessness, and the helplessness we feel when someone we love suffers from an illness, any illness at all. It was quite a downer, so I’ve decide to focus on how today’s Gospel story reassures us.
     It reassures us that Jesus will heal us, that he will be there when healing is needed. The leper faced a lifetime of slowly increasing pain and ugliness, and of being shunned by his people. His future looked dark, and looked to be getting darker. Jesus changed that. He changed that because the leper asked him for healing. Make me clean, he said, I know you can do it. And Jesus did it.

     When we are so far down that we think there’s no way up, we too can ask Jesus to heal us. And one way or another, Jesus will do that. He may help us change the way we see ourselves and our situation so that we can see a way out. He may help us trust friends and family to support us as the body and the mind heal. He may give us the confidence to hang in there until things get better. He may lead us to a healer, a spirit guide, a doctor, who will use their gifts to bring us out of the darkness. He may grant us a vision of himself that will energise us so that we can move on and up, away from depths that threaten to drown us.
     For you see the story of the leper is also a story about the power of prayer. If you pray with faith, your prayer will be answered. Prayer is not a magic spell. Prayer is a way of connecting with the Spirit, and that Spirit will enable us to recognise what has been there all along, the healing power of faith and trust in the One who embodied love.

     Accept that love when it’s offered.
     Offer that love when it’s needed.

     Let us pray.
     Lord God, who made us, saved us, and keeps us, grant us so to trust you that we will pray for your healing power. Give use the humility to recognise that healing when it is offered, and the confidence to offer that healing when we see the need. We ask this in the name of the One who healed us all by his death on the Cross. Amen.

Looking For God (Epiphany 5, 5 Februaty 2012)

Epiphany 5

5 February 2012

Looking for God © Wolf Kirchmeir

[Isaiah 40:21-31; Psalm 147 1-11; I Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39]

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,
     When I was reading the passages appointed for today, one phrase jumped out at me: the whole town gathered at the door. This, I thought, is about looking for God. So that’s what I want to talk about today: looking for God, and what happens when we find him.

     I think you’ve all heard the story of the somewhat inebriated gentleman who was crawling around on his hands and knees under a lamp post. A passing policeman asked what he was doing. “I’m looking for my house keys,” answered the gentleman. So the policeman looked around, too, but saw nothing resembling the missing keys. “Sir, where did you lose the keys?” he asked. The unsteady gentleman waved towards the darkness down the street. “Over there,” he said. “I lost them over there. In the dark.” “Good grief,” said the policeman. “Why are looking for them here?” “Because,” said the gentleman, “Because this is where the light is.”

     The gospel today continues the story of Jesus's early days of ministry. He was visiting Simon and Andrew’s home town, preaching and healing. A whole lot of things happen. For example, Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law of a fever. People hear about Jesus’s healing and preaching, so they come looking for him. Mark reports that the whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases.
     The people of the town came looking for Jesus. They wanted his healing and his wisdom. And unlike the drunk who was looking in the wrong place, they came to the right place and found what they were looking for. They came looking for Jesus because that is where the light was. They came looking for him because he was the light.
     Jesus is the light, still. He is the light that lightens our darkness, the light that illuminates our minds, that warms our hearts, that shows us the way. The question is, will we come looking for him where he is, or will we wander around like the drunk who looked for his keys where they were not?

     There’s a picture of Jesus that has become popular: You see Jesus knocking on a door, and listening for a response. The picture asks a question: Will you respond to Jesus’s knock and let him in? If we think this picture shows us all we need to know about how we meet Jesus, then I think we’ve made a subtle mistake. I think so because Mark’s story turns this right around. His story doesn’t ask, Will you answer when Jesus comes looking for you? His story asks, Will you go looking for Jesus? The townspeople didn’t sit in their houses and gardens waiting for Jesus to come by. No, they gathered at the door.

     There are many other reminders in the Bible that God expects us to look for him. Recall Jesus’s saying, Seek, and you will find. And, Knock, and it shall be opened to you. These are not exhortations to wait for Jesus to show up. The advice is not, Wait, and Jesus will come to you. God doesn’t say, You don’t have to do anything, I’ll be along soon. He doesn’t want passive believers who think they’ve arrived at the truth. God wants active seekers who know there’s still a long way to go.
     It’s a bad idea to wait around for important things to happen. The Bible is not the only place we can find this message. One of the most famous plays of the 1960s was Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett. In it, Estragon and Vladimir, two friends who have seen better days, sit around waiting for Godot to show up. They pass the time arguing about why they should wait, what Godot will do when he gets there, whether they should keep on waiting, how to bring some interest or variation into their boring existence, and so on. They’re not sure whether Godot exists, and confess they can’t be sure they will recognise him if and when he shows up. There’s a lot of conversation along these lines.
     Then Pozzo, a slave owner, arrives leading his heavily-laden slave Lucky. Pozzo eats a meal, which he doesn’t share. Lucky is ordered to entertain the group by dancing, which he does. He then makes a jumbled speech consisting mostly of nonsense. Pozzo and Lucky wander off. A boy appears, announcing that Godot will come tomorrow.
     The second act takes place next day, and repeats the events and conversations of the first act, with variations. As the play ends, the two main characters are still waiting for Godot.

     As you may guess, the play isn’t exactly an action drama. In fact nothing much happens. Estragon and Vladimir just hang around waiting. They don’t do anything, and they know almost nothing. They know only that somehow Godot is important, and the encounter with him will be crucial. “Life-changing” is the phrase people use these days. But the play does offer many moments of comedy. The very situation is absurd: two guys waiting for somebody they have never met. Somebody they may not recognise when he does come. Somebody who may never come. The play draws you into its crazy universe despite yourself.
     The play also demands that you think about it. As you might expect, people have disagreed about what it means. The most obvious interpretation is that it’s about finding meaning in one’s life. The two friends are waiting for something or someone that will give some final meaning or purpose to their lives. The play contains numerous references to the Bible and Jesus, so I prefer to conclude that it’s about waiting for God.
     But of course God doesn’t show up.

     Now why did I say that?  “Of course, God doesn’t show up.” Because I don’t think God will show up. Or rather, he’s here, there, and everywhere, but just waiting for him to reveal himself is not the best way to find him. Quite the contrary: We have to do something. We have to look for him. We have to gather at the door, like the Galileans did. We have to seek. We have to knock.
     That sounds pretty simple and easy to do, doesn’t it? But if you have travelled any distance on the road of faith, you know that things that look easy and simple are neither easy nor simple.
     So you’ve realised you should go looking for God, and not wait around on the off-chance that he may show up. You now have at least three questions. How do you go about looking for God? How will you recognise him when he shows up? What will you do when you’ve found him?

     Let’s think about how we may look for God. There are a couple of hints in the Old Testament readings for today. Isaiah tells us that God has created the world around us. [Is. 40:26] Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.
     So just looking at this creation that we are part of should show us God, right? Well, again, it’s not that simple. Many pious naturalists have claimed to see God’s hand and mind in the design of the natural world. They point to the beauty of the butterfly, the fragrance of the rose. How could this not be the work of God? How can we not see God’s design in these delights? But I’ve noticed that none of these pious naturalists has ever explained parasites, some of which cause horrendous pain and suffering to their hosts as they slowly kill them. The natural world is amazing and wonderful, mysterious, an intricate interplay of forces and actions and energies that we are barely able to understand. To claim that the beauty of the butterfly and the rose testify to God’s bounteous love isn’t good enough. God also made the tapeworm and the bot fly.

     What Isaiah emphasises in his vision of God the Creator is on the one hand God’s power, and on the other our inability to understand him. God’s power is beyond out grasp; his purposes are beyond our understanding. [Is. 40:28] Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no-one can fathom. No matter how much we try to understand the universe, there will always be something beyond our ability to explain. To say “Well, God made it” isn’t an explanation. Isaiah is very clear about this: we may know or believe that God made the universe, but that’s not the same as understanding it.
     So what’s Isaiah’s point? Why is he emphasising the power and inscrutability of God the Creator? Simply this: God’s power will sustain you: [Is. 40:29] He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Trust in him, and you will have all you need to prevail against the troubles that encompass you.

     And that’s one clue on how to find God: look for him in the strength you didn’t know you had, in the healing you didn’t expect, in the light of hope that shines like a candle in the darkness.
     It’s not easy to do this. We may despair, crumble under the pain, wail in grief and sorrow. We may want to curse whenever fate has brought us low. Yet even in that darkness, we may see the light. Even as all the evils and trials of this world threaten to break us, we can trust in God: [Is. 40:30-31] Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
     Now you may want to say, “But those are just words. Wait till you’ve felt the pain that I’ve felt, wait till you’ve suffered the loss that I’ve suffered, wait till you’ve walked in terror as I have walked, and these words will not be so easy to say!” True. No one said it was going to be easy. But look for God in your pain, your loss, your fear, and you will find him.
     And when you’ve found him, what then? The Psalm tells us something about what to do when you’ve recognised God’s work in your life: [Ps. 147:1-5] Hallelu Yah! Praise the Lord! For he has done great things for you, for me, for us.  Praise the LORD. How good it is to sing praises to our God, how pleasant and fitting to praise him! The LORD builds up Jerusalem; he gathers the exiles of Israel. He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit. And even in that praise, the psalmist reminds ourselves of both the power that sustains us and the purposes which we cannot fathom.

      Praise is one response to the recognition of God. Sharing what we now know is another.
Paul in his letter to the Corinthians tells us how he responded when he found God. Remember, Paul was a deeply pious man long before he encountered Jesus on the road to Damascus. He did his best to live according to the law, and it was this ambition that sent him on the road to Damascus. He intended to round up the Christians there and hand them over to the authorities. He was looking for confirmation that he was acting righteously. Looking for just such confirmation is one of the ways in which we seek God.
      Paul met God in a blaze of light that blinded him, and heard a voice that reproached him. Jesus reproached Paul not for his misunderstanding, but for his actions, for the persecution of the early church. And Paul became not only a Christian, he became the most zealous of missionaries.
      In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul explains what his encounter with God did to him: [1Co. 9:16] Yet when I preach the gospel, I cannot boast, for I am compelled to preach. Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!
     Will we do as Paul did? Can we do as Paul did? With God’s grace, we can. We can do it in the way we live our daily lives. We can do it in our meditating on how far beyond our understanding God’s purposes are, and yet how closely God’s hand guides us in our lives. We can remind ourselves that to see God means to see the divine light in each other. We can honour God the Creator in our stewardship of this, his creation. We can make our trust in God the background of our lives, the foundation that supports the building, the harmony that sounds underneath the song and gives it shape. Knowing that we have met God, and that his promises are sure, we can get on with doing what we have to do.
     Go out there, look for Jesus. Go out there, the journey is long, and you won’t get anywhere if you don’t take the first step.
     Let us pray.
     Lord God, Creator and Sustainer, give us grace that we may find you when we seek you in your creation, in each other, and in the tasks that you have given us to do. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

The Law and the Prophets (Epiphany 5, 9th February 2020)

Epiphany 5, February 9th, 2020: The Law and the Prophets
Isaiah 58:1-9a (9b-12), Psalm 112:1-9 (10) ; 1 Corinthians 2:1-12 (13-16); Matthew 5:13-20 
© W. Kirchmeir

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

Jesus said, Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.

     The Law and the Prophets. A phrase that we’ve heard many times before. Just what does it mean? What do we mean by “law”? Do we mean Justice? We know better than that. Unjust laws have been enacted as far back as we have history. What about the laws of nature? Are rules and regulations the same as laws? And so on.
      We’ll come back to this question of the law. I want to begin with a brief look at prophecy.

     Prophets. The modern meaning of the word “prophet” is “someone who foretells the future”. The word originally meant “spokesperson, interpreter, one who speaks on behalf of another.” That includes one who interprets the signs and omens, who explains what they mean. That includes what may happen in the future, and so we come to our modern meaning: one who foretells, one who predicts.
     Here’s story about a prophet:
     Moishe, a medieval Jewish astrologer, prophesied that the king’s favourite horse would soon die. Sure enough, the horse died a short time later. The king was outraged at the astrologer, he was certain that his prophecy had brought about the horse’s death. He summoned Moishe and commanded him, "Prophet, tell me when you will die!"
     Moishe realized that the king was planning to kill him immediately no matter what answer he gave, so he had to answer carefully. "I do not know when I will die," he answered finally. "I only know that whenever I die, the king will die three days later."
     Good call. Moishe admitted he didn’t know everything, and that made his limited prediction more believable. Neat way to save his life.

     The Bible is full of prophecies. The prophets speak on behalf of God. Many of the prophecies are very specific. Many of them are vague, the kind of predictions that could refer to many things. Prophecies of wars and natural disasters are common. Well, actual wars and natural disasters are common, too, so to prophesy that they will happen is easy. It’s a little more difficult to make precise predictions of when they will happen. Volcanoes are good example. Predicting an eruption is much more difficult than predicting the weather.
     There are plenty of people who are more than willing to tell you what Bible prophecies really mean. For example, there have been many predictions of the end of the world, with precise dates and times, and even locations. None of them have come true. Nevertheless, these readers of the prophecies are certain that End Times are just about to happen, and they have the inside information. They are willing to share it, too, especially if you give them a free-will offering of  $29.95 for the book that explains it all.
     Political events and social changes that annoy someone will also be dragged in as evidence that the End Is Near. Of course, those that agree will be prepared. Better yet, they will be saved when the Tribulation comes, and will watch with gloomy satisfaction as the unbelievers suffer for their sins.
     The track record of these prophet interpreters is dismal. Does that mean that Bible prophecies are meaningless? I don’t think so, but you can tell I don’t believe that figuring out times and dates is what they are about. I’ll come back to this question again. Now let’s take a brief look at the Law.

     There are perhaps even more people who claim to know exactly what the Law means. They know exactly which of the Old Testament Laws apply to us, and which don’t. For some reason, the Laws these legalists talk most about are the ones that promise punishment for things they don’t like. But they often disagree with each other, and that suggests that the Law also needs to be interpreted.
     What is a law, anyhow? We’re used to the idea that the law is something we legislate. If there’s some problem that bothers enough people, the politicians will pass a law. Passing a law will certainly solve the problem. Or maybe not. And if not, you can always pass another law.
     But a law needs to be enforced, so we get the Justice System. But as we know only too well, law and justice aren’t always the same. Innocent people have been convicted, and some of them have been executed. Or neighbours go to court to settle some dispute, and too often the losing side thinks they were hard done by, and appeal the decision, which leads to more court time and more costs. In the end, someone will be disappointed, and will be convinced that justice wasn’t done. Plus, a lot of money was wasted.
     Then there are rules and regulations. When we don’t like them, we call them Red Tape, and argue that they interfere with business. Or worse, they violate common sense. Or worst of all, they attack freedom and liberty. In fact, there is a political movement called Libertarianism founded on the principle that there should be as little law and regulation as possible.
     In short, Law as often as not is something we don’t want. We like it when it’s on our side, but not when it’s against us.

     So what are we to do? How are we to understand the Law and the Prophets?

     Let’s start at the beginning. What was Jesus talking about?
     When Jesus refers to the Law and the Prophets, he is talking about the Talmud, the collection of scripture and the commentaries. They are guides to righteous living. They have always been living guides. The Jews then and now argued about and discussed how the Law and the prophetic announcements applied to life right here, right now, in this place and time. Jesus did that, too.
     Why did he discuss the Law and the Prophets? Things change. New things are invented. New possibilities arise. Old things are forgotten or discarded. Fashions come and go. Technology offers new choices. Trade expands, and we meet people who are different from us. Politics changes – it always changes, and affects people’s loyalties. We try to avoid the mistakes of our ancestors, and make new mistakes of our own. And too often we get stuck in some idea about what the Law says, and we apply it without thinking.
     All these things and more cause problems in interpreting the law. All these things and more sooner or later make some application of a rule or regulation silly, or worse. All these things and more may mislead us into misinterpreting the Law.
     Yet the Law and the Prophets must somehow continue to apply. They will not be abolished. It all must, somehow, make sense.

     I think that’s what Jesus means when he says he has come to fulfill the Law and the Prophets. He’s come to show the full sense of the Law and the Prophets. He won’t abolish any of it, he will complete it. He will show us how to make true sense of it.
     Making sense of the Law and the Prophets. That’s what Jesus was doing throughout his ministry. He repeated the same message over and over again: The Kingdom is here, it’s now, and the Son of Man has come to show us how to become citizens in that Kingdom.
     He also quoted the summary of the Law and the Prophets: Love God, and love your neighbour.
     That Summary should guide our interpretation of the Law and the Prophets. When we want to figure out how to apply the Law in our own time, that application must agree with the Summary. When we want to understand the Law as a guide to righteous living, that understanding must agree with the Summary. When we want to make some rule of life for ourselves, that rule must agree with the Summary.

     And how are we to make sense of the Prophets? They speak the same truth as Jesus: The Kingdom is at hand. When we want to make sense of a prophecy, that sense must point to the Kingdom. When we want to read a prophecy as a guide to action, that guide must point to the Kingdom. When we look for the meaning of our lives, that meaning will show us the Kingdom.

     Love God and love your neighbour, for the Kingdom is at hand. That’s the Law. That’s the Prophets. That’s all there is. There isn’t any more.
     But it’s more than enough to guide our lives, to inspire our actions, and to give us hope.

Let us pray.

Lord God, Maker, Saviour, and Guide, we ask you to grant us the grace of so understanding the Law and the Prophets so that our words and deeds will show how your Promise of the Kingdom may be fulfilled. We ask this in the name of Him who is that Promise made flesh, Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

 

Prophecy and Gentiles (4th Sunday after Epiphany, January 30, 2022]

 Prophecy and Gentiles

Copyright Wolf Kirchmeir 

[Jeremiah 1:4-10: Psalm 71:1-6; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30]

O Holy Spirit, assist us we contemplate your word, that we may be enlightened by your truth. Amen.

Dear Friends in Christ,

     Today’s Gospel is a puzzlement. When I read it, two things caught my attention. First, that Jesus claims to be a prophet. And second, that he mentions how Elijah did not help the Israelites. I saw no obvious way to make sense of this.

     Where to begin? I looked for jokes about prophets online. Jokes often help to make sense of puzzling concepts because the humour lies in the oddities in those concepts. But the jokes were all either obvious puns, or about fortune tellers. Whatever Jesus had in mind, being a fortune teller was not it.

     Let’s begin with the concepts of prophet and prophecy. Jesus said, Truly I say to you, no prophet is acceptable in his own country.
     We humans like certainty. Sure, we know we have to take chances, but we’d rather bet on a sure thing. Or as close to a sure thing as the uncertainties of life allow. So when some people claim they know what will happen, we line up to give them our cash. Fortune tellers have always found a ready market for their flimflam.
     But Jesus doesn’t claim to be a fortune teller. He doesn’t gaze into a crystal ball, or study the lines on your palm, or poke around in the entrails of a chicken, or watch the flight of birds, or lay out cards on the table, or do any of the other things fortune tellers do to make their insights look mysterious and true. It’s time for some research into the meaning of the word “prophet”. Here’s what I found:
     The word “prophet” is borrowed from the Greek. Originally, it did not mean a person who foretells the future. It meant someone who spoke on behalf of a god, someone who passed on the divine message. Prophets answered the questions that people put to the gods. Of course, if the seeker after knowledge wanted to know about their future, the prophet would tell them what the god said about coming events. So the connection between prophecy and fortune-telling was there from the beginning.
     The translators of the Bible used the word “prophet” for the Hebrew nabj, which means soothsayer or inspired prophet. But soothsayer means truth speaker. A person inspired by the Spirit would be a truth speaker first and foremost. That’s what we find in the Bible. We also find something else: When the biblical prophets spoke of the future, it was almost always linked to the present. Mostly, their messages were variations on one theme: Keep on doing what you’re doing, and it will go badly with you. Change, and your future will be one of peace, prosperity and joy.

     In other words, what you do now is what matters. Because what you do now has consequences. And those consequences are your future.

     That’s a thought I will come back to.

 

     So now let’s take another look at the Gospel. Jesus has just read from the Torah, as we heard last Sunday. He’s read from Isaiah, and comments that today the scripture that he read was fulfilled.

     He sits down, and there’s a bit of a commotion. His listeners mutter that he’s the son of Joseph, the carpenter. How can he claim to be inspired by the Spirit? How can he claim to be an inspired prophet? And so on.

     Jesus takes note. He knows they want him to perform signs and wonders, just as he did at Capernaum. But no prophet is acceptable in his own country. And then he reminds his listeners that in a time of famine Elijah did not help the Israelite widows, but did help a widow from Sidon. And although there were many Israelite lepers, Elijah healed only Naam the Syrian.

     The implication is clear: Jesus will not perform the signs and wonders that his fellow villagers expect. It’s no surprise that they would be annoyed. But enraged enough to want to kill him? There’s a puzzle here.

     Lets look at this event from a different angle.
     Jesus was a celebrity. People had heard about him. When they knew he was nearby, they went to see and hear him. The elders of Nazareth no doubt felt that having such a famous son of their village read from the Torah would be good for them. We often ask celebrities to do small favours for us, hoping that some of that celebrity magic will rub off on us.

So did Jesus play the celebrity game? Well, he did and he didn’t. Yes, he agreed to read. But he read a text that might help people make sense of him as something other than, as someone more than a celebrity. Him that hath ears, let him hear, he says in another place. That is, Listen hard, for otherwise you may miss what I have to say. 

     So let’s listen hard.

     The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, he read. That makes him a prophet, something he emphasises a few moments later. The reading is a message of hope and deliverance. His later reference to Elijah’s helping the widow and curing Naam echoes that message.
     Then he says, The scripture has been fulfilled in your presence.
     And right there we run into a stumbling block. If we think of prophecy only as being about the future, then “fulfilled” means “what was foretold has now, finally, happened.” But if we think about prophecy as truth speaking, then “fulfilled” means “The truth that Isaiah spoke then, I have spoken also.”
     And that should make us hear Jesus’s words as meaning exactly the same now as when he read them, and when Isaiah first spoke them.
     That meaning is a difficult one. Or rather, it’s difficult for us to accept.
     That meaning resonates throughout the Old and New Testaments. God doesn’t like oppression. He doesn’t like injustice. He doesn’t like the rich and powerful preying on the poor and weak. Sell what you have and give the money to the poor, Jesus says to the rich young man who wants to follow him.
     And that’s just the beginning. Because God doesn’t play favourites, either. He makes no exceptions, and accepts no excuses. Elijah ministered to a widow from Sidon, and healed a leper from Syria. Both were supposedly Israel’s enemies.
     Jesus’s point is clear: Not only is a prophet not acceptable in his own country, he doesn’t even try to be. For the truth he speaks applies to all humankind. The good news he brings is good news for all people. It’s not limited to a select few.
     No wonder the people of Nazareth were enraged with Jesus. His words meant that their God was not only their own. Their God did not care exclusively about them. Their God did not exist to meet only their needs and fulfill only their desires. Worse, by thinking of their God as exclusively theirs, they saw their God as their property, accountable only to them. And that attitude gets it exactly backwards. Jesus’s reading from Isaiah, his refusal to perform signs and wonders, and his reminder of Elijah’s career made that perfectly clear.
     No wonder they reacted with fury.
     But how different are we? Don’t we tend to think of ourselves as the elect, the ones with a special relationship to God?
     Well, we are the elect. We do have a special relationship with God. At least, I hope we do.

     But that relationship is not exclusive. God offers it to everyone and anyone.

     No exceptions, no limitations.

     Jesus did not say I came to save the ones whom I judge to be worthy. He said I came not to judge but to save (John 12:47). 

     No exceptions, no limitations. 

     Paul did not tell Timothy Christ came to save special people like you and me. Paul wrote Christ came to save sinners (1 Tim. 1:15).

     No exceptions, no limitations. 

     John did not write In him was life for us alone. He wrote In him was life, and the life is the light of humankind.

     No exceptions, no limitations. 

     Nor did John write The light shines for us, so that we alone can see the path through the darkness. He wrote The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1: 4,5) 

     No exceptions, no limitations. 

     The good news is that God is the God of all of us. We are all his creatures, we are all his children, we are all his chosen ones. 

     No exceptions, no limitations. 

     What’s more, God expects us to have the same relationship with each other. And not just with our family and friends, but with everybody. 

     No exceptions, no limitations.

     Because the truth that sums up all the law and the Prophets is the commandment that Jesus quoted: Love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; and your neighbour as yourself.

     Jesus also said Love one another as I have loved you. 

     It seems we always end up here, with the Great Commandment, no matter where we start from. We began with a question about what it means to be a prophet, a truth speaker. That led us to think about the truths that Jesus spoke when he attended the synagogue in Nazareth. He speaks those truths to us here and now. It’s what we do here and now that matters. What we do here and now has consequences. Those consequences are our future.

Let us pray.
Lord God, you made us, you saved us, and you guide us. Grant us the grace to recognise the truths spoken by the prophets. Give us the wisdom to see how those truths may guide our actions. Make us able to act in obedience to your command to love each other as you love us, that we may be vessels of your light. We pray in the name of the Light that lights us all, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.