The Dead Tell No Tales

C.S. Lewis once wrote: "Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double-bolting on the inside. After that, silence."

Last Sunday before church, I was watching one of those magazine shows; they had this guy on that was talking about some of the more soulful or spiritual singers in the past few decades. He spoke of the stylings of people like Tracy Chapman and Sarah McLaughlin and how they seem to put their souls into their songs. Then he made a statement that went something like, “They sing to find spiritual meaning in a world in which God is silent.”

That struck me. I started thinking about the fact that for thousands of years God spoke with His creation in many ways. Walking in the garden, burning bushes, thunder in the sky, even angels. Then Jesus comes, lives among us and is eventually crucified, buried, resurrected and ascending into heaven. Before He leaves, Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit. He doesn’t leave an intact instruction manual, and since that time God hasn’t been heard from. No more voices in the sky, or from burning bushes, prophets – nothing. Right?

My question is WHY? What’s happened, if anything, that’s caused God to become silent in the everyday lives of His allegedly most prized creation? The answer I have always been taught since childhood is that God is still active in creation; He communicates with us now via the Bible and the Holy Spirit. Of course that answer alone is rife with holes and questions. What of Oral Roberts saying that he saw a 600 foot Jesus who gave him specific instructions about something like building his college? Jim Jones? And the list goes on ad infinitum. Who is to say what is of God and what isn’t?

Then there’s the Bible. So many questions, so many pat answers. I believe the Bible to be authoritative; I believe it to be reliable – but… The problem arises that the “Bible” we hold in our hands today is a collection of works authorized by a board appointed by Constantine. Was something left out? Is there too much in there? If God wanted to communicate with us through such a document, then why didn’t He leave one for us, all neat and tidy? Again, this particular subject is one worth delving into at some length – but another time.

Maybe the problem isn’t the mode of communication. Perhaps it’s the receiver.

Frederich Nietzsche said that God is dead. Could that be why we haven’t heard from Him? I include a quote here at a bit of length, but I think it may help to understand what we are facing. This quote is from, “The Gay Science” or, Happy Wisdom.

“Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: "I am looking for God! I am looking for God!" As many of those who did not believe in God were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost him, then? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances. "Where has God gone?" he cried. "I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are his murderers…. Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? …

… It has been further related that on that same day the madman entered divers churches and there sang a requiem. Led out and quietened, he is said to have retorted each time: "what are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?"

What Nietzsche is concerned with in relating the above is that God is dead in the hearts of modern men - killed by rationalism and science. This same God however, before becoming dead in men's hearts and minds, had communicated with man for thousands of years.

When I think of God being silent, I am reminded of Elijah and his flight from Jezebel. Elijah was a man of God who God used to do some mighty things. However, when word reached him that Jezebel had threatened his life, he ran. Elijah prayed to the Lord and in effect complained about how he was being treated. "And he said, I have been very jealous for the LORD God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword; and I, even I only, am left; and they seek my life, to take it away" (1 Kings 19:10). God's answer to Elijah is thrilling. "And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD. And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice" (1 Kings 19:11-12).

What Elijah thought was not true. Elijah thought God was silent and that he was the only one left. God was not only "not silent" but He had an army waiting in the wings so that Elijah was not alone.

I hate to think that those “not in tune” with God are left out, but I suppose in order to hear God, we at the very least have to be listening for Him. If, as Nietzsche has proposed, God is dead in our hearts, then we cannot expect to hear Him – the dead tell no tales. 

Fullers' Soap

But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers' soap: Malachi 3:2 (KJV)

Sometimes Christianity isn’t fun. Not that it’s not good, it’s just that sometimes it isn’t fun. Now is one of those times.

Over the past couple weeks I’ve had a taste of what faith really is, just a taste.  That was good. It was an experience more precious than words could begin to describe. But it came with after-effects.

Of late I have come face-to-face with who I really am. Some of it isn’t very good. Okay, a lot of it isn’t very good. I won’t go into the boring, self-loathing details here…it’s bad enough that God knows what those pieces are. But I have found myself looking at my life through that sickening glass darkly and seeing things that just don’t belong.

Then on Sunday my pastor spoke about joy. That’s it! That’s what I’ve been missing! Overall I’m a pretty happy fella, but there hasn’t been much joy, especially as of late. I lie awake in bed and think of things in my life that just don’t work with a life of faith. And it’s weird – I’ve always been a bit introspective, but this time it’s different. It’s not intentional…the thoughts just come.

Then I read the first couple verses of Malachi chapter 3 and that part about fullers’ soap got me. Now, what exactly is "fuller's soap"? We don't use such a thing today, so the phrase is rather arcane, and to understand what it means we have to go back to one of God's favorite topics: sheep.

When you shear a sheep, you get fleece -- raw wool. And as you can imagine, it smells and feels like a sheep does -- which, overall, is not how you want to look and smell (no offense to sheep). So to use the raw wool for anything, the fuller would handle the wool.

The fuller is the guy who takes the filthy, dirty wool and washes it so that it gets really white and clean. He uses boiling-hot water, and soap which is extremely caustic. So what he does to the wool is not pleasant for him very much, but it is in fact much worse for the wool.  Often the wool would be beaten with rocks to really get the nasty smell, dirt, piece of farm debris, and non-wool stuff out of the fleece prior to spinning it into thread -- and then often it was done again to the thread when it was woven into fabric to make the cloth as tight and clean and presentable as possible.

So when God says that the Messiah is coming with "fuller's soap", He's not saying, "Jesus will make you wash your hands." he's saying, "you are disgusting and useless unless you are cleaned up by the Messiah."

It’s almost as though I am being scrubbed by this really, really strong cleanser…trying to agitate the dirt in me to what? …Repentance?  In my "prior Christian life", I thought I knew what things I needed to repent of.  They were the obvious things...pride, greed, etc.  But this time it's different.  Like Dante - midway in my life's journey, I had gone astray from the straight road and woke to find myself in a dark wood.  This time it's personal, real personal.  I find myself, maybe for the first time ever, looking at who I really truly am and there's a bunch I don't like.  Which, I suppose, means there's that bunch and maybe even more that God doesn't like.

But there is hope for Paul tells us "...anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!  And all of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ. And God has given us this task of reconciling people to him."  2 Corinthians 5:17-18 (NLT)

Maybe that’s what repentance is: Christ and the Holy Spirit beginning the mysterious cleansing process by agitating those bits of soil deep down in the fabric of my life. That soil exposed and left for me to decide…

Bring Me To Life

I will not judge those who hear me but don’t obey me, for I have come to save the world and not to judge it.  John 12:47 (NLT)

The Gospel of John is killin’ me!  It seems like every single phrase in this book either invokes deep theological thoughts, personal spiritual insights, or just some very interesting thoughts.  So, how can you read a verse like this and not cavitate into a tailspin of all of the above?  Salvation alone is a topic that has filled thousands of volumes, caused divisions in denominations, even spurred new religions.  The very idea of what salvation is and means causes anxiety, yet soothes the soul.  It causes debate and unifies unlikely allies.

As it stands, right now I am stuck in a hotel room, have just read this passage, ruminated and feel compelled to write something.  I get to thinking about what salvation meant to me as a child…Christ saving me from hell.  I get to thinking about the idea of being saved to something.  What?  Heaven?  I suppose.  But I just don’t feel like salvation just for the sake of eternity really gets the job done for me, it seems there has to be more…something about salvation in this life.

I think of my own hours of sheer desperation in my lifetime, and how many times I screamed inside for salvation.  I think of people I see everyday who yearn for salvation.  Salvation from wrecked lives, broken bodies, spoiled marriages, famine and hunger, earthquakes, homelessness, and the list goes on until there are no more pixels.  Sometimes I almost (not literally – fret not) hear those primal screams and feel the yearnings for salvation in all the suffering I see.  In Ashley’s broken body, in the deseration of the homeless guy sleeping on a bench at the Corning Preserve and every night on the seven o’clock news.

One of those creepy moments happened this evening after reading verse 47.  Sitting thinking about what Christ did to effect salvation, the radio playing in the background, Bring Me to Life by Evanescence came on.  So there I am…thinking about what salvation means and I hear these words being sung: 

Man!  I dunno!  Maybe salvation is so many different things.  Perhaps, because of who I am, that inner personal scream in my very core for more to life, that yearning for life to have more meaning requires salvation.  For Ashley, for a moment – a very real, very serious physical salvation.  For thousands of people in Haiti, right this very moment, salvation may be a bottle of water and a plastic-sealed meal. 

Maybe it is also salvation from hell to heaven.  But along the way…

We Want to Meet Jesus

Some Greeks who had come to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration paid a visit to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee. They said, “Sir, we want to meet Jesus.”   John 12:20-21 (NLT)

We want to meet Jesus.  I was reading this passage this evening and when I read these words I stopped. I’m not really sure why.  There was something about that thought that made me, well – stop and think. 

This past couple of weeks have been hell for me (not to mention what it’s been like for Ashley, Jon, and so on…).  We have been on an emotional roller coaster and a spiritual journey that is unparalleled in my life.  I have groaned on about how tired I am.  I have related how this experience has exposed me to the base reality of faith.

Now, with the stress suddenly reduced (for me), no family around (I am currently working in the nether-regions of Upstate New York) and sitting in a hotel room, I am lonely.  Then I read those words…”we want to meet Jesus”.  I want to meet Jesus.  I think.  What would that be like?

What if I walked over to that little diner across the street from this hotel, and as I walked toward the back, in a booth – sat Jesus?  There he’d be, wearing his striped button up shirt, boot cut jeans, Sketchers and goatee.  In reality I would probably fall down in worship, after all – isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?  But maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all.  Maybe he’d invite me to sit down across from him.  He’d order me a Diet Pepsi, some meatloaf and fries.  Knowing the Jesus of the Bible, he would probably reach across the table, put his hand on mine and look at me with the same sympathetic, soulful eyes that I imagine he looked at Lazarus’ family before he wept.

Maybe he’d just remind me that he’s always right here with me just like he promised the disciples as he ate his final meal.  Or perhaps he would pray with me, and remind the Father that he had not lost one of his own.  I can imagine the flow of the conversation, from things personal to spiritual.  We’d laugh, cry, I don’t think I’d have the temerity to debate.  I’d probably have a gazillion questions, but I bet he’d continue to bring the conversation back to how much he loves me.

Every now and again I’d get to feeling guilty because I certainly have never loved Jesus nearly as much as he loves me – but he’d probably say something like…”Aww, that’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

Eventually the time would come when Jesus would have to leave.  The waitress would come over and I’d pull out my wallet and he would stay my hand.  In a soft voice he would say something to the waitress, she’d tell me not to worry about it – it was taken care of, then she’d walk away…her step a little surer…her shoulders a little less stooped.

Jesus and I would stand and hug, he’d say that he loves me more than I’ll ever know and that he’d see me later.  Then he’d walk away.  Back in my hotel room I would sleep the best night’s sleep I have ever had.  I will be rested.

Tired

Do you not know? Have you not heard?
         The Everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth
         Does not become weary or tired
         His understanding is inscrutable.
    He gives strength to the weary,
         And to him who lacks might He increases power.
    Though youths grow weary and tired,
         And vigorous young men stumble badly,
    Yet those who wait for the LORD
         Will gain new strength;
         They will mount up with wings like eagles,
         They will run and not get tired,
         They will walk and not become weary.  Isaiah 40:28-31

I am tired.

I pretty much exist on nervous energy.  Normally, from the time I am done with my morning shower and getting dressed (before that I don’t count as actually being awake) ‘til the time I turn off my light (usually 18 to 20 hours later), I go.   I work, talk, work, read, talk, read yada yada yada.  I do this day in and day out – then I crash.  But now…I am tired.

Ashley lies in a coma.  The fear of her imminent death has somewhat subsided, but there she lies.  I cannot count how many times I have heard that God has allowed this to happen.  How many times I have been told that this is all a part of God’s greater plan.  And I want to believe this.  I want to believe that this is all a part of God’s benevolent design.  I’ve been told ever since  I was a child that God has a plan, and that we may not always understand it, and really – we’re not supposed to ask why.

Well, to be quite frank, I’m not interested in ‘why’.  It doesn’t matter to me – why.  I already know the ‘how’.  So I don’t know what other questions to ask.  I sincerely do NOT believe this has anything to do with testing my faith, or that it was a part of God’s plan to help me grow in faith.  In fact, I don’t think this was about me at all.  I believe Ashley was in an accident and as a result her life is shattered.  I am on the periphery. 

But as John Donne said, “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;” therefore I too am effected.  I don’t believe God did this to Ashley.  I don’t believe God did this to try or build my faith, but now…I have nothing left.  You see up ‘til now I prayed that God would deliver Ashley but trusted that science would do the job.  Maybe I trusted too much in science because science has grown tired.  So now…

So now I have nothing left to turn to but God.  There is nothing more that science can do.  Perhaps my philosophical, theological whinings about faith have been exposed as the frauds that they were…simply the snivelings of a man who wished to belong to God through some esoteric desire.  Now – I lay prostrate and wrecked and experience what it truly means to desire faith.  I have no other choice.

I am tired.  And now we wait.  We wait for Ashley to wake up.  And if the Bible is true, and God does not become weary and tired, then I must, I have to, wait for the Lord. So this is what faith is.  For me, right now, faith is realizing that science cannot help my little girl.  I cannot help my little girl.  Faith – right now – is “Lord I am waiting on you, please help my little girl.”

How then shall we live?

You, son of man (human one), I have made a watchman for the house of Israel, writes the prophet Ezekiel.  Whenever you hear a word from my mouth you shall give them warning.  You have said, “our transgressions and our sins are upon us, and we waste away because of them, how then shall we live?”   Ezekiel 33

The people’s lament comes after the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C. Ezekiel has been appointed a watchman, a prophet among exiles in Babylonia. His personal sorrow included the death of his wife, the “delight of his eyes.”  When the temple was destroyed, and Jerusalem brought to rubble, the foundation of the faith of Israel was dealt a death-blow.

I realize that to some of you reading this, this is going to be a bit of a shock, but my daughter is not feeling well.  No.  Ashley has been in a horrible accident and is not well.  I'm sitting in her room right now seeing the delight of my eyes clinging to the thinnest filament of life.  If that filament were visible it would be as one of those spider webs that you walk through when passing through the garden gate.  You know, the kind you feel on your face and wipe quickly cause there might be a spider there.  It was so thin - you didn't even see it.  That's what I feel like Ash is clinging to as I sit here and watch the numbers bounce around, and listen to the long slow hiss of the ventilator as it delivers another breath.  I won't go into the gory details here, but Ashley has been destroyed.

How then shall Ashley live?  I don't know.  I know machines are doing most of the physical living for her.  And, right now, that is how Ashley will live.  When she is better...how shall she then live?  Again, I don't know.  I imagine that she will live a life so incredibly deeply rooted in her faith and really true, genuine love of God - just as she always has.

How shall I then live?  I don't know.  I know this though - my own spider-web-like faith remains.  Not because it's an unshakeable faith, - just the opposite.  My faith remains because it is so thin and fragile and surface deep that I have had to lean on others.  The faith of others, Uncle Harold, Mom, Pastor Abby, T, my brother, my sister, and on-and-on!  My faith has been thus far sustained because I cling to the faith of those who truly have faith.  I dunno.  Maybe that's really what faith is.  Maybe it's a huge part of faith, that when we don't have much of it, or don't know how to have it, those around us help bolster our little smidgen of faith.

The whole thing reminds me of Aaron and Hur holding up Moses' arms so that Israel might defeat Amelek (sorry, I can't think of where that story is in the Bible, but I promise - it's there!).

So I will sit here with Ashley and rest my arms on those of you who hold me up by praying earnestly for Ashley.  And one more thing - if you don't mind - please pray that Ashley will live!  Not that "Lord's will" stuff.  I'm being selfish here but please - just ask God to let her live!

The Problem of Evil: or - Holy Crap!

I suppose it comes as no surprise to those who read this blog that I am not only attempting to work out my faith, but I am also reexamining my views of theology.  In the past my metanarrative has been almost completely shaped by my childhood teachings.  I'm not saying that I am summarily casting off everything I have ever known (insert here my little play on Descartes: cogito cogito ergo cogito sum - LOL).  Rather I am systematically (I know, I know - to some of you out there that is such a dirty word) considering my beliefs and how much of those beliefs are based on American theology vs a more global theology.  That being said...

I am not yet sure what to think of the problem of evil, and quite frankly I am not prepared to get into it in any depth at this time.  I am beginning simply with the premise that if there is good there must also be evil, and that got me to thinking about a movie I saw this fall. The other day Paranormal Activity came out on DVD and of course I had to watch it again. This is one of the best films I've seen lately. Its cinema verite style makes is both believable and extremely personal. The characters are natural, funny and identifiable. If anything, they are too human in that they make all of the mistakes young people make in not reaching out for help. The guy has a macho attitude about the nature of evil, and thinks crosses are silly symbols. If you haven't seen the film, I won't spoil it, but it's like a ghost story on film. If you don't pray now, you may after watching it. (Cue scary music.) It will haunt you for life!

And so now, in my sleepless hours, I consider evil…

Ebenezer

…“Up to this point the Lord has helped us!”
1 Samuel 7:12 (NLT)

Two battles raged here.  Two battles lost by Israel.  The Ark of the Covenant was stolen here.  Can you imagine that?  Here’s God, encapsulating some mysterious element of Himself in a box to be taken care of by this one tribe of people…and they manage to lose it.  Here at this one spot!  Seems like bad ground…brown fields. Then comes the turnaround, the Philistines are defeated and Israel gets the Ark back.  So Samuel takes a stone and turns it on end and calls the place Ebenezer – the stone of help, and declares that “Up to this point the Lord has helped us.”

Literally speaking, an Ebenezer is a "stone of help," or a reminder of God’s Real, Holy Presence and Divine aid. Spiritually and theologically speaking, an Ebenezer can be nearly anything that reminds us of God’s presence and help: the Bible, the Sacramental Elements, a cross, a picture, a fellow believer, a hymn – those things which serve as reminders of God’s love, God’s Real Presence, and God’s assistance are "Ebenezers."

I don’t know how I got to I Samuel.  Yesterday I had lunch with my pastor and she said a couple times that (for me) things were different now, referring to my journey into faith.  So last night I started thinking about how things are different now and just what that means to me.  Then, ah yes – that’s it, I started thinking about the New Year approaching and how things (spiritually speaking) had seemed so grim at the beginning of this year and I thought about Samuel and Israel, the lost battles, the lost Ark… you know how the mind works…

When I came across verse 12 and read what Samuel said, these words caused me to look back over the past few years.  Unbelief, disbelief, trying to go it alone.  I had lost battles and, in some weird metaphoric way, had even lost that bit of myself that may have contained some mystical element of God.  Yet, through all this, I was well provided for physically, financially, relationally and so on.  Up to this point, maybe without even knowing it…the Lord had helped me.

End of December.  Another year gone.  But this year is different!  I enter the new year looking forward.  Forward to a life of learning to have faith.  A life where God is welcome.  No idea where it all leads, but I look forward with anticipation.

There was a moment not too many weeks ago when things changed.  I can look to the past and to the future and see a clear line of demarcation.  It is that moment that I set a stone upright and call it Ebenezer.  I don’t know what “thing” in my life represents the stone – maybe the fact that I am actually going to join a church?  Maybe that church is my Ebenezer?

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;

hither by thy help I'm come;

and I hope, by thy good pleasure,

safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

wandering from the fold of God;

he, to rescue me from danger,

interposed his precious blood.

 (Robert Robinson 1735-1790) 

What's Out There?

Tell me again why I stand in a bitter wind, sand swirling all around me in this pen, trying to fasten a load on this stubborn camel, trying to keep my goods from being lost on the road.  My best robes and favorite turban packed and still I wonder, will I really need them where I am going?  Off on some journey where I am not sure of what's to be found... or whom?

There was the dream, there was the voice that spoke with such authority, with such crystal clarity I couldn't help myself but move with purpose to follow, of all things... a star.  Immense, stunningly bright, the radiance of which I've never seen!

Across the open dunes we wonder, what's beneath that star?  What will we find there?  Some miracle?  Some treasure?  A fortune teller, a prince?  Too early to tell, so we wait...

Wondering...

Born Into A Mess

Jesus is many things to many people, but to John he was Light and Life. The apostle must have remembered where Jesus was standing and what he sounded like when he referred to himself by those words. Although nothing is written in his book, there is a little inkling of the birth to be found in John’s Gospel after all. It's wrapped up in one short sentence, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it”. This is the picture:  the Light that is Jesus shines in, around, through, behind, beneath, beyond the darkness of the manger, the stable, the darkness of the world, the darkness buried in our own hearts. Do we really understand it any more than the shepherds or the wise men did. Who can grasp the idea of Light and Life being contained in a body?
     If you were a shepherd 2,000 years ago and were outside watching the sheep one night when an angel showed up with a message from God, well…what would you do?  I can think of a few things I'd do, and not one of them include standing there having a conversation.  But the shepherds, once they got over the shock probably thought, Oh, sheesh!  What did we do now???  They had been told that God did not like people , sinners, who definitely are not all cleaned up, so they might have assumed the angel was there to tell them God was mad at them — or worse. Maybe God had finally reached his limit with all the crap in the world and was ready to do something about it — starting with them!   But instead the angel began with these words: “Fear not.”   Which tells me angels were pretty smart because if they didn't start with those words, like me, those shepherds would have been gone!  Then he told them how to find the long awaited Messiah:
     He will be wrapped in rags, lying in a feed trough, surrounded by animals — kind of like one of your shepherd kids would be.  In other words, here’s how you will know the Messiah when you see him: You will find him in the middle of a big stinkin' mess!
     The whole reason this is Good News — to the shepherds that night and to us right now — is that we really are all messy people. Every night on the 11:00 news, well dressed and manicured people appear on television and tell us how the world got a little messier today.  We manage to mess up every single area of life: relationships, finances, work, family, the environment, the Church, our conscience, our habits ... the list goes on-and-on. In fact there’s not a single area we haven't managed to mangle ... and we can't seem to fix any of it!
     So the angel says, “Here’s the Good News: God is not afraid of your mess.”
     What???  Our God doesn't seem to care how messy our lives are. It couldn't be any messier than where He chose to come to earth. He was born in a mess — wrapped in rags, laid in a manger — and he died in a mess! And in between his first day and his last day, he mostly hung out with messy people, seeming even to prefer them!
     We make Christmas really pretty, with red velvet bows and evergreen branches and all that. But the real story of Christmas proves that you do not have to clean up for him. Cleanliness, it turns out, is far from godliness. If anything, it’s in the middle of our messiness that God shows up!  God is love and only love. In God there is no hatred, desire for revenge, or pleasure in seeing us punished. God wants to forgive, heal, restore, show us endless mercy, and see us come home.
     Merry Christmas!!!

The Commitment of a Prostitute

...someone told the king of Jericho, “Some Israelites have come here tonight to spy out the land.” ³ So the king of Jericho sent orders to Rahab: “Bring out the men who have come into your house, for they have come here to spy out the whole land.”

 ⁴ Rahab had hidden the two men, but she replied, “Yes, the men were here earlier, but I didn’t know where they were from. ⁵ They left the town at dusk, as the gates were about to close. I don’t know where they went. If you hurry, you can probably catch up with them.” ⁶ (Actually, she had taken them up to the roof and hidden them beneath bundles of flax she had laid out.) ⁷ So the king’s men went looking for the spies along the road leading to the shallow crossings of the Jordan River. And as soon as the king’s men had left, the gate of Jericho was shut.  Joshua 2:2-7 (NLT)

This past Sunday our pastor spoke on the commitment God has made to us...and, like a good church-going dooby, I find myself contemplating her words and seeing the different aspects of my life that the message applies to.  Then, because it's Christmas season, I was reading Matthew 1, just revisiting the birth of the Christ when I came to this part:

Salmon was the father of Boaz (whose mother was Rahab).  Matthew 1:5 (NLT)

Rahab...hmm.  A prostitute...hmm.  In the lineage of Jesus...hmm.  Then the wheels got to turning.  Prostitutes aren't exactly the icons of commitment, yet there she is.  So, as is my wont, I looked up the story of Rahab in the Old Testament.

The Book of Joshua tells the story of Rahab, she was a prostitute. I don't know about you, but that grabs my attention pretty quick. I mean, why would God include a story about a prostitute in His Word? And not only is her story included in the Bible, but she's right there in the lineage of the Christ!

Now if that doesn't grab one's attention, nothin' will!

Rahab lived in a town called Jericho. The Israelites, led by Joshua since Moses had died, are preparing to overtake all the towns and people that occupy the land that God is giving to them--The Promised Land. Jericho is part of that land. Two spies are sent to Jericho to scope things out. Then Rahab makes a commitment.  She weighs out the risks and rewards then hides the men in her house so the king's men can't find them. Then, to top things off, she helps them escape after obtaining a promise that when they do come back and destroy the city, they'll keep her and her family safe.

OK. I have about a million questions at this point!

Why did Rahab help these guys? They were strangers to her. They were foreigners. Why would she risk her own life to hide them and then help them escape? 

How did the two spies know they could trust Rahab? How did they meet her? Some translations and scholars say Rahab was simply an innkeeper, so the spies obviously sought her out for a place to spend the night. But Hebrews 11:31 and James 2:25 refer to her as a "prostitute." Now, I know a little about Biblical languages but I'm no Hebrew language scholar, and I don't have my resources with me right now, but I don't think the word for innkeeper could that easily be mistaken for prostitute. If both James and the author of Hebrews, who was by all accounts a very educated Jew, refer to her as a prostitute, then I'm inclined to go with them.

Anyway...Despite the dark life Rahab leads, she obviously has knowledge of God. In verses 8-13 she speaks of "the Lord" and knows about the Promised Land. When the spies tell her they'll save her if she'll let down a scarlet cord from her window--the same window she used to help the men escape--she does what she's told. 

The author of Hebrews credits Rahab with faith (11:31) while James calls her righteous (2:25). Then there is the indisputable fact that she is listed in the lineage of our Lord and Savior. 

How does a woman go from being a prostitute to being called righteous and being listed as Jesus' Great (etc) Grandma?!

These spies come into her home, her king is looking for them because they are from the enemy's camp and they're certainly up to no good.  Imagine that moment when Rahab had to make a decision - (I wonder if it was a difficult one for her).  She had a choice...turn these guys in - or protect them.  Then she made a commitment.

It changed the course of her life. 

It also changed the course of her loved ones' lives. Because Rahab was faithful and obedient and made a commitment to God, her entire family was saved (Joshua 6:22-24) while Jericho and its inhabitants were destroyed. 

This story begs a question.

Can I make the commitment of a prostitute?

'Please, sir, I want some more.'

Then Jesus left Galilee and went north to the region of Tyre and Sidon.  A Gentile woman who lived there came to him, pleading, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David! For my daughter is possessed by a demon that torments her severely.”  But Jesus gave her no reply, not even a word. Then his disciples urged him to send her away. “Tell her to go away,” they said. “She is bothering us with all her begging.”  Then Jesus said to the woman, “I was sent only to help God’s lost sheep—the people of Israel.”  But she came and worshiped him, pleading again, “Lord, help me!”  Jesus responded, “It isn’t right to take food from the children and throw it to the dogs.”  She replied, “That’s true, Lord, but even dogs are allowed to eat the scraps that fall beneath their masters’ table.”  “Dear woman,” Jesus said to her, “your faith is great. Your request is granted.” And her daughter was instantly healed.  Matthew 15:21-28 (New Living Translation)
Every now-and-then I go down to the Corning Preserve in Albany and sit by the Hudson and read and chill.  Today I chilled alright as I sat at one of the picnic tables with snow on the ground and 20 degree temperatures.  While I was reading (Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens by-the-way) I noticed this guy that I see every single time that I go to the Preserve.  You see, he lives on a bench next to the parking lot.  Year round.  Today he was bundled up in what looked like 7 or 8 layers of coats and maybe 3 or 4 pants.  He was rummaging through the trash, looking for...what?  Food?  A nickel deposit bottle?  I don't know.  When I got home I warmed up for a little while as I waited for my wife to make me a sandwich.  When she so kindly brought it to me in the living room so I could eat it sitting on the sofa watching a basketball game, I noticed the crumbs on the wooden plate thing that I always eat my sandwiches from.  Then...I started thinking about that guy at the Preserve and the woman from this story. 

 

Crumbs.  That’s all she is looking for.  Crumbs.  Not the whole loaf. Not even a slice.  Just crumbs. Small crusty crumbs that fall over the edge of the table. And she knows that he can give her what she needs. She has heard about this Jewish messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. He turns clear, cool water into rich, red wine. He takes a few loaves and fishes from one boy and feeds thousands. Now he comes out to the borders of Palestine where she and her tormented daughter live on the edge of existence.  It’s been a long time since this woman has enjoyed a banquet. She has almost forgotten how to claim her place at the table. But she has heard about Jesus of Nazareth.  She knows he has something from God to feed people. And she intends to get some of that something for her daughter.  Crumbs.  She will take crumbs if that is all she can get.

We don’t know what finally pushes the woman over the edge. The writer of Matthew doesn’t tell us.  We can only imagine. We can only presume to imagine.  Perhaps she sits at her empty table one day.  Her house is small, the afternoon heat is unbearable. And then, her young daughter, seized by a fit, falls to the dirt floor in convulsions. No, the gospel writer does not give us much background. We can only presume to imagine that this desperate woman has had enough. Suddenly, this woman pushes away from an empty table and runs out the door. Out the door and down the road. Desperate for crumbs.  Then she sees Jesus of Nazareth.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?  It seems that Jesus has had enough as well. He has had enough of rigid, hypocritical Pharasaic rules—what Matthew calls “the tradition of the elders.” He has had enough of deaf, dumb disciples who stumble around blindly and just don’t get it.  Jesus leaves the cool waters of the Galilee to travel northwest on dusty roads. Out on the far edges of Israel.  Out there—figuratively and literally—on the border. “On the boundary between the old and the new, between male and female, between Jew and Gentile, between friend and enemy, between the holy and the demonic.” It is here, on the edge of existence, where we see great faith. From somewhere deep inside her, this woman seizes the tiny crumbs of faith that remain. She seizes that faith, strides out the door and down the dusty road.

As she approaches Jesus of Nazareth, she starts shouting: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David!”  Shrieking.  Screaming. Shouting. This word “shouting” used by the gospel writer is the same word used “in Revelation 12:2 to describe the cries of a woman in labor pains.”  So, just as this woman once cried out as she gave birth to her daughter, she now cries out in a struggle to give health and wholeness to that child. She knows that she, a Canaanite woman, with no better status than a dog, is not worthy to gather up the crumbs under the table. Yet she knows something about God’s mercy that the Pharisees and scribes do not know. She knows something that even Jesus’ disciples do not know.  She knows that God’s mercy is wide and broad and wonderfully kind and faithful and bountiful.  God’s divine love is even wider—even wider—than the love of the human Jesus of Nazareth.  It is in this certain knowledge that the Canaanite woman dares to shout for God’s mercy as she kneels in front of the human Jesus.


What does she get for her trouble?  At first, nothing—except stony silence.  Jesus ignores her and the disciples probably roll their eyes. But when she continues to shout, the disciples are pushed over the edge. Get rid of this woman, Jesus.  Send her away, will you?  We had enough crazy people to deal with in Galilee, and they were our own kind.  Now we’ve got crazy foreigners ranting and raving in the road. Do something. Do anything. Just get rid of her, okay? Enough already!  Jesus responds, but not to the woman kneeling before him. He ignores the woman, and responds to the disciples.  “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel,” he says firmly.  I know who I am.  I am Israel’s messiah. My own people sit in darkness and need to see a great light.  I was sent to bring my own people healing, justice, mercy. I am a Jew—“the Jew who stands as the culmination of all of Israel’s history.”   Yes, and more than a messiah for Israel.  The human and historic Jesus claims his identity as Israel’s messiah.

And yet this woman who lives on the edges, on the margins, claims even more than Jesus does himself.  For she sees beyond the Jewish man in front of her:  her vision extends back in history to the Davidic royal line, and forward in history to the crucified and risen Christ.  This Jewish messiah before whom she kneels is a fulcrum for faith for thousands of people: those who live bountiful, mainstream lives, and those who struggle for crumbs on the edges of life. Jesus is the messiah of Israel.  And Jesus is the savior of the entire world.

The Pharisees and scribes may not get it. The disciples may not get it.  But this poor Canaanite woman gets it.  Jesus says, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  And the woman turns the metaphor back on him with sharp and sure retort. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”  Here is the kind of fierce, ferocious faith that will transform a world. So out of a faith that persists and struggles, out of a faith that seizes and shouts for attention, the woman receives what she demands.  Healing for her daughter.  Mercy that is wide and broad and wonderfully kind and faithful and bountiful.

So what?  What can this story possibly mean for me—who did not experience the historical, human Jesus sent to save his own people?  After a lifetime of church, belief, disbelief, re-belief have I really forgotten a first century Jewish messiah even as I remember a crucified and risen Christ in the breaking of bread and in my prayers?   I—well educated, upper middle class, wealthy in comparison to most of the world—have all, and more, than I need.  I do not grovel for crumbs under anyone’s table. My life is bountiful and rich.

Here is the sharp edge of this gospel reading.  Because I claim my place at God’s table, as God’s son, I have claimed a place not only of privilege, but one of responsibility.  This place requires me to feed my brothers and sisters.  Crumbs.  That’s all they are looking for.  Crumbs.  Not the whole loaf.  Not even a slice.  Just crumbs.  I, of course, want the whole loaf...and usually get it.  I drive a good car. They take buses or they walk. I have a pension plan.  They lack basic health insurance so they must bring crying babies to the Emergency Room at midnight. My wife and I, the two of us, have a nice home with 4 bedrooms.  They live in crowded, noisy apartments or on a freezing cold bench at the Corning Preserve.  I get a regular paycheck.  They cannot keep jobs. Why?  Because too many of them slept last night in a shelter.  They were kept awake by snoring. An uncomfortable cot. The wailing of hungry babies. And when you fall asleep on the job, you don’t have a job for long.

Crumbs.  Like Oliver Twist when he says to the parish workhouse master, they say, "Please, sir, I want some more."  They want more than crumbs because deep in their souls, they are hungry and know they deserve more. And yet they often do not know who to ask or how to ask.  So they wait. They wait in emergency rooms and welfare lines. They wait in line for sandwiches and coffee at the Rescue Mission on Pearl Street.  They bus tables or they serve tables, but I don't let them pull up a chair and eat at that table. Some of them are tired of waiting.  Angry at waiting. Sick to death of crumbs. So they get high or drunk and rob convenience stores.  They kidnap little girls or rape women and leave their bodies in parks. They strap bombs on their bodies, walk onto crowded buses, and blow themselves up.

The people who live out there on the edges of life are sick to death of waiting for the banquet to begin, so they stand in front of me and demand crumbs.  The crucified, risen and ascended Christ asks: When will you feed them?  When will you help them learn to read? When will you join Habitat for Humanity and help them build a home? When will you work for justice so there will be peace? When will you look them in the eye and say “Thank you for being my waiter today.  You did a good job!?”

Yes, “there’s a wideness in God’s mercy, like the wideness of the sea.  There’s a kindness in [God’s] justice which is more than liberty. There is welcome for the sinner, and more graces for the good; there is mercy with the Savior, there is healing in his blood.”  Two thousand years ago, a Canaanite woman knew this. God gave her clarity of vision so that she saw far beyond the edge of her empty table to a banquet table. She knew that God’s banquet table is full, and that any crumb from that table would fill her.  Way down that dusty road, even beyond the human vision of Jesus of Nazareth, the divine plan of God would feed the whole world, not just part of the world. 

Stripped

If that had been necessary, Christ would have had to die again and again, ever since the world began. But now, once for all time, he has appeared at the end of the age to remove sin by his own death as a sacrifice. Hebrews 9:26 (New Living Translation)

I was at the library the other day when I had one of those stare-off-into-space-and-let-your-imagination-run-wild moments.  I imagined myself in a huge room with a crowd of people. We were all waiting for God to show up. Some people were standing around in groups, talking. Others were sitting down. A few were asleep. Suddenly God appeared and things got very quiet, which was understandable because God was about 30 feet tall (don't worry, this isn't an Oral Roberts moment). A man near the back was the last one to notice. He was telling a joke to his buddy when he realized he was the only one talking. He looked around, saw God, and said, “Oh, sorry.”


Then God said, “Some of you are rather nicely dressed, I see.” That made the well-dressed people happy. Some of the men opened their blazers to show God the linings. A few women twirled around so God could get a good look at their outfits. A number of people seemed very proud of their shoes and pointed to them with open palms. God laughed and then took a deep breath. For a moment I thought God was going to suck all the air out of the room. There was a long pause, and then God leaned forward and blew. The sound of it was like the rush of a mighty wind. All of our clothes disintegrated and disappeared, like confetti blown off the top of a waxed table.


Just like that we were naked. As naked as the day we were born. It was embarrassing at first, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Eventually the idea began to settle in and people calmed down. You could hear people saying, “Oh well, I guess we’re naked now.”

First Communion (In a long, long time)

I did something today that I haven't done in many, many years - and no, I didn't cook dinner.  I celebrated communion in church.  It was an amazing, almost creepy moment for me.  For the first time in so long I took the time to be silent and "remember" what the Christ had done.

When communion is celebrated we remember Jesus, on the eve of His brutal day, comforting the disciples, telling them that even though he is about to die - he will always be with them.  I can't even fathom that.

I recall the evening before my first set-piece battle in the first Gulf War.  My comrades and I stayed up all night, talking about our lives, those whom we loved, the things we missed. Our commander had told us that we were expected to take up to 60% casualties the next day.  As we looked around at one another, it occurred to us that in all likelihood six of the ten of us would not make it through the next day.  We didn't comfort one another.  We didn't speak of the future or mention that death stood at the door to our tent.  We were scared and sad.  I think, in some part of my mind, I was already dead.  The tent hung with despair.

So when the ushers delivered the bread and wine to me today, I thought of that evening, and thought of Christ's final eve.  And I was moved.  If Jesus came to earth as omniscient God...well, then he knew what was coming, and that had to be agonizing.  Even if He wasn't omniscient during his sojourn into humanity, he was certainly well aware of what was about to happen to him.  Yet, here he was...bread - my body, wine - my blood...all for YOU!  All for ME!  He must have been scared.  He must have been sad.

I wonder if He looked back at his life.  Growing up with Mary and Joseph and his brothers, thinking of the times he played in the streets with his pals.  I wonder if he thought of his teenage years, and the girls he must have had a crush on, and wondered what could have been.  I wonder if Jesus thought about his friends, jumping and shouting with joy as they tore their nets pulling so many fish from the sea.  Or if he thought of the times they must have sat around a fire at night, singing and laughing, the hallmarks of relationships so complete and intimate.  I wonder if he thought of those things, and if he did...was He as sad as my pals and I were on that night.  But we won't know for sure.  He doesn't talk like that to his friends as he eats the meal of the condemned.  He humbly takes the most common portion of the meal and recognizes them as a symbol of his sacrifice.

Then he went out and received the brutal beatings and humiliating, agonizing hanging from a cross.  For ME.

I remembered these things during communion today.