A response to the Creation Debate

Last night, I watched much of the Bill Nye/Ken Ham debate on the viability of young earth creationism as a science. It was a surprisingly civil debate, and I was very grateful that it happened. I thought it may be prudent to weigh in on their discussion.

I found the opening statements of both debaters to be compelling and well organized. Neither one of them made comments that were off putting. Going into the debate, I favored Nye's evolutionary views, but kept an open mind on Ham's arguments.

The biggest problem throughout the debate seemed to be one of authority. Nye did not recognize the authority of scripture in explaining the origins of the universe. Ham, likewise, did not accept the scientific evidence as valid.

My objection was that both used scripture in an all-or-nothing mindset: either all of scripture is factual, or none of it is. I just don't think that's an accurate way of interacting with a complex library of documents, written over a long period of time by dozens of different authors.

One of the major emphases in my theological education was to consider the genre of the text one is studying. For some genres, one can assert a certain level of historical accuracy. For others, a more nuanced approach is called for. In a twist of irony, my experience is that those who rush to claim Genesis is literal are equally quick to read the Song of Solomon as an allegory.

Let me be clear: Scripture is so much more than a fact sheet. It's a complex and beautiful work of faithful people for thousands of years, both in writing down what God inspired and in transmitting it to future generations through compiling, translating, copying, and teaching. It is a unique and authoritative witness to what God has done in the world. It is powerful, compelling, and potentially transformative because God is revealed in it. But it's purpose is not to provide a list of unquestionable facts. It's purpose is to point to God.

There are several creation stories in scripture, some of them disagree on the order that things happened. But that doesn't bother me because the purpose of an origin story is not to maintain absolute facts, but to reveal the identity of the creator and the created. Genesis 1 shows a powerful God who speaks into being things that do not exist. Genesis 2 shows an intimate God who plants a garden and molds people out of clay. Job 38-41 shows a God who is active throughout all of nature. John 1 shows the presence of Christ throughout creation. Each of these says something different about God, and something about us as well.

God has given us eyes to see and minds to interpret, and the Holy Spirit is active in every time and place. Perhaps the origin story that these evidences point to is spiritually compelling because it means that God has been active for billions of years, forming the world into something new and amazing each day.

That's called creatio continua, and we studied it in my theology class. We also studied creation ex nihilo, or creation out of nothing. Neither was espoused as the "correct" view, and I don't think they're opposing. I hold to a blend of the two: God created the universe out of nothing, and continues to renew creation each moment.

As the debate went on, I was troubled that so much of Ham's arguments seemed to be thoroughly steeped in confirmation bias. Science, as I understand it, seeks to disprove theories, eliminating the impossible so that only the most accurate description remains. Creationist "science," at least as Ham presented it, was far more interested in confirming a fundamentalist and un-nuanced interpretation of the Bible than in refining its own views. That's bad science, and that's bad theology.

But, and I think think this is the most important lesson from last night's debate, People who disagree can come together for a coherent and civil discussion, without needing to change the other's mind. The exchange of ideas is valuable in and of itself. Because like creation, that kind of relational discussion tells us something about God, and about ourselves.

God talk and Gun control

The Georgia legislature is currently examining a bill to allow people to bring guns into churches and schools. This debate has been going on for a while now, in various contexts and versions. I've gone back and forth over my own position on gun control over the years. At this point, I've come to the point of few answers and one very potent question:

What does it say about God if we bring guns in the church?

I don't want to pass judgement publicly on this issue, but church people cannot pretend that we are not making a statement about God with every action we take.

A little while back, I saw a video from the Vlogbrothers in which the speaker made the claim that most people live their lives in a state of functional nihilism. Which means irrespective of belief we tend to act as if nothing really matters. I have been troubled by this claim largely because I it's truer than I'd like it to be.

What does it say about God if we bring guns in the church?

Because it definitely says something. I think it says something different to each person who engages with the question. Everyone is going to have to come up with a reason for supporting or opposing these policies, or by availing yourself of the opportunity to carry a weapon in a place of worship. I think it's a fantasy to claim that we're saying nothing by our actions. Because people are hearing us whether we think we're talking or not.

What does it say about God if we bring guns in the church?

I asked a youth that question after the church we were a part of screened a documentary on gun violence. I wasn't lobbying for a particular position or another, but I think the question is very important, and should shape our actions. We have got to examine why we act in certain ways, and what kind of belief those actions are showing. Because very few of us believe that nothing matters, so perhaps we should start acting like it.

So, internet, let's wrestle together with that question for a moment:

What does it say about God if we bring guns in the church?

Vision and Recognition

Vision and Recognition from Joseph Taber on Vimeo.

I wonder if you feel conspicuous. I wonder if you’re surrounded by the joy of this little easter we call Sunday, and don’t feel the same joy that others around you are showing. You look around you and see the trappings of worship, of love, of grace, but all you see in yourself is human depravity. It’s a great day for everyone else, the new year is off to a good start for them, but you feel, somehow, overlooked by the community that claims this sanctuary as its home. I wonder if you’ve built up an image of what you want people to see of you, so that they won’t recognize how little you match what you see around you. I wonder if your great fear is that someone will see through the image you have so carefully constructed for others. I wonder if you fear that because you worry that the image of God is so distorted in you that it is unrecognizable, even to God.

I wonder if you may be saying “Don’t look now, but I can’t find a job.” “I don’t want anyone to see, but I’m not sure if this whole "God" thing applies to me.” “Don’t show anyone that I had such a fight with my family that I can’t even concentrate on the service going on around me right now.” “I’ve got to keep up appearances, even though I’m falling apart as soon as no one is looking.” "I spent so much time trying to look, or think, or love, or believe like those around me that I don't even recognize myself anymore"

I wonder if you recognize yourself in any of these portraits. I wonder if each of us is portrayed by one of them. I wonder if our spiritual ancestors could also find themselves conspicuously displayed among these images of struggle: The old man who sees only advanced age for himself and his wife, rather than the children God had promised them; The leader who sees the Promised Land, but is not allowed to enter; The widow who mourns the loss of her sons with no way to care for her daughters-in-law; The prophet who keeps vigil as his people are carried off into bondage; The girl who becomes Queen only to have her whole people threatened by a jealous advisor; The carpenter who dreams about raising a child he did not father; The woman who looks for healing and sees only twelve years of hemorrhages; Even these heroes from scripture didn't always recognize how God's hand was at work, and yet God worked in, among, and through them nevertheless. I wonder if we could see ourselves in that story as well. I wonder if we can see ourselves in this story?

“A man named John was sent from God.” But this is a different picture of John than we may be accustomed to from reading the accounts of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. The Gospel according to John, has a rather conspicuously different portrait of John the Baptist. He is not described as a wilderness man, and we are not shown vignettes of demands for repentance and accusations of “You brood of Vipers.” John is not a harbinger of end-times judgement. He is a witness.

“The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, ‘LOOK!’” John, in this gospel, does not pass judgement or carry out sentencing, he offers his testimony that Jesus is in fact “The Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” I can imagine John stretching out the long, bony, finger he is sometimes depicted with in paintings towards this ordinary looking man, identifying him as the long-looked-for Word made Flesh. That’s him! That’s the guy! “This is the one of whom I said ‘he who comes after me is really greater than me because he existed before me!’”

The thing about testimony is that it has no proof other than the conviction of the one giving it. John believes that Jesus is the Lamb of God so strongly that he offers his witness even though by his own admission, “Even I didn’t recognize him.”

It makes me wonder how many times we have seen the one we seek and not recognized him. How many Christians have devoted their lives, like John, to pointing to this person, this God, this one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit, in spite of not being able to recognize him. How many times has Jesus the Christ been the overlooked one? John is here as a witness with one job: He came to testify concerning the Light of the World. Yet he confesses "Even I didn't recognize him." But the Lamb of God has come nevertheless. Even I didn't recognize him, but the Spirit descended on him like a dove nevertheless. Even I didn't recognize him, but he is the anointed one nevertheless. Once he finally recognizes Jesus, he keeps pointing to him, even into the next day.

“The next day, John was again standing with two of his disciples. When he saw Jesus walking along he said, “Look! The Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard what he said, and they followed Jesus.” I don’t know what the difference between yesterday’s “Look” and today’s “Look” was, but this time the two disciples recognized the urgency in John's voice. This time they heard and recognized the importance of his message. "Look! The Lamb of God!"

The "Lamb of God" image that the disciples see when John points to this man Jesus carries visions of liberation from bondage in Egypt. A Lamb was offered at Passover, not to wipe away sin but as a reminder that God brings us out of Egypt, where we were slaves. So in the same manner as the Israelites followed Moses out of the house of Pharaoh, these two disciples of John walk behind Jesus with no vision of where their steps will lead them, and with no recognition beyond John's recommendation.

Then Jesus turns around and asks them a question: "What are you looking for?"

This question hits me right in my center. Because I don't know that I have a satisfactory answer. I know the "right" answer, "I'm looking for a way to glorify God and enjoy him forever." I just don't know if I'm really searching for something so lofty. These disciples have been following Jesus for a few minutes when he turns on his heel, looks them squarely in the face and confronts them with a question to which I don't have a really good answer. If Jesus connected with you in the same eye-to-eye fashion that faced these disciples, could you trust him with the search you don't show anyone?

“Don’t look now, but I can’t find a job.” “I don’t want anyone to see, but I’m not sure if this whole "God" thing applies to me.” “Don’t show anyone that I had such a fight with my family that I can’t even concentrate on the service going on around me right now.” “I’ve got to keep up appearances, even though I’m falling apart as soon as no one is looking.” "I spent so much time trying to look, or think, or love, or believe like those around me that I don't even recognize myself anymore"

I wonder what we would say to Jesus when he asks us "What are you looking for?" I can promise you that my answer would be just as ham-handed and stammering as the disciples' awkward response "Rabbi, where are you staying?" What are you looking for a hotel room? This guy is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! You want to know his lodging situation? That's only about two steps up from grabbing whatever is nearby and saying "Oh, just this, I've found it now, I think I'll be going back into hiding now." Jesus's "What are you looking for" maybe makes us feel more conspicuous than we'd ever let anyone see. The light that shines in the darkness, you know, recognizes you when you're staring him in the face. And if you've never had that light enter your field of vision before, it'll take you back a step. Even they didn't recognize him, but the presence of God compelled them to follow him nevertheless.

Because the one who can't find a job isn't just looking for a paycheck. They're looking for a way to participate in their own household so that they can know they are valued and not resented for always needing to be cared for.

Because the one who isn't sure if they have a part of this God thing isn't looking for an easy answer. They're looking for a narrative that fits with what they've seen, and the answers others have given them are not sufficient for their experience. It's difficult to love a God when you can never recognize him.

Because the one who is not fully present due to a recent fight isn't looking for a solution to their argument. They're looking for a community where it is safe to be struggling with imperfection.

Because the one who hides their thoughts and looks and beliefs and loves isn't looking for a way to meet expectations. They're looking for the assurance that they are loved for who they are regardless of any criteria.

Jesus recognizes that in the two men who followed him. He recognises that they don’t have the vision for what this passover lamb can mean for them. They’re looking for the wholeness they can only get from God, but their vision is distorted by their bondage to sin. So when their answer about what they’re looking for is meaningless, he offers them a new viewpoint, where they can see what God has in store for the whole of creation firsthand, and testify to others. “Come and see.”

Come and see what true humanity looks like. Come and see what liberation from what holds you back looks like. Come and see what service to the God who creates, redeems, and sustains you looks like. Come and see that the darkness cannot overcome the light.

Come and see grace that frees you from your shame and guilt. Come and see a community guided by a commandment to Love one another in spite of our brokenness. Come and see love that will not let you go no matter how you love, what you believe, how you look, or what you think. Come and see that God has called you by name and is deeper than the easy answers. Come and see that God has given you gifts to be expressed in the world with gratitude, even if they don’t come with a paycheck. Come and see what it is you’re looking for, even if you don’t recognize it at first.

After an afternoon with this new kind of teacher, Andrew has to go tell his brother what has happened. We have no indication what Simon Peter was looking for. But he’s just as human as the rest of us, so I can say with confidence that he was looking for something. Andrew, his brother, tells him what he’s found when he was didn’t even have the vision to know what he was looking for. “We have found the Messiah,” he tells his brother. John’s testimony of “Look! The Lamb of God!” was enough for Andrew to look closer, and to find his own image of who Jesus is. Andrew’s testimony of “We have found the Messiah!” was enough to capture Simon Peter’s attention. Once he has been led to Jesus, Jesus looks at him and recognizes him in the same way that he recognized that the other two disciples needed to be invited to come and see.

Jesus recognizes us where we are, and knows that we don’t know more than a portion of what we’re looking for, sometimes we don’t even know that we’ve been looking. Our vision is still distorted by sin, so much that we cannot always recognize that the Lamb of God is in our midst, a reminder of the unapologetic ferocity of God’s love for us. We coat ourselves with images of what we ought to be and expect others to see us the way we wish we were.

But God recognizes us in spite of all that meaningless posturing, recognizes us as his children, recognizes us as those whom he has set free from the shadows in which we try to hide ourselves. God sees through the mask and invites us to take it off and live as one transformed by grace. We have seen God’s unwavering work in the world, even if we haven’t recognized it. We don’t have to know what we’re looking for, but when we do recognize it, all we have to do is point and say “Look!” And when we cannot even muster the faith to conspicuously point to God, which is going to be a lot of the time, Jesus still calls to us with a promise of the greatness of God. “Come and See.”

In the end, I have every confidence that we will all be able to say “We have found the Messiah.” But only because Jesus the Christ found us first.

Even I didn't recognize him, but the light shines in the darkness nevertheless.

Even I didn't recognize him, but the Lamb of God takes away the sin of the world nevertheless.

Even I didn't recognize him, but he came and baptized us with the Holy Spirit nevertheless.

Even I didn't recognize him, but he went to the cross to deliver me from the bondage of sin nevertheless.

Come and see what the new life we have in a resurrected Christ looks like, and you may recognize the living God in your midst. But even if you do not recognize him, God is at work in you, for you, and through you nevertheless.

Visible and Invisible

Colossians 1:11-20

11May you be strengthened through his glorious might so that you endure everything and have patience; 12and by giving thanks with joy to the Father. He made it so you could take part in the inheritance, in light granted to God’s holy people.13He rescued us from the control of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of the Son he loves. 14He set us free through the Son and forgave our sins.

15The Son is the image of the invisible God,

The one who is first over all creation.

16Because all things were created by him:

both in the heavens and on the earth,

the things that are visible and the things that are invisible.

Whether they are thrones or powers, or rulers or authorities,

all things were created through him and for him.

17He existed before all things,

and all things are held together in him.

18He is the head of the body, the church, who is the beginning,

the one who is firstborn from among the dead

so that he might occupy the first place in everything.

19Because all the fullness of God was pleased to live in him,

20and he reconciled all things to himself through him - whether things on earth on in the heavens. He brought peace through the blood of his cross.

This is the Word of the Lord

Thanks be to God

The last sunday of the church year, the last sunday before advent, is always dedicated to proclaiming the Reign of Christ. Our resurrected Lord rules all of creation from where he is seated on the right hand of the Father, from thence he shall come again to judge the quick and the dead.

So I set out at the beginning of the week excited for a sermon comparing the reign of Christ to all the things that his rule would replace. It was going to be full of hope for a brighter future, when we left our unjust systems behind. I was ready for a scripture passage all about how The Earth is the Lord’s, and all that is within it. It was going to be very Presbyterian in its emphasis on the loving and unyielding sovereignty of God.

There was going to be a parade celebrating the reign of Christ, people were going to cast ticker-tape from the windows of buildings, marching bands would play the great hymns of the faith, and people would wave banners all proclaiming the good news of God!

Then I turned to our Gospel passage this morning, where I read the following story. Please stand for the reading of the gospel.

Luke 23:33-43

33When they arrived at the place called The Skull, they crucified him, along with the criminals, one on his right and the other on his left. 34Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing.” They drew lots for his clothing.

35The people were standing around watching, but the leaders sneered at him, saying, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he really is the Christ sent from God, the chosen one.”

36The soldiers also mocked him. They came up to him offering him sour wine 37and saying, “If you really are the king of the Jews, save yourself.” 38Above his head was a notice of the formal charge against him. It read “This is the king of the Jews.”

39One of the criminals hanging next to Jesus insulted him, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!”

40Responding, the other criminal spoke harshly to him, “Don’t you fear God, seeing that you’ve also been sentenced to die? 41We are rightly condemned, for we are receiving the appropriate sentence for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” 42Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

43Jesus replied, “I assure you that today you will be with me in paradise.”

This is the Word of the Lord

Thanks be to God

You’re kidding me, right? I was all prepped for a high-energy-God-wins-in-the-end kind of sermon and I get the narrative of the crucifixion? I wanted banners and instead I got a sign that said “This is the king of the Jews. Where’s the part about God smiting the evil empire and setting up a kingdom which shall have no end? I wanted marching bands and instead I got jeering crowds. Where’s the redeemer who rescues his people with a strong arm? I wanted ticker tape and instead I got cast lots for his clothing. Where’s the end to all our suffering? Why did it end up at the place called The Skull?

My guess is that the disciples asked the very same questions. The inner circle whom we call the twelve have made themselves invisible during the night, and the people who stand around watching are no longer convinced that this is the heir to the throne of David.

It looks as if the Roman Empire has found another brigand. They’re going to make a visible example of him so that others will know not to claim the title of “King.” For only Caesar is a son of gods, and only Caesar rules in this empire.

Or so it seems.

Up to this point, everyone who has looked for the coming of the kingdom of God was watching for the same model of visible conquest as earthly rulers had used. But God is not the same kind of generic ruler we have come to expect. The reign of Christ is not defined by champions or armies. The reign of Christ is defined by the cross. “Because the fullness of God was please to live in him, and he reconciled all things to himself through him-- whether things on earth or in the heavens. He brought peace through the blood of his cross.”

I think it is certainly within God’s power to sweep any empire right off the map. But I don’t think God is interested in coercive, destructive, rule. God is much more interested in redemptive, creative, reign. The first is much easier than the second. Christ’s redemption over all creation comes through the cross so that the world might be forever changed, even the parts of the world that had opposed God at every turn. The reign of Christ is not visible in armies marching forth with religious symbols painted on their shields, it’s shown when at his death, the heir to all authority on heaven and earth intercedes in prayer, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing.”

We really don’t. We don’t know what we’re doing when we step out into this world and proclaim that the powers and principalities that we can see are not the final word, and yet work so hard to serve them. We don’t know what we’re doing when we buy into the stories that our culture tells us about what being blessed looks like. We don’t know what we’re doing when we say we believe, but live in a way that sows doubt. We don’t know what we’re doing, and so out of our own limited understanding of how the world works, we end up opposing God.

The reign of Christ claims even us. Even in our stubbornness, our limitedness, our ignorance, our sin, Christ still claims us. No matter how deeply we are stuck in our wrongness, God measures us according to Christ’s rightness. The reign of Christ doesn’t just upend our unjust systems because even those injustices we would rather stay invisible are subject to the redemptive reign of our Lord who “rescued us from the control of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of the Son he loves. He set us free through the Son and forgave our sins.”

That, friends, is something worthy of gratitude on this Sunday before Thanksgiving. The reign of Christ, in his peculiar cruciform way of showing it, extends to all of creation, even to the unworthy bits.

Lucky for us. Because I’ve never met anyone who is worthy of the gifts God gives us. And it’s easy, I think, to get caught up in obsessing over all those components in our lives that we wish we could just make invisible and never have to deal with again.

In my work in the Chaplain’s office, I’m not only tasked with visiting patients and providing pastoral care to a broad swath of people. I’m also working in an educational setting to learn and explore my own pastoral identity, and to develop the skills to engage those around me not just on an intellectual level, but on an emotional level as well.

Much of that work involves exploring and confronting the parts of myself that I would rather keep hidden: my anger, my fear, my grief, the places in my own history where I have been hurt. As we approach the holidays and the gathering of families, it is all to easy to see the places where I have been wounded. It is tempting to compartmentalize the parts of myself that I’m not proud of, especially in a family where there is an unspoken expectation that, let’s be honest, I don’t always meet.

Now I’ve never felt unloved by any member of my family, and I certainly hope to make them as proud of me as I am of them. There’s a lot to celebrate in the rich history of Tabers, Potters, Shrewsburys, Barnettes, Barnards, and Boshells. The love shared in those groups, the talents, the triumphs, the traditions, are all part of what defines my family for me. Those parts are easy to identify as belong to, and extending from, the reign of Christ.

But there are also parts of my history that I would rather sweep under the rug, history of families broken up through divorce, or abuse, or of being ruled by addiction.

The reign of Christ extends to all of that as well. Even the parts of me that I don’t like belong to God. The reign of Christ preserves my whole self, even the parts of me that I would rather not let anybody see, and claims all of me as beloved by God, and wrapped in the righteousness of Christ until even the darkest parts of my soul are set free from the stain of sin.

All of this is possible through the reign of the Son who, at the place called The Skull, prayed for the forgiveness of those who mocked him, killed him, and dared him to try and save himself.

The Son is the image of the invisible God,

the one who is first over all creation.

Because all things were created by him:

both in the heavens and on the earth

the things that are visible and the things that are invisible.

T. S. Eliot’s poem “The Hollow Men” makes the claim that the world will end not with a bang, but a whimper. Christ, however, claims both as defining characteristics of his reign. The visible bang comes in the hymn of praise in our Colossians text, for all people can sing praises to their God, and to Christ who reigns on high. But in claiming the greatness of the hymn, Christ also chooses to define his reign by the whimper of a dying criminal, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Both the visible acts of praise and the nearly invisible cries of hope out of despair belong to the reign of Christ.

In our own time and place, we are approaching Thanksgiving, a time when we celebrate the things we are grateful for, lifting them up and choosing them as our organizing narrative throughout the darker months of the year. Immediately after Thanksgiving, we line up around the block for the chance to get the best deals on our holiday shopping. We make the news with our nuisance, a visible part of the Christmas season which we are approaching.

Yet on that same night, others will be lined up at the doors of soup kitchens and night shelters, hoping for the chance to get a meal this week, or that they might not have to sleep outside in the cold. They’re often overlooked, invisible to society for any number of reasons. It’s easy to judge them as being unwilling or unable to work their way out of their situation, or so say that we are not in a position to help, and maintain their invisibility.

On the other hand, a number of my friends from Seminary, and I’d imagine they’re not alone, would look at the commercial bent of the other lines, the one’s outside of department stores, and see those who have twisted their whole lives around saving a few bucks. They would judge those who would sacrifice time with family for a we dollars fewer spent on gifts for that same family.

I say that both sets of lines are full of people who are claimed by Christ. The homeless and the shoppers are all citizens of God’s kingdom, rescued from the darkness by Christ.

As our days grow steadily darker, and less of the day is visible, we celebrate the Reign of Christ at the end of the Christian Calendar. Advent begins next week. It’s a season of waiting, of longing, of preparing. Advent is a time when we look for the invisible, preparing for the easily overlooked birth of a peasant child whom we celebrate at Christmas. The invisible God made flesh, visible at last for those who know to look. Advent is a time of waiting for the invisible to become visible. The Christian calendar begins in Advent because we need to know that we start with waiting.

This week shows us what we are waiting for. The reign of Christ, who is heir among all creation, who’s reign is defined not by a visible sign that reads “This is the king of the Jews,” but by the invisible redemption that is already begun.

The things we celebrate, and the things we hide are all subject to the lordship of Christ. We can hide them from each other, because some of them cause friction within the community of faith. We cannot, however, hide them from God. The parts of ourselves we would show to the whole world belong to God, the parts of our society we would make visible to all who look also belong to God. But in those moments when we are ashamed, either of part of ourselves or on behalf of our whole community, God claims those as well. The Reign of Christ is not about discarding the bad and uplifting the good, it’s about the reality that all of creation, both in the heavens and on the earth,

the things that are visible and invisible, Whether they are thrones or powers, or rulers or authorities, all things were created through Christ and for Christ.

And Christ who reigns loves us.

Living the Apocalypse

Living the Apocalypse from Joseph Taber on Vimeo.

Luke 21:5-19

5Some people were talking about the temple, how it was decorated with beautiful stones and ornaments dedicated to God. Jesus said, 6“As for the things you are admiring, the time is coming when not even one stone will be left upon another. All will be demolished.”

7They asked him, “Teacher, when will these things happen? What sign will show that these things are about to happen?”

8Jesus said, “Watch out that you aren’t deceived. Many will come in my name, saying, ‘I’m the one!’ and ‘It’s time!’ Don’t follow them. 9When you hear of wars and rebellions, don’t be alarmed. These things must happen first, but the end won’t happen immediately.”

10Then Jesus said to them, “Nations and kingdoms will fight against each other. 11‘‘There will be great earthquakes and wide-scale food shortages and epidemics. There will also be terrifying sights and great signs in the sky. 12But before all this occurs, they will take you into custody and harass you because of your faith. They will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. 13This will provide you with an opportunity to testify.14Make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance. 15I’ll give you words and wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to counter or contradict. 16You will be betrayed by your parents, brothers and sisters, relatives, and friends. They will execute some of you. 17Everyone will hate you because of my name. 18Still, not a hair on your heads will be lost. 19By holding fast, you will gain your lives.

This is the Word of the Lord

Thanks be to God

A couple of years ago, I visited a couple of Cathedrals. Leah and I were blessed with the opportunity to travel to Ireland on a combined trip with the English and History departments at Presbyterian College. We flew into Dublin, which is home to both Christ’s Church and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

They date back to an era when communities banded together to erect massive monuments to the glory of God, stone testaments to the bedrock of their faith, and filled them with finely carved statues, ornate stained glass, and beautifully crafted furnishings. I took pictures of altars, pulpits, baptismal fonts, and even some of the doors just to show my woodworker friends what our spiritual ancestors had built out of faith in God. I am still awestruck at the memory of how it was decorated with beautiful stones and ornaments dedicated to God.

But the thing is, those cathedrals, in spite of their beauty and the faithfulness out of which they were constructed, are not thriving communities of faith. Christ’s Church in downtown Dublin has enough room for almost a thousand people, and finds itself an echoing expanse to the sixteen or so worshippers it greets each service. “Jesus said, ‘As for the things you are admiring, the time is coming when not even one stone will be left upon another. All will be demolished.’”

It’s not a matter of the glory of the temple. It’s the glory of God that gives our worship, and indeed our lives, its meaning. But the Jerusalem temple, the European cathedrals, even our own Protestant denominations, are what we have used to order our worship for so many centuries. The craftsmanship evident in those structures are a testament to the way God has been active in our history, and to the devotion of the great cloud of witnesses that have gone before us. It is an intimidating prospect to think that “the time is coming when not even one stone will be left upon another.” We are very anxious when our Lord tells us that “All will be demolished.” After all, isn’t the kingdom of God established for all time?

So we ask, alongside the disciples, “Teacher, when will these things happen? What sign will show that these things are about to happen?” How long should we participate in these systems of worship if they’ve got an expiration date anyway? Doesn’t it make sense to go ahead and cut bait if these things are all temporary? Maybe invest in whatever’s coming next? When will we know that it’s no longer worth it to worship in the place and manner of our ancestors?

Jesus responds, but I don’t think he answers the question we are asking out loud. I think he answers the question behind the ones the disciples voice. Their question is about a timetable, when is the end? What will show us that the Apocalypse is about to happen? How can we prepare our defenses so that we can outlast all the outsiders who don’t know you? Their questions are all about the end of the only world they think they’ve known. Apocalypse, to the people who ask these questions, is about the dread of the end of the world as we know it. People who ask these questions, people like us, and often we ourselves, are searching for a way to be in control.

But we are not. God is.

Because the glory of the temple doesn’t matter. The glory of God, who’s presence is with us even after the fall of the temple, is the important thing. Because no matter how many times we’ve used it the other way, apocalypse doesn’t mean a violent end, it means a revelation of God. Living the apocalypse means that God is sharing something of his identity with us.

So Jesus warns us against the anxiety over the end of how we understand the world.  When will the God I worship and serve pay me back and reward me for being a good person? Jesus sees through the pretense of asking for a sign immediately, and lovingly brushes past the question the disciples ask out loud and goes to the fear that motivated them to ask it. He warns them that others will come who will play on those fears, who will claim that God will do what we want, that God’s purpose is to prevent human suffering. Preaching an easy God that leads us to an easy life. 

But we don’t worship an easy god, we worship a Great God.

An easy god would fix all our problems and never expect us to change our hearts and minds. An easy god would keep a naughty and a nice list of those to bless and those to punish. An easy god would be content to let us figure things out on our own until things got out of hand, and then choose whether or not to be involved. An easy god would focus on making sure that god’s chosen people, which since this is our easy god, means us, would want for nothing and be carried along by rainbows and unicorns.

But we don’t worship an easy god, we worship a Great God.

So Jesus paints a rather discouraging picture of the future of his followers. We can easily identify with the global suffering Jesus names: wars, rebellions, nations and kingdoms fighting, earthquakes, food shortages, epidemics, terrifying sights, and great signs in the sky. Catch the right night on the evening news, and you can check off the whole list in half an hour. It’s not a big jump to say that since all these things are happening, we must be living in the end times.

But I’d imagine those are nothing new. The disciples saw and heard these same things even before Christ came into their lives. Jesus is not just describing the world as it will be, he’s describing the world as it is.

He does this because the comfort of the person and work of Jesus Christ is not in his ability to make all that is bad and ugly go away, it’s in the assurance that when we go through the bad and the ugly, we do not do so alone. The wonder of the resurrection is in the promise that even though the temple may be demolished, and the cathedrals may crumble, and our denominations may die, God’s presence is still among us, reforming us always to be closer approximations of the image in which we have each been created. The revelation of God’s self to us is not one that prevents the crucifixion, but one who goes to it willingly, with a loving power that cannot even be contained by death.

But until such a time as the reign of Christ comes to its full expression, when God’s promise to Isaiah that no one will ever hear the sound of weeping or crying again is carried out, we must continue to have faith in the Great God who creates, redeems, and sustains us, rather than settling for the easy one that we create for ourselves.

Because, to paraphrase Jesus, there’s a whole river of hurt headed our way, not because that is God’s intent, but because the kingdom of God is breaking through the darkness. But the violence of that breakthrough is not cause for fear, but for testimony to the heavenly light that ushers in the morning.

“But before all this occurs, they will take you into custody, and harass you because of your faith. They will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will provide you with an opportunity to testify. Make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance. I’ll give you words and wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to counter or contradict”

That’s one of those passages in scripture that reminds me that being a Christian is hard, following Jesus’s teachings is perhaps beyond any of us alone. This one is difficult for me because I’ve never had my faith questioned in an adversarial way. I’d imagine very few of us have been hauled into court because of our faith. But moreover, I have the blessing of being good at words. And this passage challenges me to set that talent aside and not rely on any clever turn of phrase. 

“Make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance. I’ll give you words and wisdom.” If we are striving to defend ourselves, we are still holding on to our own control. We are preparing ourselves out of our own strengths, and it is all to easy to forget to include God’s strengths in those plans. God’s love is always reliable, God’s involvement in our lives is always reliable. God acting according to our plans...Not so much.

So rather than trying to grasp on to our own words and wisdom, which is limited by our human scope, Jesus urges us to trust not our own defenses, but in God’s ability to make himself known through us. Have faith that Christ will speak through me? It’s so much easier to decorate my language with beautiful stones and ornaments dedicated to God, to shape my words into a temple.

But our faith is not a matter of the glory of the temple, and we don’t worship an easy god. We center our faith around the glory of a Great God, who is even now breaching the divide between us. God’s glory shines through us because God has chosen us to live the revelation of the LORD.

“These things must happen first, but the end won’t happen immediately.”

Our job, as Christians, is to testify to how God is actively involved in the world. Our task is to respond to a frightening future with the faith that God holds us in her hands like a mother who will not forsake her nursing child.

Because what if these are not failures of God to protect us from harm, but opportunities for us to prepare each other and the whole of creation for what living in the kingdom of heaven is like. We must take our actions into a world ruled by fear and demonstrate the liberation of a faith in Christ Jesus. Because we have seen the resurrection, we have seen glimpses the kingdom of God, we have lived the promise of a new creation, and we know that the fears of the world, though real, do not have the final word.

Being hated is not the final word, being executed is not the final word. Neither are betrayal, or contradiction, or arrests and harassment. Epidemics, food shortages, and earthquakes are not the final word. Nations and kingdoms fighting are not the final word, and neither are wars and rebellions.

The final word is the peacemaker who stands in the middle and refuses to let force rule the day. It’s the person who has enough food sharing it with the one who does not. It’s the political prisoner who will not lie to save herself from persecution. The final word is not of argument against an opponent, but love for one’s enemies. The final word is forgiveness in a family torn apart. The final word is “Still, not a hair on your heads will be lost. By holding fast, you will gain your lives.”

The final word is Grace.

Because when we live the apocalypse that Jesus describes in this passage, we are not living the end, we are living the revelation of who God has shown us he is.

Continue

Continue from Joseph Taber on Vimeo.

Haggai 2:1-9
In the second year of King Darius, in the seventh month, on the twenty-first day of the month, the word of the Lord came by the prophet Haggai, saying: 2Speak now to Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, governor of Judah, and to Joshua son of Jehozadak, the high priest, and to the remnant of the people, and say,
3Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory?
How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?
4Yet now take courage, O Zerubbabel, says the Lord;
take courage, O Joshua, son of Jehozadak, the high priest;
take courage, all you people of the land, says the Lord;
work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts,
 5according to the promise that I made you when you came out of Egypt.
My spirit abides among you; do not fear.
6For thus says the Lord of hosts:
Once again, in a little while,
I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land;
7and I will shake all the nations,
so that the treasure of all nations shall come,
and I will fill this house with splendor,
says the Lord of hosts.
8The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, says the Lord of hosts.
9The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former,
says the Lord of hosts;
and in this place I will give prosperity,
says the Lord of hosts.

Luke:20:27-38
27Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him 28and asked him a question, “Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. 29Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; 30then the second 31and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. 32Finally the woman also died. 33In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.” 34Jesus said to them, “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; 35but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. 36Indeed they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. 37And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. 38Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

This is the Word of the Lord
Thanks be to God

Over the last several years, I've noticed something peculiar about American culture. We are totally youth obsessed. We spend untold amounts of time and money to avoid the reality of our own aging. Maybe it’s because we remember the past more fondly than we read the present. Maybe we look towards the former glory of our houses because we have become discouraged with the work required to maintain them, to rebuild time after time.

I think that's because, at some level, we know that we have a shelf life. We are limited both in our ability and in our time. Our limits terrify us, the death and loss we experience during our lives are so far beyond even the illusion of our control that we reach into the illusion of eternal youth to avoid dealing with the most terrifying events in our lives. We are consistently taught, as American Christians, that grief and fear are “bad” emotions, and should be treated as though something is broken in our minds.

But the human condition is a frightening one, throughout our lives, we have to deal with loss, with grief, with pain, much of the time through no fault of our own. In my work at the hospital, even the most gifted doctors much eventually face that everything they do is just a stall tactic. Avoidance of these frightening realities may be easier than dealing with them, but pretending they don’t exist doesn’t solve them, and I’m not convinced it actually makes it more bearable.

I think that when we run as hard as we do from the things that frighten us, it makes us think that we have to bear them alone when they do finally catch up to us. When we can no longer avoid the grief over the loss of a dear friend or relative, we feel like we cannot reach out to anyone else because no one else is grieving in the ways we are. By avoiding them, we are allowing them to fester, merely so that we can keep up the cultural illusion that we are not susceptible to those dark emotions.

Death is a reality, and an eventuality, for us all. And that is a terrifying prospect, so much so that we go to great lengths to avoid even the appearance of approaching that end. Searching for a way to increase our reach into the future, straining for something beyond the scope of our life on this planet. We search for eternal youth, for a measure of immortality, the idea that our deaths are only in part.

The Christian claim is not one of immortality, it is of resurrection. Because we will all face the trauma of loss and death. If we trust a continuity based on our own abilities, we will find ourselves paralyzed in the face of the limits of our imagination.

The prophet Haggai finds himself in that position. He is among the Jews who return to the promised land after what's called the Babylonian captivity. It's one of the pivotal moments in scripture, for before this time the understanding of God centered around the protection of the law, the covenant, and above all the holy city of Jerusalem which housed the temple. God was one who preserved the life of his people.

But the temple has been destroyed, the people of the land have been carried off to a foreign country, away from their ancestral inheritance. Though some of the people have survived, and have been allowed to return home, they have lived through a trauma so severe that American culture has no common frame of reference. Everything they understood about reality, about their identity, about their God, is dead.

But the covenant is not one of immortality, but of resurrection. God speaks to their spiritual death:
"Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory?
How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing?"

The temple-centered religious practices are dead. But God is not. Though lives have been lost, though faith has been lost, the God of their covenant is working on their resurrection, and encourages them to rebuild, not because they are invulnerable to another conquest, but because not even death can separate us from the love of God. It is not the glory of the temple that matters, it is the glory of God. Though the temple may be lost, the presence of the LORD is still among us. So God tells us to not be paralyzed by our fear that even the greatest of our works will fade in time.

"Take courage, all you people of the land, says the Lord;
Work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts."
It is easy to become discouraged when they look around and see the limitation of their humanity, and the fruits it has borne for them. There is much to fear, Haggai's congregation do not have a King of the line of David on the throne, they have a governor appointed by their captors. They have a high priest, but no place for him to carry out his duties. The work of their hands has been laid waste with fire and sword at the hands of the Babylonian army. Their exile has been real, so have the deaths that they have witnessed on their journey.

Just so our own journeys take to places we would not choose to go. Sometimes they take us to a sports field, where we begin to realize that our bodies can no longer do what we ask of them. Sometimes they take us to a rite of passage and we are confronted with the vision that the one who we are so accustomed to seeing as a child has become an adult, and our relationship has irrevocably changed. Sometimes they take us to the edge of a hospital bed, where we hear the doctor say words that we cannot accept, news of finality, of saying goodbye instead of new greetings.

The theoretical Widow in our gospel passage has found that grief time and time again, having buried seven husbands. But it’s not her grief that concerns the Sadducees in our gospel passage this morning. These learned men, wealthy and powerful, pose the question as a trap, to get Jesus to admit that the resurrection isn’t logical.

Well they’re right, it’s not.

Where’s the logic in the grief of a seven-fold widow being transformed to songs of praise? Where’s the logic in a barren mother being called a child of the resurrection? Where’s the logic in a conquered people reinvesting in a temple to a God who hadn’t prevented disaster?

Where’s the logic in a God who refuses to give up on us when we so consistently abandon God? Where’s the logic in an all-powerful God who goes to death, even death on a cross?

The resurrection is not about logic, it’s about the greatness of God, who can triumph even over the fact of death.

God’s covenant is not one of immortality, it’s one of resurrection. Where there once was only death, now there is life, and life abundant. For God is not of the dead, but of the living. John Donne wrote that “All [humanity] is of one author and one volume, and when one [person] dies, a chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated.” And as we wait for our own translation, we will lose access to friends and family who are taken by death before us. That loss is real, and deserves to be mourned.

We confess that Christ was crucified, died, and was buried. But through the loving power of our God, death was not the end of his story, and it’s not the end of ours. Because we are witnesses to resurrection: the creation of life where there was only death. That resurrected life will be one of greater glory than we can now imagine.

The Sadducees assumed that in the resurrection, everything would be back to the life they understood, the life that had enriched them, that they understood and could work within, only with everybody alive again.

But the God who writes and rewrites the laws of nature does not just raised us from the dead, we are reformed in this resurrection. Not just humanity either, all of creation is redeemed through the death and resurrection of Christ, that is the new form of humanity. “For thus says the Lord of hosts: Once again, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; ...The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts.”

The resurrected life is one where we dine with our Lord, no longer held back by our fears and grief, but loved through them. Our fears are redeemed to joy, our grief to gratitude, our despair to faith. Because the power of the God of resurrection makes it so.

Because the God who loves us enough to become a human, with all of our limits, like us in every respect except sin, will let neither sin nor death separate us from God. The God whose sovereignty speaks into being things which do not exist declares us to be children of the resurrection.

So the widow no longer needs to be defined by her ability to bear children and continue the family line. The sinner no longer needs to be cast out for his uncleanness. The wealthy businessman no longer needs to focus on acquiring enough stuff to pass on his legacy. The temple no longer needs to compare itself to a faded memory of its own glory. The church elder no longer needs to hold up the church on his own, fearing that if he steps away that no one will fill the void.

Now they are all called children of the resurrection, worshipping God in spirit and in truth, not in a temple or church.

“So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by word of mouth or by our letter.” Because ours is a tradition not of immortality, but of resurrection. Our tradition says that death may be more powerful than we are, but our God is more powerful than death by far. We will grieve those we have lost, and we will grieve for ourselves when we lose parts of ourselves. When our time comes, others will grieve for us as well.

But that grief is not the end of our story, because God’s story continues forever, and God’s love for us is such that he wants us to be a continual part of that story. A story of creation, resurrection, and everlasting praise.

Keeping Their Distance

Keeping Their Distance from Joseph Taber on Vimeo.

Our gospel lesson this morning is from the seventeenth chapter of Luke. By the seventeenth chapter, we’ve already heard the story of the Prodigal Son. We’ve already seen Jesus heal on the sabbath. By the seventeenth chapter, we’ve already learned the Lord’s prayer. We’ve already hear the story of the Good Samaritan. By the seventeenth chapter, Christ’s followers have already been sent out to proclaim the good news of God and returned to him. Twice. By the seventeenth chapter, we’ve already been fed alongside a crowd of five-thousand. We’ve already seen the dead raised and the seas calmed.

By the seventeenth chapter, we can probably assume that word has gotten around about Jesus’s ability to work miracles, to heal and to feed God’s people. But knowing that healing is in Jesus’s power, they still keep their distance, as if they are shielding themselves from the rejection they have already faced so many times from so many other people who should have answered their plea to “Show us mercy!”

Most folks have heard that leprosy is the Biblical description for any of many skin diseases, not necessarily just for the chronic bacterial infection we know it as today. Those who suffered from whatever condition had been identified as leprosy were ostracized, kicked out of the social order for the duration of their disease. Their uncleanness was seen as a punishment for some sin for which they had not atoned.

This kind of social separation a way of keeping the community pure, of keeping those who retained their righteousness from being pulled off-course by those who sinned and did not make restoration for it. Jewish Law and custom provided ways for those who were cast out in this way to be reinstated to the community, they had to prove that their disease was gone to a priest, who would then declare them ready to rejoin their congregation. But until that time, they were shunned.

It is no surprise, then, that people would hide their skin conditions as long as they were able, not wanting to be seen as the abnormal sinner, worthy of rejection by their community and their God.

The signs of their need for the LORD are written on their skin, and yet the shy away from one who they know can heal them, because they’ve been shown over and over again that they are only worthy of rejection.

I wonder how much of their fear we can see in ourselves.

Their brokenness is clearly visible, and oftentimes ours is not. Instead of a skin affliction, it’s guilt, or fear, or anger. Maybe it’s just the feeling that we’re only going through the motions of our lives and it doesn’t have any meaning. I think for many people, it’s a fear that people will see that we’re only faking our way through things, and we’re not actually as calm or in control as we seem, we just hope no one notices that we have no idea how to handle a situation.

My dad is a big Simon and Garfunkle fan. We were listening to one of their albums on Dad’s record player one night, and the song “I am a Rock” came on. It sang of a person who isolated themselves because they had been hurt before, refusing the love of others because, in one verse, “If I never loved I never would have cried.” As the song came to and end, Dad held up a hand to emphasize the closing lyrics, “I am a Rock/I am an island./ And a Rock feels no pain./And an Island never cries.” As the music faded, he voiced the implied question, “So why am I crying?”

We tell ourselves that we are the rock, the island, that we are unaffected by what’s going on around us because it protects us from being hurt.

So we keep our distance, because if people could see that our wounds are not skin deep, but have infected the core of our being, surely they would reject as thoroughly as the lepers who find themselves keeping their distance outside a town on the border of Galilee. So we find ways to protect ourselves from the truth of our brokenness, to avoid our weakness.

We spend so long covering up our leprosy that we sometimes begin to believe it’s not there. Or we tell ourselves it’s just a small thing that will resolve itself before too long. Nothing to worry about.

That’s where we find the Exiled people to whom Jeremiah is writing.

Jeremiah was appointed prophet during a disastrous time for the people of Judah. During his ministry, the Babylonian Empire conquers Judah and carries its people away from the Promised Land. What’s worse, they destroy the temple. For the ancient Judeans, everything they have believed about God is under attack, their home is destroyed and they are ripped away from the promise of God. Reality doesn’t make sense anymore, and a number of false prophets try to console the people by saying that they’ll soon return and that everything will be ok again soon.

But the Babylonian Captivity lasts for seventy years. It isn’t over quickly, and in order to survive and remain in relationship with God, the people need to deal with what’s really going on in their world, even though it is a painful process, it is a necessary one.

Jeremiah’s letter to those who have been carried off to Babylon requires the people to face their brokenness on a national level. He tells them again and again that they cannot pretend it will all be over soon, but to rebuild their communities and lives again in the new place to which they have been taken. He tells them to act in faith when everything around them is screaming to react out of fear and self-protection.

The Captives in Babylon have seen in their own lives that nothing about their reality was reliable, not their monarchy, not their temple worship, not even their homes. In a disaster like this one, their identity is totally broken, and the world doesn’t make sense anymore. If any population would have an excuse to withdraw into themselves and not to trust or rely on anyone, it is those who lived through this nation-spanning trauma.

Yet Jeremiah coaxes them out of their withdrawal, commands them to have faith that they have a future again. He tells them to build houses and settle down, To get married and have children, and to tell those children to get married and have children of their own. He even tells them to pray for the cities of those who have carried them into exile. Because their future depends on its welfare.

But they have a future. Though this terrible thing has happened, and more traumas may be in the future, God promises a future. God’s redemptive arm is working even through the violence and suffering of their reality, sending a prophet to heal their community identity, to make sure that they know that although life is not always good, God is.

I recently hear a story from a friend of mine who works in a hospital about a family who had received bad news about a patient, and was reacting angrily. My friend, who was doing an internship with the Chaplain’s office, has a background in the military, three black belts, and ran his own bouncing service for a while before going into ministry. So when one of these family members got into his face, everything in his background screamed at him to hit first, before the guy could hurt him. Had he done so, he would have forever been mythologized as the Chaplain who punched someone.

But he didn’t. He chose to remain vulnerable. An angry, grieving, family member was looking for someone at whom to be angry, and my friend chose to neither hit first nor run away. He had the faith to be vulnerable, as Jeremiah did. To remain open to God’s action in their lives. The people have been so traumatized that they do not even know what they need, but God is there, speaking to and through Jeremiah, because even when we don’t know it, we need the LORD.

I’ve met dozens of people who have claimed to not be in some way wounded by their lives. I’ve met many people who have said that they have been able to handle everything without anyone’s help. I’ve met many people who assert that they are strong enough to build their lives by themselves.

But I have never met anyone for whom that was true. Some folks are really good at hiding their wounds, at masking their darkness, at covering their shame. But everybody has been exiled in some way. Everybody is a leper who fears being cast out. We work so hard to be the rugged individuals of the American Dream, those who faced the world on their own and triumphed on their own strength. But try as we might, we are not those people.

But I don’t think we need to be. I think we need to be the kind of people who can remember that we need each other, and that more importantly, we need God. It’s been said that “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I hate that phrase. I think it’s another way to pretend we are strong, and to avoid dealing with the real pain in our lives. What doesn’t kill you leaves unfeeling scar tissue. God makes you stronger.

When Jesus saw the lepers, he said “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” As they left, they were cleansed. There’s no bargain, no demand to be paid back. God sees people who are wounded, who are unclean, and heals them without question. They knew their condition, and cried out to Jesus for help. I don’t think they were especially sinful, or unusually broken, I think their particular brand of exile was just easier to see than those of the community members who had cast them out. Perhaps we will be able to recognize, as the lepers did, that we cannot be who God has created us to be on our own. Perhaps we should trade our “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” for “God’s strength is perfected in weakness.” Perhaps we should abandon the fantasy of the self-made man for the hope of the God-centered community.

Then maybe when the LORD comes by we can approach him, confess our sickness, and be healed. Then, without having to run off and prove ourselves, we can join the Samaritan, who was already an outsider, in grateful praise of a God who will be with us even though we cannot be worthy of that presence and love on our own.

That’s the kind of God we have, one who knows our brokenness and whose isn’t stopped by it. Even though that means that we take God’s love to the cross, God will not  exile us for our spiritual leprosy any longer, but when we try to keep our distance, God pursues us to the cross, to the grave, and to resurrection to show that God’s loving desire to be with us is stronger than what separates us.