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Posts from the ‘Flesh’ Category

In Flesh and Blood

Proper 15B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

To begin to explain communion the gospel of John points to the cross. Jesus said, “The bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (John 6:51b) Jesus did indeed give his pound of flesh on the cross. He will hand over his flesh and blood to the full power and ingenuity of the Roman Empire to inflict pain and to sow fear. On the cross, Jesus walked straight into the death-dealing jaws of worldly power, to reveal the greater life-giving power of grace

On the cross, once-and-for-all, Jesus proved God’s love cannot be broken despite how awful you are or whatever evil we have committed. Once-and-for-all Jesus revealed that glory is ours and God is beside us when we give our own flesh and blood for the sake of the suffering. Once-and-for-all Jesus showed us where we belong. We dwell in unity with God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit today and forever. Therefore, following Jesus’ example, we here highly dedicate our flesh and blood in solidarity with victims of collective violence wherever and whenever they exist. For the first three centuries, before Constantine, the church more easily identified with the oppressed having sometimes been the victim of the Empire’s collective violence itself.

This is the life of which we partake. This is the true food we consume at the Table to nourish and to give soul to our poor flesh and blood. The cross is Jesus’ answer to the question of what kind of life the bread and wine incarnate in us. The cross is a sign of the kind of life the waters of baptism even now are working to reveal.  The cross is a stark sign of incarnation. Somehow, the Christian gift and message of the incarnation sounds sweeter and less threatening in Advent in Mary’s Magnificat or in barren Elizabeth’s joy in conceiving. But the message is the same. “If in your heart you make a manger for his birth, then God will once again become a child on earth.” (Ana Hernandez)

After the resurrection, Jesus’ words at the end of John, chapter 6, will sound different and more intelligible to the disciples too. But for now, they are scandalous.

In Hebrew culture “an eater of flesh” is another name for the devil. The drinking of blood is forbidden by God’s law. Even today keeping kosher means there’s no blood in your food.  On top of all this, Jesus uses a word for eating that’s especially crude.  It was used to describe the way animals eat. Jesus’ phrase ‘eat my flesh’ translated literally sounds like a command to loudly chew or to gnaw his flesh –disgusting!

It sounded like blasphemy. It sounded like idolatry. Worse, it sounded like cannibalism.  Upon hearing Jesus’ words, a dispute broke out among his followers (John 6:52).  Scripture implies it was a serious conflict, perhaps even physical. The argument was intense and bitter.

Up to now, great crowds of people had followed Jesus’ every move.  They ran ahead to arrive at his destination before he could. But now they said, “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (vs. 60) …and because of this many who were following him, turned back and no longer went about with him’ (vs. 66) because of the flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood—because of the flesh and blood—people rejected Jesus. Indeed, the shock and scandal of the incarnation continued to be a difficult teaching for Christians throughout the history of the church. In our theology, ecclesiology, and daily practice of faith we turn and twist it to avoid confronting its full meaning.

When we partake of one flesh, let’s face it, there are always going to be some people we want to exclude. Flesh and blood are our family-right?  Flesh and blood are the people who look like us, who come from the same place, who share the same history.  Your flesh and blood are the people you don’t have to explain yourself to. They’re the ones to whom we’re especially devoted, obliged to be loyal, who call on us when times are tough, and with whom we share our wealth in life and in death.  Wrong. In Christ all people of every nation are included in God’s family—even strangers—worse, even enemies!  Jesus’ friends and family from his hometown of Nazareth were so shocked and scandalized when they heard Jesus’ inclusive message they moved as one to throw him over a cliff.

It’s been the same ever since. Christians with all their rules and heavy expectations deny access to the kingdom train at the front door, while Jesus lets everyone in at the back door. If we followed Jesus way of the cross, there wouldn’t be a difference.  Every congregation would be united and as diverse as are all the children of humanity.

It doesn’t stop there. Discomfort with strangers is just the beginning. The shock and scandal of the incarnation calls upon us do something, that for most of us, is even more difficult—to love our own fleshy, bloody, messy bodies. The gospel of Christ calls upon us to turn and embrace what we so fiercely reject in ourselves—namely our mortality, our limitations, our flaws, our vulnerabilities, our shame, and shortcomings.  This is the plain meaning of the incarnation: the fullness of God is pleased to dwell in, with, and under us and everything that surrounds us.  The material world is infused with Spirit.

Through its history, the church has side-stepped the radical inclusion of the incarnation to make things easier and to make the Christian life less threatening.  Every time we slice a little bit of our humanity off from the blessing of incarnation we have hell to pay for it. We have said, yes, God is fully present –but only among the male gender, or especially in the ordained, or only among baptized Christians, or most tragically, only among those the celibate. The unholy interlocking triangle of gender, celibacy, and ordination contributes to a culture of secrecy and sexual abuse. Pain and tragedy results when we call anyone or anything unclean that God has made good. (Acts 10:15)

The depth of our sinfulness obscures and hides the gift of incarnation in us. We are wise to be humble, to listen, to pray, and discern together how to walk the way the cross. The cross must not become a cheap and easy way to crucify or to judge others but used for that which Jesus’ intends it –as the means of transforming our own flesh and blood to better reflect the divine image endowed and incarnate in us by our creator.

We abide together, one flesh, one blood, one body. The verb translated in our gospel, ‘to abide’ occurs 40 times in John and 29 times in John’s letters.  It can mean to remain, stay, live, dwell, last, endure, or continue.   As a noun, it means a dwelling place, room, or home.  Jesus’ shocking, off-putting words are an invitation to enter into wisdom. Enter into the life of the Trinity. In this new understanding of our body and our life—of where and to whom we belong—we begin to act differently.  We make different choices.  We value different things.  Our mission at Immanuel is rooted in this.  Together, our vision and our prayer is to become a living sanctuary of hope and grace.

Stil Wondering

Easter 2B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

At times, like today, the lectionary can be confusing.  We’ve jumped into the middle of a longer story. You and I are two weeks from Easter Sunday, but in the gospel, it’s only a few hours since the resurrection. Let’s review.

The women discovered the empty tomb, saw two angels, and become the first to hear the good news: Alleluia! Christ is risen (Response).  These faithful women are apostles to the apostles.  Peter ran to check it out for himself, but he and the small band of Jesus-followers dismissed their story as an idle tale.

Later, the risen Christ accompanied two former followers as they head home from Jerusalem despite hearing the good news. In their grief, sense of failure, and fear of violent reprisal, the Jesus comes to walk beside them. They don’t recognize him, and instead of recrimination, he opens their minds to understand the scriptures on the road to Emmaus.  These intimate friends finally recognized him as he broke bread with them at suppertime.

Just as suddenly as they realized it was Jesus, he disappeared.  Immediately they hurry back to Jerusalem, and discovered that day Jesus also appeared to Peter, who had convinced them all that Jesus was indeed alive!

It’s at this very moment that we join today’s gospel. All the disciples are noisily and excitedly still talking about these things when Jesus startles and terrifies them. He says, “Sorry, did I scare you? Peace be with you,” and showed them his wounds, invited them to touch him, then went rummaging for food, found a piece of broiled fish and ate it.

In recounting the details of their packed and busy day our gospel records this incredible line. In their joy, the disciples were “disbelieving and still wondering.”

It is striking to me that centuries later, how much we’re like those first disciples, gathered here today, still wondering about the things we’ve heard, and wrestling with the fundamental question, as Martin Luther put it, “What does this mean?”

I wonder what does it mean for us living in a world of climate change, gun violence, chemical weapons, and the threat of nuclear war that Jesus offer them his peace? I wonder how it makes a difference Jesus showed them his wounds? Or that after three days, descending to the dead, and rising again that Jesus was hungry? Or that he required the disciples’ hospitality?

In March of 2009 sociologist and theologian, Nancy Eiesland died. She was just 44.  At 13, she had had 11 operations for the congenital bone defect in her hips. She lived with pain her whole life. In her 1994 book, The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability, Nancy told us what she thought it means for all of us that Jesus came back to life with his body visibly broken. She wrote, “The foundation of Christian theology is the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Yet seldom is the resurrected Christ recognized as a deity whose hands, feet, and side bear the marks of profound physical impairment.”  “In presenting his impaired body to his startled friends,” she continues, “the resurrected Jesus is revealed as the disabled God.”  His injuries remain an essential part of his resurrected identity, neither a divine punishment nor an opportunity for further healing.

“What would it be like for us to follow in the footsteps of a disabled God?  What would it be like to lead with our scars, instead of enslaving ourselves to society’s expectations of piety and prettiness?  Jesus proved that he was alive and approachable by risking real engagement.  Real presence.  As in: “Here is how you can recognize me.  By my hands and my feet.  See?  I have scars.  I have baggage.  I have history.  I am alive to pain, just as you are.  I am not immune; I am real.”” (Debie Thomas, Scarred and Hungry, Journey with Jesus, April 8, 2018)

As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Only a suffering God can help.”Supposedly a prison guard found the line scribbled on a piece of paper and smuggled it out of Bonhoeffer’s cell shortly before his death.

Jesus invites us to follow his way of the cross through the testimony of his wounds. He showed them his scars. “The paradox of resurrection is that Jesus’s scarred body comforted his disciples.  His wounded hands and feet pulled them out of disbelief and into radical, life-altering faith.” (Debie Thomas) Lo, here is a great mystery.  As theologian James Alison puts it, Jesus didn’t simply erase death, he carried death’s “shell” on his living body, rendering his scars a trophy — a sign of life’s ultimate and lasting victory.  “What type of life is it,” Alison asks in awe, “that is capable not of canceling death out, which would be to stay on the same level as it, but to include it, making a trophy of it, allowing it to be something that can be shown to others in order to diminish their fears?”

In their joy, the very first Christians still wondered just as we do. They were journeying, questioning, fearing, but also feeding and being fed, listening for and receiving God’s call, and, of course, like any good church community, doing Bible study.

There were about 120 Christians crowded around Jesus that first day—wide-eyed, their mouths open.  Today’s gospel means our 21stcentury experience of the resurrection is not second-rate.  We too have encountered the wounded and risen Christ while gathered at his table, in the living waters of baptism, and in his ever-present word proclaimed by brothers and sisters.  We are witnesses to these things.

God reversed the course of human history.  Because God in Christ Jesus, endured all the violence and rejection that can be wrought from human hands and did not rejected us, we are a community fueled by joy. Because the resurrected Christ was wounded and hungry we are a community grounded in loving and serving human bodies, without denying the reality of suffering, without embarrassment, without apologizing for our mortality, yet also no longer afraid to live life to its fullest. It is a joy that challenges us to wonder, to question, and playfully explore.  How shall we extend to this generation the spirit of God’s blessing upon all people and upon all life?

God Sticks It Out With Us

Passion Sunday B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

“And a little child shall lead them” (Isaiah 11:6).  If Christmastime is the festival of the incarnation, when God took on flesh to dwell with us; then Passiontide is the feast of the persistence of that incarnation despite the horror of the cross. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” but not so you could kill him. (John 3:16).  The cross is one of the most ingenious and cruel inventions in human history, designed to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize its victims to the utmost. Yet through the power of resurrection God has transformed the cross with the stubborn persistence of grace into a sign of life’s way shown to us by our Lord Jesus Christ that leads into abundance and joy for any who with the eyes of faith have the will to follow him.  God will not abandon you even though you may be and do your worst.

Yesterday’s historic events are the perfect preamble to Passiontide.  (No, I’m not talking about the miraculous run of the Loyola Ramblers who advanced to the Final Four.) I’m talking about the courageous and prophetic youth who took the stage in Washington D.C., before an international audience, in the March for Our Lives.  As hundreds of thousands gathered in rallies across the country the young people of Marjorie Stoneman High School in Parkland, Florida took the whole nation to church. Big money manipulation of our politics and blindness to the depth and reality of racism is killing us.  The devastating consequences of continuing to do nothing can be counted in human lives.

We can begin the work of Passiontide with taking the log out of our own eye—by working to rid Christianity and our theology of all violence.  We must honestly reckon with the many and pernicious ways our religion has been weaponized against women, or to legitimate violence against Native Americans, Jews, Muslims, and outsiders.  Walking in the way of the cross will put an end to using religion to prop up self-righteousness, justify xenophobia, or legitimize exploitation of the natural world. We can start with the sober recognition that God didn’t want Jesus to die, we did. God loves us anyway.

Today we followed Jesus with palm branches in our hands and shouts of Hosanna on our lips into the jaws of death.  This week, and through the Three Days, we proclaim, “Death, you will not have the last word.  Death, you will not prevail!”

The Rev. Martin Luther King once wrote, “The Beloved Community is the framework for the future.” The cross and empty tomb proclaim the victory is won but the struggle continues. This is not the end but the beginning of the end. You must know this Holy week is about more than your own personal salvation.  This ground, this day, this week, is made sacred by those who have died to make a better world and by all those who are the victims of senseless violence.  We have been called into the struggle against death and violence by making a living sanctuary.  We must keep enlarging the circle of hope and grace until it includes this whole community, the city of Chicago, and the whole world.  Amen.

We Wish to See Jesus

Lent 5B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

Some Greeks approached Philip and said, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (John 12:21).  These outsiders ask the disciples whether they too might be included in the fellowship with Jesus and with God.  At some point, it’s a question we all ask, not once but probably many times, “Am I included? Do I belong here? Is it possible God wants something to do with me?” We wish to see Jesus.

The church answers this question every Sunday in Word and Sacrament. Each week we approach the church doors needing to hear an answer to this question.  Our wayfaring hearts search to find home again through shared gospel stories, hymns and prayers, ancient rites and rhythms, and in the particular fellowship we find here in each other. We need to see Jesus.

Every Sunday flings wide the door into the divine life with God in Christ Jesus. But one week, in particular, takes us to the heart of the Christian message. Today, we stand on the cusp of Holy Week.  Next Sunday we begin early. This year we step off at 10:15 to parade into the neighborhood with palm branches in our hands following after Jesus heading into Jerusalem. We return here and at the usual time 10:30, we hear again the full story of his betrayal, arrest, crucifixion, and shameful death.  Whenever we recite the Apostles’ Creed we say he “suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead.  On the third day, he rose again…”  For Holy Week, we slow down to walk with Jesus and the disciples in real time for the Three Days.  Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter join the rhythm of our daily lives with the ancient story of Christ Jesus.  We move together with him from death into life by walking the way of his cross.  We do it because we need to see Jesus.

These five Sundays in Lent we have had heard God make five covenants with us.  Five promises that embolden us to confront our illusions, our frailties, and faults so we may turn to God and be healed.  Noah, Abraham, the Ten Commandments, the serpent in the wilderness and today, the prophet Jeremiah, walk us into an encounter with God’s promise to accompany us even in the deepest, most intimate inward struggles of mind and heart.  We borrow God’s courage and hope to confront the realities of life in preparation for the radical new beginning of resurrection and transformation God is preparing for us this Easter.

These promises of God are like water on dry ground, bringing forth life out of death. God’s promises are like a mighty fortress to surround and protect us when life threatens to beat us down in one of its many storms.  God says, ‘See my rainbow and know that I fight, not against you, but with you.’  ‘If you count the stars in the night or the grains of sand beside the sea, they do not exceed the gifts with which I will bless you.’  ‘While you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, look upon me and live. Look upon me and be healed.  Look to me to be forgiven and to learn how to forgive.’  We who long to see Jesus hear God say, I see Jesus in you.  I am with you always. Take up your cross and follow me.

The Lord God has made this new covenant with us –not like the one that we broke.  But this covenant is written within us. We eat and drink it at the Lord’s table.  We bath in it at our baptism.   It is a covenant not written on stone tablets or on paper in a book.  Instead, it is written upon our heart.  ‘I will be your God and you shall be my people’ (Jeremiah 31:33).  I promise.

By his death, Jesus taught us how to live.  St. Francis of Assisi summed up the gospel in this way, “it is in giving that we receive; it is in dying that we are born again.”  It seems counter-intuitive.  But it is the way of things.  Like seed scattered upon the earth, Christ is revealed in us as we dedicate ourselves to loving one another as Christ loved us.

900 years ago, St. Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179) taught through music, art, poetry, medicine, gardening, and reflections on nature to see Jesus in creation. For Hildegard, nature was not merely a scenic backdrop for human activity. Creation is a full participant in human transformation. The outer world is an accurate mirror to guide exploration of our true inner world. The Christian Sacraments ultimately lead us to see that the whole world is a sacrament! It changes the way we see everything when we learn to see Jesus in all things.

Jesus said, “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). This saying of Jesus was so central to his mission and message that it occurs in all four gospels (and twice in Luke).  It is the life-giving way of the cross.

A seed sown in soil does not literally die when germinates; but it does become something other than a seed, as the new plant begins to take form, the husk is burst, and the stored nutrients become part of the growing plant’s body. The seed must cease to be a seed in order to become a plant; ceasing to be one thing in order to bear fruit as a new thing is a kind of death and resurrection, a perishing and re-formation as a new creation in God.

At Immanuel, I see proof of this when I see Christ in you through outreach to our neighbors in beautiful sacred music. I see Christ in you through the invitation to neighborhood children and youth to come and learn, and by extension, through our partnership with the Families Together Cooperative Nursery School.  As we strive together to be a living sanctuary of hope and grace, we who come each week to see Jesus might find it strange that others encounter Christ through us but then this is exactly what Jesus promised.  It is a truth rooted in the nature of all things.

Joined together in the Body of Christ, God’s self-revelation in Jesus is being made real again in our lives.  The husk of our old life is being opened to become nutrients for the growing life of Christ alive and at work in our lives and the world.  Look, if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! (2 Corinthians 5:17)  Thanks be to God.

A Living Sanctuary

Lent 3B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

Jesus spoke to them about the Temple, which meant his message had to do with God herself. The Jerusalem temple was “the house,” or “the place”: the place where Israel’s God promised to put her name, her presence, her glory, the place the One God promised to defend. The place where heaven and earth met, where they were linked, and where they enjoyed a glorious though highly dangerous commerce. Only the High Priest was allowed into the Holy of Holies where the fullness of the presence of God dwelt and then only once a year. It took generations to build, yet Jesus said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days, I will raise it up” (John 2:19).

What Jesus did with an improvised whip of cords made a mess, disrupted business before Passover the busiest time of the year, and must have cost a lot of money.  But what Jesus said upended the religious, political, economic, and cultural foundations of their whole life. Jesus was speaking of the temple of his body (John 2:21).

It must have sounded crazy. Yet the incarnation is fundamental to our faith.  Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God?  (1 Corinthians 6:19) “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. (1 Corinthians 12:12-13)

God incarnate within and among us is the new foundation upon which to securely build our lives among the shifting sands of the world. I can expect Christ to be revealed in my neighbor, in the stranger, in my enemy, and especially among the poor. I can expect God is here whenever two or three are gathered in his name. I can expect to find the fullness of the presence of God within me.  We are a temple not made with hands, a living sanctuary of hope and grace.

In my part of the world, Archbishop Desmond Tutu writes, we have a word for this—ubuntu.  “It is the essence of being human.  We say a person is a person through other persons.  I can’t be human in isolation.  I need you to be all you can be so that I can become me and all that I can be.”  This is what makes forgiveness and reconciliation such an essential life skill, without it our lives become needlessly diminished by conflict and the perpetual cycle of violence.

As people of incarnation we are called to look, to see, to break bread, share wine, and wash feet to enter into the temple of God. How can we learn to see our mortal embodied lives, our frailties, and failings a sacred threshold opening into of the divine life?

In her book, An Altar in the World, Episcopal pastor and author Barbara Brown Taylor writes that once we see that God is prepared to meet us within the sacred space in our body where we live it is not possible to lean into God’s love without simultaneously recognizing that God loves “all bodies everywhere.”  The “bodies of the hungry children and indentured women along with the bodies of sleek athletes and cigar-smoking tycoons.”  “One of the truer things about bodies,” Taylor concludes, “is that it is just about impossible to increase the reverence I show mine without also increasing the reverence I show yours.”  In other words, once I value my own body as God’s temple, as a site of God’s pleasure, delight, and grace, how can I stand by while other bodies suffer exploitation, poverty, discrimination, or abuse

Apparently, Jesus could not.  He interrupted worship for the sake of justice.  He moved from compassion to righteous anger to decisive action, because he would not stand for the violation of sanctuary.  He would not tolerate blocked access to his Father’s house.  He would not stomach any version of unfairness and cruelty towards the most vulnerable and beleaguered people in his society. (Debie Thomas, The Temple of his Body, Journey with Jesus, 2/25/18)

The incarnation of the holy spirit fills us with hope for a better world. St. Augustine wrote that “Hope has two beautiful daughters: Anger, so that what must not be cannot be; and Courage, so that what can be will be.”  In the temple, Jesus teaches us the proper use of our anger.  Anger shows what you really care about.  Anger can bring about change.  Anger re-negotiates boundaries.  Cold anger, emptied of the will to extract vengeance, is powerful and creative rather than merely destructive.

As Disciples of Christ, we must not be afraid to listen and respond to our anger.  The cleansing of the temple is a stark warning against any and every false sense of security. Misplaced allegiances, religious presumption, pathetic excuses, smug self-satisfaction, spiritual complacency, nationalist zeal, political idolatry, and economic greed in the name of God.  These are only some of the tables that Jesus would overturn in his own day and in ours. (Dan Clendenin, Subtle as a Sledge Hammer: Jesus “Cleanses” the Temple, March 19, 2006)

Good is the flesh that the Word has become.  Do we believe this?  Do we believe it enough to honor bodies — all bodies — as precious temples of God?  We dare not say “yes” glibly because as John Dominic Crossan reminds us, the cost involved is steep: “Those who live by compassion are often canonized.  Those who live by justice are often crucified.”  No, it’s not either-or.  It’s both-and; we are called to both compassion and justice.  But as the 10th-century Byzantine monk and poet Symeon the New Theologian expressed it so eloquently a thousand years ago, it is our love for Christ’s body that will compel us to both:

For if we genuinely love Him,
we wake up inside Christ’s body

where all our body, all over,
every most hidden part of it,
is realized in joy as Him,
and He makes us, utterly, real,

and everything that is hurt, everything
that seemed to us dark, harsh, shameful,
maimed, ugly, irreparably
damaged, is in Him transformed

and recognized as whole, as lovely,
and radiant in His light
he awakens as the Beloved
in every last part of our body.

This is what the Christian Good News is truly about. In a great act of cosmic renewal, heaven and earth are joined together today in the body of Christ. We are a living sanctuary of hope and grace.

Come and See. Follow Me.

Epiphany 2B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Jesus found Philip.  Philip found Nathanael. They joined Andrew, Simon Peter, and others in declaring eureka! “We have found the Messiah” (John 1:41).  The English translation is dry by comparison.  There is joy, amazement, and disbelief in their voice.  Can anything good come out of s–holes like Nazareth? Come and see. Follow me.

Great adventures often begin—because of what see calling us to explore. Longs Peak in Colorado is something like that.  If you’ve ever been to Denver you’ve seen it. Longs Peak is the highest mountain on the horizon. It took me three tries to reach the top.

You get out of bed at 3:00 am to be on the trail by 6:00 in order to reach the summit by 12 noon before the lightning storms roll in. The final third of the hike has is no real trail. There are boulders to climb over, a scree field at a 45-degree incline, and a narrow ledge across a vertical rock face. At 14,259 feet above sea level, the air becomes thin and breathing is difficult. The top is the size of about two football fields and just as flat. Mathematicians calculate you can see 150 miles. It seems farther. I remember someone driving golf balls over the diamond-shaped cliff.  I remember a sailplane appearing as if by magic and circling the summit.  I remember catching sight of the tiny glint of the parking lot where we left our car and wondering if I had enough left in me to make it back down. We stopped for pizza that night and I could barely lift the pieces to my mouth.  We could see it. That’s why we had to climb it.

Who you follow defines what you do and who you become.  We followed a trail most of the way to the top of Longs Peak, but the road to get there was longer. It involved planning and preparation. Following that path meant defining our goals, focusing our energy, organizing our calendar and the commitment of financial resources.  Following gives direction to your life.

Philip, Nathanael, Andrew, and Simon Peter didn’t know they were Christians. They just knew they were thirsty and hungry for something better. They didn’t know they were disciples, or followers until they saw Jesus.  He said to them come and see.  Follow me. He was a walking epiphany, an awakening.  The disciples were among the first in the human family to see something in Jesus that answered their own deepest longing that drew them to follow.

The American Catholic Monk, mystic, and writer Thomas Merton compared baptism to spiritual mountain climbing.  The original, but censored, beginning of his famous autobiographical book about coming to faith and becoming a monk, The Seven Storey Mountain reads, “When a man [or woman] is conceived, when a human nature comes into being as an individual, concrete, subsisting thing, a life, a person, then God’s image is minted into the world. A free, vital, self-moving entity, a spirit informing flesh, a complex of energies ready to be set into fruitful motion begins to flame with love, without which no spirit can exist…” The disciples saw this in Christ Jesus.

Our baptism tells us what we are. Baptism means each of us is created in the image of God and that’s why we’re restless and searching until we begin to conform our lives into the likeness of that image. Baptism means we are loved and accepted as God’s own child just as we are, and yet called by that same love to be and do more than we ever thought possible. Baptism is the beginning of a spiritual adventure.  To say that we are Christians means that Jesus is our epiphany.  We have seen and heard in him who and what we are. Because we have glimpsed the divine and have seen God’s eternal love for all creation in Jesus we follow him in the way that he lived.  Like a mountain beaconing on the distant horizon, Jesus makes visible a new way of living we have learned to call the way of the cross.

Like climbing a mountain, the way of the cross is the slow, painstaking process of faith becoming lived faith in us. The way of the cross is the life-long struggle to transform beliefs into lifestyles and habits with the help and guidance of the Holy Spirit. We do not make this climb alone. Although it is deeply personal and intimate the way of the cross is not merely a project in self-improvement.  It must be communal. It involves us with one another. The way of the cross is learning to beat our swords into plowshares, and our spears into pruning hooks by fashioning communities of justice and peace. Come and see, Jesus says.  Follow me.

Jesus’ invitation to discipleship is also an invitation to wellness.  The old preacher W.C. Coffin wrote, “The incarnation says as much about what we are to become as it does about what God has become.”  “The Word became flesh and lived among us…” (John 1:14).  We are called to love and serve the Lord, with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Somehow, the poisonous idea that discipleship must force a wedge between our spiritual life and our earthly selves has crept into Christian consciousness.  Yet scripture could not be clearer.  We are not disembodied souls. We are bodies.  As St. Paul reminds us today in 1 Corinthians, “Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit” (I Cor. 6:19).  Paul admonishes us, therefore, that the life of discipleship calls us to be good stewards of our bodies. Exercise is part of your spiritual work.  Respect your bodily needs and learn to love your limitations for these are what make us appreciate one another.

We are embarked upon a spiritual adventure by our baptism into Christ.  It will call upon us to plan and to make preparations. Following the path revealed by Jesus means defining our goals, focusing our energy, organizing our calendar and the commitment of our financial resources.

Here at Immanuel, we measure progress toward this goal to the extent that we together are a living sanctuary of hope and grace.  This is why we do what we do that gives purpose and direction to everything we undertake and to what we strive to become. A living sanctuary is a place people feel safe.  It is a place to renew trust and become a community of mutual respect and care. Sanctuary is a place where we come to know the depth of our own human dignity and hear the still small voice of God.  Sanctuary is the place we make together for others to see and hear the living Christ in us. Sanctuary is a beacon inviting and welcoming the poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

We’re keeping ourselves honest and telling the story of ways we’re making progress toward this goal in a piece in today’s This Week and the E-newsletter called This Is Us.  Sometime later today look for it to read testimonies of young people in the ECT youth group.

Jesus extends an invitation to discipleship and the way of the cross that is not a command.  Each of us must hear God’s call for ourselves, wrestle with the obstacles, and respond in faith with the lived faith we do together. Come and see.  Follow me, Jesus says.

Love is God in Me

Baptism of our Lord B-18

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

‘In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth’ (Genesis 1:1). Biblical cosmology was inspired by cutting-edge work by the ancient philosophers of Babylon.  They pictured a flat earth standing on pillars.  Underneath was the realm of the dead.  Sitting on top they imagined a large dome separating the heavens from the earth.  The stars were said to be small holes in the dome through which the light of heaven could be seen to be shining through.

It sounds ridiculous to us, of course, but to this very day every time you hear someone say ‘heaven is up’ and ‘hell is down’, this is the understanding of how the universe is organized they’re talking about. And this is exactly the kind of universe, Mark says, was torn apart when Jesus was baptized.

From the very beginning of Mark’s gospel, the heavens were ripped open as Jesus burst free from beneath the waters of baptism.  God broke the barrier between heaven and earth.

Now what is opened can be closed again.  But what has been torn apart must remain open for all time. Through Christ Jesus, Mark says, the realms of heaven and the realms of earth have become mixed together.  God is now everywhere up close in, with, and under us throughout the world.

God is with you.  It’s a theme Mark repeats as Jesus first breaks upon the scene and when he leaves it, Jesus’ entrance and exit.  At the moment of Jesus’ death on a cross, as Jesus breathed his last, the curtain in the Temple that separates the profane from the Holy of Holies was torn in two from top to bottom (Mark 15:38).

It means that God cannot be contained in our holy spaces. God is loose in the land.  God’s presence fills the world.  God’s light shines from the darkness of human hearts.  It means the church cannot set conditions for God’s involvement with you. Baptism is not an if-then. If you are baptized then God will be part of your life.  God is already always and everywhere part of every life.  Period.  When will these old discredited ideas be finished among us?

Your baptism is not for God but for you.  Baptism is God’s gift, not a prerequisite. Just as the spirit of God moved and brooded upon the waters of creation, so God creates order and blessing from the chaos of our lives. The Spirit of God intercedes and prays for us without ceasing. God is not too big or too busy to care. The Sacraments are a way of speaking that goes beyond mere words to become an indelible part of our identity: Behold, God says, you are my beloved child.

From baptism, we learn that it is God’s very own voice that speaks to us of the dignity of every human life.  It is God’s own life that gives our own its infinite depth.  It is God who counsels and guides us in the quiet, dark hours.  It is God who pushes and cajoles us toward our calling and mission as artists of grace. It is God who shines the light of creative grace upon our feet and casts a light on our path.  It is God who has brought us together –God who strengthens and prepares us to work in concert with the Spirit as members of the living body of Christ at work in the world.

It is part of the majesty and glory of God that God is not only the creator.  God is a creator of co-creators.  God is a lover of artists. God delights to see what new and beautiful things we can make from what God has given and God laments the tragedies wrought from our ignorance and evil—forever.  What we do, or do not do, or allow to be done in our name, has real consequences. Our identity as baptized believers in Christ is our call to work together to fashion communities of hospitality and grace.

Jesus baptism marked the beginning of his public ministry.  Likewise, our baptism has a public dimension for us to become peacemakers.  Jesus, the lamb of God, became a scapegoat.  He took the blame for upsetting the social order and was sacrificed for us on a cross in order to end all scapegoating, violence born of vengeance, jealousy, fear, and disloyalty.  Jesus appears to the disciples and said, peace be with you.  My peace be upon you. I refuse to be part of your sin accounting game anymore. At his baptism, Jesus ripped apart the ability of any religious or secular authority to separate people whether by gender, race, color, ethnicity, morality, religion or zip code. Community in Christ is not based on fear of our enemies or anger at outsiders, but rather the unity we share as children of God.

Baptism makes explicit what already is. You are a child of God among a diverse family of God with many brothers and sisters.  Baptism is God’ invitation to work together to make our lives and our communities ever more closely reveal the likeness of God in whose image we are created and whose mark we indelibly bear. Behold, the manger of the infant Christ is prepared within you.

The Catholic Italian author Carlo Carreto (1910-1988) wrote, “Love is God in me.
Yes, love is God in me, and if I am in love I am in God, that is, in life, in grace: a sharer in God’s being…If charity is God in me, why look for God any further than myself? And if God is in me as love, why do I change or disfigure God’s face with acts or values which are not love? (“Love Is for Living”, quoted from Carlo Carretto: Essential Writings, Robert Ellsberg)

In Christ Jesus, God tore apart what we had come to believe was how the world is organized and how it works.  “So [by baptism] if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!  (2 Corinthians 5:17)

On The Proper Use of Freedom

Proper 8A-17

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

This holiday weekend we celebrate 241 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  We acknowledge with every rendition of our national anthem the struggle and sacrifice required by the founding generation, and nearly every generation since, to bring into being the opportunity for freedom we now enjoy as our birth rite. They died to make us free.

The American democratic experiment is not quite two and a half centuries old, but the question of how to properly use of our freedom within the span of a single human life is thousands of years old, perhaps as old as history itself.  It is the central question addressed by our bible in the great narratives of creation, of the Exodus, and of Christ. Each human being living under every permutation of governance ever devised or bumbled into has had to ask themselves what am I to do with the miracle of my life?

Paul writes, “…the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23) Chapters 5-8 of Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome from which today’s second lesson was read is a majestic statement of some of Paul’s greatest themes: The love of God embodied in Jesus’ death; the hope, even during suffering, enjoyed by God’s people; Christian freedom from sin, the law and death itself; and the life-giving leading of the Spirit. Countless Christians, faced with times of struggle, have found strength and joy in Paul’s closing words: “Neither height nor depth nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:39) (N.T. Wright, Commentary on Romans)

For Paul, the difference between slavery and freedom is not whatever political system in which we find ourselves but in dying and rising to new life in solidarity with the ever-living Christ. The exodus, the story of coming out of slavery into freedom—with all the new puzzles and responsibilities that freedom brings!—is the story of the gospel.  In the Exodus the Jewish people discovered the character of their rescuing God.  Likewise the covenant faithfulness of this same God is fully unveiled in the paschal events of Golgatha and Easter. In Christ, God extends an invitation to all people to become children of a new humanity.  We find the true purpose of our freedom, the highest and most noble version of ourselves by walking the way of the cross.

We must give ourselves away to be free. Last Sunday, we heard Jesus tell the disciples, “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 10:39) By walking the way of the cross Jesus taught us our freedom is not about how well we follow religious rules either. For Jesus, our hard-won freedom in Christ is about a way of living in which we find ourselves willing to give someone a cup of cold water on a hot day. Our freedom has no higher purpose than that.

Many today are misled in believing that, if you are lucky or strong or bold or beautiful and powerful enough, freedom is about living without any obligations, any commitments, any requirements whatsoever. By contrast, Paul invited the Christians in Rome and each of us, to consider the choice we face is not between obedience or freedom, but rather a decision about what we will be freely obedient and dedicated to.

It is human nature to slide toward whatever seems easiest in the short run. Sacrificing short term gratification for long term happiness is always difficult for us.  That is why we cannot rely on will power alone to be truly free. The ability to strive for things that bring long term happiness and eternal blessings comes from God—and specifically—from dwelling in God as our small, selfish, frightened ego-self is transformed by connection to the One-life we have in God and to all the living things God has made.

For Paul, we find the power to be free in our baptism, in Christian community, and in the prayers of the Holy Spirit working in us too deep for words that draws us more closely into relationship with God and neighbor and serves to remind us that we are, indeed, God’s own children. (David Lose, Working Preacher)

From here, we can begin to see what makes service to others so central to the Christian message and to the exercise of true freedom. Ancient people were amazed and drawn to Christianity because they said, ‘See how they love each other.’  Hospitality is credited with being a big reason why Christianity spread and grew.  Yet, this was never just an outreach strategy.  The key component of our mutual welcome and service to one another comes from the presence of Jesus who has joined us all together. My self is become part of your self, your suffering has become part of my suffering, your joy part of my joy. Jesus said, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” (Matthew 10:40)

Here at Immanuel, we exercise our freedom in Christ by welcoming guests here to worship on Sunday, or to play groups, pre-school, tutoring, neighborhood meetings, or simply to come from the park across the street to use the restroom.  For Vacation Bible School this week we shared the humble, hospitable gospel with over thirty neighborhood children with the help of twenty adult volunteers. Yet Jesus’ call to hospitality doesn’t stop at our front door.  These past several weeks in worship we have read through the entire 10th chapter of Matthew’s gospel and know what Jesus is taking about here to the disciples is their charge to become missionaries.

We say our mission here at Immanuel is to be a living sanctuary of hope and grace.  Yet, we know this mission did not come from us, but from what God is already, always, and everywhere doing in the world. We exercise our freedom and walk the way of the cross not by always playing host, but also by relying upon the hospitality of others by being guests.  Not only by inviting people into our space, to eat our food, and use our bathrooms—but to go where we are sent into other’s homes, eating their food, navigating their customs, and using their bathrooms. One of the most difficult parts of hospitality is vulnerability.  Mutual hospitality –welcoming and being welcomed as we would welcome Christ—is how we abide in the One life of God and discover the true purpose of human freedom.

All people, all things, no matter how marginal, ugly, or shameful find a place of dignity in this welcome. Let me leave you with the words of Sara Miles, author of Take This Bread.  She writes, “What I heard, and continue to hear, [in this gospel] is a voice that can crack religious and political convictions open, that advocates for the least qualified, least official, least likely. It [Christianity] proclaims against reason that the hungry will be fed, that those cast down will be raised up, and that all things, including my own failures, are being made new. It offers food without exception to the worthy and unworthy, the screwed-up and pious, and then commands everyone to do the same. It doesn’t promise to solve or erase suffering but to transform it, pledging that by loving one another, even through pain, we will find more life. And it insists that by opening ourselves to strangers, the despised or frightening or unintelligible other, we will see more and more of the holy, since, without exception, all people are one body: God’s. (Sara Miles, Take This Bread: The spiritual memoir of a twenty-first century Christian)

 

Win By Losing

Proper 25C-16

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

 

What a weekend to be a Cubs fan! I can’t help but think of all the dedicated Cubs fans who kept the faith their whole lives without seeing what you and I are seeing. (e.g. Chester Larson, Howard Morton, Theresia and Steve Klos)

They say baseball is a humbling game. The numbers bear that out. Batters at the pinnacle of success reach first base just 30% of the time. The only team that won more than 60% of their games this year was the Chicago Cubs at 64%.

Former historian, professional player, coach, manager and scout of baseball, Wesley Westrum once said, “Baseball is like church: many attend, but few understand.” So I wouldn’t be surprised to see baseball players who devote hours a day, nearly every day of the year, for a decade or more to experience stretches of failure at the plate like an 0-for-20 streak, nod their heads in agreement to hear Jesus say, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:14b)

Jesus said, ”I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Luke 5:32) His words echo the accusation of his enemies: “this man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” (Luke 15:2) The gospels tell us that many sinful people followed Jesus. Today, we could call them “failures.” Failures flocked to Jesus. They felt safe, somehow sheltered rather than judged, valued rather than dismissed, called rather than belittled, transformed rather than labeled.

The parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector in Luke contrasts two characters.  They’re polar opposites, and set in bold relief two ways of being religious. One way is death-dealing, the other is life-giving. The winner loses and the loser wins.

The Pharisee was religiously righteous, the taxman extorted revenue for the Roman oppressors. The religious expert was smug and confident, the outsider was anxious and insecure. The saint paraded to the temple, the sinner “stood at a distance” from the sacred building—a nonverbal expression of his spiritual alienation. The righteous man stood up, the sinful man looked down. In an act of shocking narcissism, the Pharisee prayed loudly “about himself”; whereas the tax collector could barely pray at all. The Pharisee puffed out his chest in pride; the publican beat his breast in sorrow.

Yet, Jesus said, the respectable, reputable believer, so competent and accomplished, who had done everything right, was rejected, whereas the secular sinner — the disreputable, inadequate, and incompetent failure — “went home justified before God.” (Daniel Clendenin)

What happened? It’s hard to imagine a more earnestly religious person than the Pharisee. He prayed often, he fasted regularly, and he gave generously to the poor. His spiritual regimen was stringent. But he made two tragic mistakes in his religious life: first, he “looked down on everybody else,” and second, he thought he could justify himself, thanking God he was “not like other people.” Somehow, we imagine that in judging others we validate ourselves, or that at least we will compare favorably in the eyes of God.

We’ll invoke almost anything to justify ourselves — intelligence (GPA and SAT), alma mater (“This is where I went to school thirty years ago”), money (“I’m frugal toward myself and generous to others”), family (“Great kids!”), sports (“I’m in shape, you’re a slob”), politics (“My vote is enlightened, yours is ideological”), and work (“I work at X; what do you do?”). A common form of self-justification invokes your zip code (“Where do you live?”), a transparent insinuation that net worth equals self worth. (Daniel Clendenin, The Pharisee and the Tax Collector, 10/16/16)

Like the Pharisee, we keep trying to make religion a way to climb higher up the ladder of spiritual success. But self-justification doesn’t work, and it isn’t necessary, for in the words of the famous hymn, God accepts me “just as I am.”  Full stop. We have a hard time accepting that God comes down to us, which is the meaning of the Incarnation (see Philippians 2:5-8); somehow we think we’ve got to go up to God. We start running up the down escalator! And we miss Jesus on the way—as he descends into our so very ordinary world.

Christians have named this mystery—as the path of descent, the Way of the Cross, or the paschal mystery. Although we name and symbolize it quite well, we have not lived it much better than many other religions and cultures. All humble, suffering souls often learn this by grace.

Jesus, however, brings it front and center. A “crucified God” became the logo and central image of our Christian religion: a vulnerable, dying, bleeding, losing man. If that isn’t saying you win by losing, what is it going to take for us to get the message? How often do we have to look at the Crucified and miss the point? Why did we choose that as our symbol if we’re not going to believe it? Life is all about winning by losing—losing with grace and letting our losses teach and transform us. And yes, this is somehow saying that God suffers—and our suffering is also God’s suffering, and God’s suffering is ours (Colossians 1:24). That has the power to transform the human dilemma of tragedy, absurdity, and all unjust suffering. (Richard Rohr, The Paschal Mystery, 10/16/16)

Follow Jesus on this pathway of descent. Walk the way of his cross. Learn the wisdom of winning by losing so that you may be more kind, that you may be a better listener, that you may grow thicker skin, be more compassionate, more ready to cry foul when others suffer injustice, that you may be more generous, more welcoming, more hospitable, that you may be a better lover, friend, parent, spouse, sibling, and neighbor.

To get to that place, Jesus says we need only seven words — those mumbled by the tax collector as he stood at a distance from the Temple and stared at the ground: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” (Luke 18:13) The Orthodox famously named these seven words “The Jesus Prayer.”  It may be the only prayer you’ll ever really need—because it proceeds from a clear-eyed appraisal of our human condition and, more importantly, from confidence in the character of a God who welcomes sinners and eats with them.  (Clendenin)

We win by losing. We stand transformed before God and each other. All our pretentions and strivings are ended. Our humble and abundant life begins.

With Clean Hearts and Dirty Hands

Proper 20C-16

Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

Clean hearts and dirty hands.   Jesus offers two lessons about discipleship today (Luke 16: 1-13). The first isn’t a surprise. “You cannot serve God and wealth”.  The second is a bit of a shocker.  Jesus chides, ‘Why can’t each of you be as shrewd as the dishonest manager?’

The parable of the dishonest steward should come with a warning. If we were to take Jesus literally it could lead to arrest—or a fine at least. But could we be more crafty for Jesus?

Here’s what I hear Jesus saying in today’s rather confusing gospel: my disciples must have clean hearts and dirty hands. Can we use worldly strategies to promote the Gospel? Could we be more cunning in dismantling the powers and principalities arrayed against God in the pursuit of justice? Can we care for the poor not merely with our charity, but also by fostering good public policy? How might our wisdom in the ways of the world be use to promote the good news of Jesus Christ?

To do this, the first but only partial answer is, we must have a clean heart. By legend King David wrote psalm 51 after Nathan exposed the truth about what he had done to murder Uriah the Hittite in order to take Bathsheba for himself. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10)

The renewal of our mind begins with reorientation of our heart. We are too good at lying to ourselves, making up reasons for what we want, and rationalizing our sinful desires as if they were something good.

A clean heart comes as an underserved gift from God as the old me is put to death, drowned in the baptismal font and a new heart is fed with heavenly food at the Lord’s Table. A new heart requires an “identity transplant.” As Paul wrote to the Galatians, “I live no longer, not I, but it is Christ who lives in me.” (Galatians 2:20) You know you are close when each human being you encounter in need you say, there but for the grace of God grace go I. A clean heart beats with the same profound empathy and solidarity as we have found in the heart of God.

If we could put all the Christians of the last hundred years in a room with Christians of the first three hundred years, I wonder how surprised they’d be about how distant God has become for us? I think they might try to tell us, God is not an object out there located in one place or time. Rather, God is always the Divine Subject who must be encountered, experienced, known only in part, and trusted from within.

Perhaps an obstacle to creating a clean heart in us is that for so long we have operated with a static and imperial image of God. God as Supreme Monarch who is mostly living in splendid isolation from what he (and God is always and exclusively envisioned as male in this model) has created. This God is seen largely as a Critical Spectator, and his followers must do their level best to imitate their Creator. Early Christians might warn us, “We always become what we behold; the presence that we practice matters.” (adapted from Richard Rohr, Daily Meditation 9/14/16)

Although they did not have the word until the fourth century, the presence early Christians practiced was the God who became known to us as Holy Trinity, a divine presence inviting us to join hands and move together as one in the great circle dance of life.

With clean hearts from God we are called and sent into the world, extending our hands in invitation for still more people to join in this dance. With warmth, welcome, joy, hospitality, generosity, and joy we find the courage in our new hearts to not hold back but to draw close and get involved. Together with Christians of every age, with hands dirty, we open ourselves to the chaotic and unpredictable, go beyond our comfort zone, and let ourselves become vulnerable for the sake of loving one another as we ourselves desire to be loved.

Where have you seen people of faith being shrewd for Jesus? Parents must often be shrewd. Co-workers might be shrewd in helping their friends. Activists are shrewd in the pursuit social justice. I think chef Mary Ellen Diaz, a former member of Ebenezer Lutheran, who now resides in Switzerland with her wife and two kids, showed her clean heart and dirty hands in creating the First Slice Pie Shop, a self-funded charity now providing over 4,000 meals a month to feed the hungry.

Diaz, who grew up in Virginia with mom, dad, four sisters and a brother, trained in France and worked at multi-starred restaurants such as the North Pond cafe, and with Richard Melman at Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises.

She was on a leave of absence after she and her partner adopted their second child, when she began volunteering at soup kitchens, stirring her culinary experience into the meals. “It only took one night of making meals amazing for people in need and seeing the smiles that made me realize I could do something here,” Diaz said.

In the restaurants where she’d worked, “the first slice of pie was always served to the staff. … So this symbol of pie as community was important as was the first slice being the most important.” Today First Slice funds its efforts with a “shareholders program.” Hundreds of subscriber families receive home-cooked, restaurant-quality meals each week. Funds from those subscriptions are used to make the same quality meals for people in need distributed through several social service organizations, such as Streetwise.

“We all feel much more driven if our mission is based on us sort of rolling up our sleeves and cooking for every dollar,” she says, whether it’s for the subscription program or the cafes. “We find a lot of joy in that and that’s why we’re sort of a different organization. You can come in and have good food, and other people can have good food too.”

Sometimes you need to feed the soul. And sometimes feeding others salads of local greens and fresh tomatoes, maybe spinach-squash lasagna and chocolate-peanut butter pie does just that, even for the cook.(Judy Hevrdejs, Tribune Newspapers, Featured Article Chicago Tribune, 7/15/12)

With clean hearts and dirty hands, faith makes us ready to love in real time. In a complicated world our choices will never be simple.  I think in today’s gospel Jesus encourages us not to be ‘So heavenly minded that we are no earthly good.’  But “See,” Jesus says, “I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Matthew 10:16). And know that I am always with you –even to the end of the age.

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