Month: February 2023

First Sunday of Lent, February 26,2023: Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11; Psalm 32

Last week we were up in the mountains, now we’re in the wilderness. It is only after Jesus has been there forty days and forty nights that the tempter comes to him. It took that long for the tempter to think Jesus was vulnerable to his blandishments. What the tempter offers is power: power to turn stones into bread, to have the angels catch him in mid-air, or power over all the kingdoms of the world “and their splendor”.

My guess is that few of us have been offered such enticing temptations. We think people in power have, though, and often that they have “sold their souls”. But what about us? Our job in Lent is to think about these things. What temptations do we face? What is it that chocolate, or dessert, or whatever we have given up for Lent, stand in for?

Here the story of the garden of Eden may be instructive. God did not want Adam and Eve to have knowledge of good and evil: that’s the one tree they are not supposed to eat. God knows that knowledge will cause trouble. But they *want* knowledge; and the serpent tells them they will not die, but their eyes will be opened. Adam and Eve fall for it. They want to know.

So do we: we seek knowledge. Knowledge gives us power. As individuals, we’re interested in gossip (let’s be honest!) or other people’s secrets. As a society, we want to know how things work. Innovation proceeds regardless of the impact. Decisions about everything from medical care to sentencing by the courts are driven by algorithms that few of us understand, but which use our age, race, gender, education and goodness knows what else about us. Our computers know what products we have looked at, and end up sending us creepy ads for similar things.

Knowledge of course, like any kind of power, can be used for good or evil. Our job in Lent is to ensure that we are using knowledge to advance God’s kingdom. To quote Jesus, to not just worship God, but “serve only him”.

Last Sunday of Epiphany, February 19, 2023: Exodus 24:12-18; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9; Psalm 2

Strange things happen on mountaintops. Mountaintops are among the world’s “thin” places, places where this world and others meet. Maybe because there is less oxygen, maybe because the effort getting up there, maybe because the astonishing vistas we see there, mountaintops are places that change us. For the ancient Hebrews, God lived on mountaintops. So in today’s lessons, we have mountaintops.

Moses goes to the mountaintop to receive the ten commandments. His journey is marked by mystery: for six days, the “glory of the Lord” settled on the mountain, and it was shrouded in cloud. On the seventh day, Moses is called by the Lord. The writer tells us that the glory of the Lord was “like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel”. It was terrifying. Moses went into the cloud and disappeared, effectively, for forty days and forty nights.

In today’s Gospel, in a passage that follows the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus goes with three of his disciples to a “high mountain”. The scene starts out with Jesus being transfigured before his disciples, “his face shone like the sun”. And Moses and Elijah appeared, talking to Jesus. Strange though this must have seemed, Peter seems to take this in stride, planning to make three dwellings. But then a “bright cloud overshadowed them”, and they hear the Lord’s voice, telling them that Jesus is his son, and “Listen to him”. They are terrified and fall to the ground.

What is most striking here is that while the voice of God is terrifying, Jesus is not: he “came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up, and do not be afraid'”. This is the reassuring gesture of a friend. When they do, they are alone with Jesus on the mountaintop. But Jesus does not want this story told, at least not yet: he tells his disciples not to tell it until after he has been raised from the dead.

The message here is clear: we need to listen to Jesus, but we do not need to fear him. Unlike God, who is terrifying, Jesus is approachable, and cares for us. Our job is to listen. That is difficult enough.

6th Sunday of Epiphany, 12 February 2023: Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 119:1-8; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9; Matthew 5: 21-37

“If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you.”

Today’s readings from both the Hebrew scriptures and the Gospel focus on commandments and laws. The writer of Deuteronomy makes it seem simple: walk in his ways, observe his commandments, decrees and ordinances. To me, the red flag that this is not so simple is that there are commandments, decrees, and ordinances: this is getting complicated.

The psalmist continues this theme, but tells us we are happy if we “walk in the law of the Lord”. Again, the reference to “all your commandments” makes me pause. What if I forget one? What if I cannot, for some reason, follow them all. Several writers have recently tried to follow the biblical commandments as literally as possible. In their books (A.J. Jacobs, The Year of Living Biblically and Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood) both note the difficulty of meshing rules developed in an agrarian society 3000 or more years ago with modern life.

And if you think Jesus is going to make it simpler, you should skip this week’s Gospel. Jesus tells us that following the commandments is not just not doing particular things (murder, adultery, etc.) but the spirit behind those actions. We are to make peace with those with whom we are in conflict. Oh, and by the way, looking at someone with lust is the same as committing adultery.

To put it simply, we’re screwed. I am pretty certain that every married person has at one time or another looked at someone not their spouse and lusted: not that they acted on it, but they looked. And in our culture of division and conflict, most of us have people we don’t want to deal with; we have probably called others a lot worse than “fool”. Some of us have bad bosses, people who have power over us and use it badly. Some of us have family conflicts, over money, politics, you name it. Some of us have been hurt by others and long for vengeance. In all of these, we at least momentarily, see others as less than human.

This is when it helps me to remember that the gospels are stories told within Christian communities about Jesus 40 and 50 years after his death. So in this passage, it’s evident that we all fail at least one of the tests Jesus puts to us. But the people who wrote down these stories also had a follow-up: the grace given to us by Jesus’ death and resurrection.

Paul tells us that insofar as we argue and are jealous, we are “behaving according to human inclinations”. So we are. Paul also reminds us that ultimately we are not in control, but God is. If we can’t fully follow the rules in spirit and act (and we can’t) our only hope is God’s grace. It is that which allows us, in the words of our Baptismal Covenant, to “seek and serve Christ in all persons”. When we do that, we are following the commandments.

Fifth Sunday of Epiphany, February 5, 2023: Isaiah 58:1-9a, [9b-12]; 1 Corinthians 2:1-12, [13-16]; Matthew 5:13-20; Psalm 112:1-9, (10)

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. (Isaiah 58: 9b-10)

“You are the light of the world. . . let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14, 16)

One of the things that I like about February is the longer hours of daylight. It is light earlier in the morning, after that cruel stretch in late December and early January when sunrise gets later. The light in the evening is particularly noticeable. Light matters. Today’s readings circle around light and darkness, focusing on how we as the faithful provide light.

In today’s reading from Isaiah, the prophet is criticizing those who make a great show of their piety, but do not follow the Lord’s commandments. They may fast, but at the same time they “serve their your own interest. . .and oppress all your workers”. The fast that the Lord chooses instead is “to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free”. We usually think of fasting as self-denial, but Isaiah defines the fast as one from selfishness and pettiness, not just food. If you do this, “your light shall rise in the darkness”.

Similarly, Matthew in today’s Gospel reminds us that if you light a lamp, you do not hide it, but place it where its light can be widely seen. It is this light that illumines the “city on a hill”. And what Jesus wants seen in this light are the good works of his followers.

There has been a long debate in Christianity about the importance of what we do. Paul, and in following him Augustine and later Martin Luther, focused on the importance of faith. Another tradition points to works. Faith and works are not opposed to each other, they nurture each other. Yes, faith is important; we repeat the creed weekly. But there are weeks when I am not sure I believe what I am saying. I have questions. Faith is sometimes wobbly, and doubt is an occasional companion. In the Episcopal tradition, we welcome questions, but questions can sit awkwardly with faith. At those times, a focus on doing provides a way to be faithful.

Another reason to emphasize action is the way it links us to the other Abrahamic faiths. Christianity is unusual as a religion in its emphasis on belief rather than action. In both Judaism and Islam, observance of certain practices is what is important. These are relatively simple in Islam: you acknowledge Allah, pray five times daily, give to charity, fast during Ramadan, and if you can, make a pilgrimage to Mecca during your lifetime. The laws followed by observant Jews, shaped by the ten commandments, also focus around love of God and love of neighbor. Both the Qur’an and the Hebrew scriptures fill these out with various ways you carry out these commandments, but the requirements are always moving out from the central commandments.

After Jesus tells his followers to let their light shine, he turns to the law: “I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” Your righteousness, he continues, must “exceed that of the scribes and Pharissees.”

What is the law that we must follow more righteously than the scribes and Pharisees? Is it the various dietary and purity customs that are laid out in Leviticus? Does it mean not eating shrimp and not working on the sabbath? Given that Jesus breaks a narrow interpretation of the commandments about work on the sabbath, this seems unlikely. Instead, Jesus is calling us to the fast that Isaiah calls for: a fast that brings justice and freedom.

We would be kidding ourselves if we thought a fast for justice and freedom was easy. But it is useful to think about what it would mean.