Pray for one another

Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 21, September 29, 2024: Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22; Psalm 124; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50

Three years ago this week in the liturgical year, I started writing these reflections. I have missed a few, but almost every Sunday for the past three years I have written something that bounces off the scripture readings for that day. I have now written through the three year lectionary cycle. My reflections are just that, someone sitting with scripture and trying to make sense of it. Some readings speak powerfully to me, others leave me wondering what I could say. I have been reminded repeatedly how much I am fed by the Hebrew scriptures, and not just the gospel. I probably repeat myself, because I have my pet ideas.

My reflections are always shaped by the state of the world. My first was one very much a “just coming out of COVID” one, reflecting on prayer as a way we stay connected. James’s command to “pray for one another” made me think about the previous 18 months of isolation, grief, and fear. We prayed a lot, but what for? If you don’t think that God is sitting there waiting to hear your prayer and answer your requests, what is it it does? I still think the way we are connected to not just God but to each other is the real gift of prayer. The reminder of our relationship to others, to the world, and to God is so important.

I was struck looking back at my first post that I completely ignored the rest of the week’s readings. And yet the story of Esther is a great story, and the reading for today is the basis for the Jewish celebration Purim, where people get dressed up and really party. That is not and obvious response to the story. Esther, a beautiful young Jewish virgin, is selected by King Ahasueris to replace his former queen, Vashti, who had not obeyed his order. Haman, the King’s advisor, has planned to kill all the Jews and seize their money. Esther learns of the plot, and we read here how she tells the King of it, and saves her people. At the same time, Haman is hanged, and the officials who had planned to kill the Jews are themselves killed. So the Jews are saved, but many others die. And the Jews were to remember this forever, as a a time of “feasting and gladness”.

There are many things I love about the story of Esther, which is very much a story of the marginalized turning the world upside down, triumphing over a corrupt official. In the seventeenth century, one of the responses to a misogynist pamphlet is called “Esther hath hanged Haman”. But reading it today, with a war in the middle east that began when one group carried out a brutal attack on Israelis, I am wondering. That war has led to the almost complete destruction of Gaza by the Israeli military, including schools, hospitals, and homes, and now significant damage in Lebanon. Is total destruction necessary to preserve a people? Do you have to destroy one group of people to protect another? Is there a way to get out of this cycle? How do and should our ethical obligations intersect with political and military calculations? These are not questions with one answer, and people of faith will come to different conclusions.

Pray for one another, James tells his readers. As we do, we are connected. For almost a year, I have been praying for the Israeli hostages in Gaza, but also for the people of Gaza. For years I have prayed for the hungry and homeless, for refugees and migrants, to remind myself of the needs of the world. I have also prayed for friends, for those who have been very ill or have died. At first I found it strange to pray for those I did not know, but as I have done so, I have felt my heart grow.

We are told often how divided we are in the US right now, and almost everyone feels it. I have read impassioned suggestions about how we heal the divide. One way to start is to seriously pray for one another. Pray for one another, and pray for everyone. It is not always easy, but it is what we are told to do.

Wisdom with gentleness

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20, September 22, 2024: Proverbs 31:10-31; Psalm 1; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

Today’s reading from Proverbs is one of the ones which makes me want to respond with various snarky comments. A “capable wife” is “more precious than jewels”. No kidding, I want to say. As Proverbs continues with a list of all she does, up at dawn and working into the night, buying land, producing goods, I want to take a nap. She is endlessly industrious, for the good of the family. She is generous to the poor. She is working hard so that her husband can be “known in the city gates, taking his seat among the elders of the land”. He can do so because of her work. But then towards the end of all this busy-ness and activity, comes this: “She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue”. Somewhere in all this activity she finds wisdom and kindness.

We do not often see wisdom linked with kindness: when we talk about wise people they know a great deal, but we do not often reflect on how they treat others, or the values that are part of their wisdom. But James is on the same page as the writer of Proverbs as he admonishes his readers to , “show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom”. James knows that this is counter to wordly wisdom: the conflicts he sees come from “envy and ambition”, from covetousness and greed.

James knows that turning away from such ambitions is a challenge; it was as counter-cultural in the first century as it is in the twenty-first. As if to remind us just how hard it is to get out of that ambition/competition mindset, today we have the account of the disciples arguing with each other as to which of them was the greatest. This, as Jesus is trying to explain that he will be killed and will rise again after three days. Jesus slaps them down, telling them that “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all”. In welcoming a little child, Jesus continues, they will be welcoming him, and welcoming God.

I’ve been puzzling over that: why is welcoming a little child so important? Little children are needy, and can’t care for themselves. Because of their needs, the presence of children makes it difficult to plan, as parents can all attest. So maybe the magic of welcoming children in Jesus name is welcoming the ways we are not fully in control.

If we are honest, it is almost impossible to let go of all the cultural messages we receive about status, money and possessions. I certainly have not done so! But we can work to keep them from governing all our actions. The disciples, after all, ended up traveling long distances to preach the gospel, and faced terrible deaths. We don’t have to be so extreme, but the little children are a big help. By accepting their unpredictable and often immediate needs, we can cultivate wisdom shaped by kindness and gentleness.

May the words of my mouth

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19, September 15, 2024: Proverbs 1:20-33; Psalm 19; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38

“How much longer, you ignorant people, will you love being ignorant? How much longer, you mockers, will you keep mocking?”

This question that Wisdom asks in Proverbs seems very timely. Wisdom goes on, and reminds her listeners that “you despised knowledge, did not fear Almighty God, and ignored my advice”. Wisdom is promising her readers that if they ignored her, she will not come when they need her. But the first question stays with me: we often wonder “how long”? for all sorts of things. And as a teacher, I lament ignorance. As a citizen, I have become uneasy with our habit (on all sides of the political spectrum) of mocking those we disagree with.

Our Psalm today begins with a gorgeous hymn to creation: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork”. It ends with the prayer often offered before a sermon: “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” The unity of creation is visible: we are all God’s creatures. And what we say and think matters, is part of our service to God.

Like the psalm, the letter of James is convinced that speech matters. The tongue may be small, but it has an extraordinary capacity to do evil: “It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison”. The same tongue that praises God may use it to curse others. We cannot mean both. James also reminds us that the teachers in our midst will be “called to a stricter account”.

And then we come to the Gospel. Our reading starts with Jesus asking his disciples who people think he is. And then: who do *you* think I am? Peter has recognized him as the Messiah. But when Jesus starts explaining that the Messiah will suffer and be killed, Peter rebukes him. But Jesus reminds Peter, and his followers, to focus not on earthly goals but divine ones. We lose our lives to gain it.

This all seems remarkably relevant. Though the lectionary is used internationally, and is more interested in the church year than the US political year, it feels as if these readings were designed for us during an election season when people are deeply divided. Words matter. Knowledge matters. And it matters to watch where people are focusing not on worldly goals but heavenly ones. What serves everyone?

May we listen to Wisdom. May we use the scriptures we hear to seek Wisdom, to fear God, and to listen. I take from these readings that we should listen more than we speak, and seek to act for the good of God’s Kingdom, and all God’s creation, not our own earthly success. And that as we look at our leaders and would be leaders, we should ask these things of them as well.

Amen.

Who belongs?

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 18, 8 September 2024: Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23; Psalm 125; James 2:1-10, [11-13], 14-17; Mark 7:24-37

Today’s gospel tells the story of the Syrophoenician woman. Jesus has gone to a house where he hopes for some privacy, time away from the crowds. But people find out where he is, and inevitably come seeking healing. The Syrophoenician woman doesn’t have a name, just an identity. She comes for her daughter, who is possessed by “an unclean spirit”. And Jesus’ first response is somewhat shocking: he tells her that his work is for the Jews, and “it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Rather than challenging his characterization, the woman accepts it but turns it around: “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” And Jesus accepts her rebuke, and tells her that he daughter is healed.

I always find the first part of this shocking because I like to think of Jesus as welcoming and inclusive, which he generally was. But this week I’ve been thinking about the second part: that he accepted his first response was wrong, and changed. The rebuke came from a gentile, and a woman: who was she to push back? It is a reminder that Jesus was human: he was challenged, and he accepted it. He changed. Our society often honors those who hold fast to their ideas, but it we should honor those who, when faced with new ideas or experiences, are willing to change.

In today’s epistle, James’ message could almost be a commentary on the gospel. He is not here concerned about ethnic and religious exclusion, but about favoritism based on wealth. He thinks his audience has favored the rich. Favoritism, he points out, is not part of following Jesus. More to the point, the rich, through their actions, hurt others. “Is it not the rich who oppress you? Is it not they who drag you into court?”

This is also connected to action: James reminds us that faith is not enough. It does not provide food for the hungry, or shelter for the homeless. And that is what they need, not prayers. “Faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead”.

These readings remind us that we are all connected: Jesus is distinguishing between Jews and Gentiles, while James sees Christians favoring the rich over the poor. But to make such distinctions runs counter to the core teachings of both the Hebrew scriptures and of Jesus: to love your neighbor as yourself. And together Jesus and James remind us that inclusion is a work in progress.

May we open our hearts to all, and do what we can to serve their bodies as well as their souls.

What does love have to do with it?

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 17, September 1, 2024: Song of Solomon 2:8-13; Psalm 45:1-2, 7-10; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Our readings from Hebrew scriptures today focus on love. This is love deeply rooted in bodies and the senses. We begin with the love poetry of the Song of Solomon, or the Song of Songs. The young woman describes her lover as like a gazelle, gazing in the window, calling her to join him. The winter is over, he says, “The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come,/ and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.”

It’s gorgeous poetry-as is the whole book-but it’s a beautiful bit of erotic love poetry, suffused with the desire of the two young lovers for each other. The Song of Solomon is unique in the Hebrew scriptures to have no reference to God, or to the relationship between God and God’s people. It is often read allegorically. But as it is, it serves as a reminder that love and desire are part of God’s plan.

The psalm also has a sensual charge, focused on the King who has been annointed by the Lord. “My heart is stirring with a noble song”, the psalmist begins. “You are the fairest of men”, he adds. The whole feeling of the court as described is sensuous: the “oil of gladness”, the fragrant garments, the “music of strings from ivory palaces”, and the Queen “adorned with the gold of Ophir”. All of this is a result of the King being blessed by God. The psalmist is living in their body, and responding with all his senses to the world around him.

At first, the movement from the sensual and erotic to the Epistle of James is a shock. James is instructing his readers, “Beloved”, on how they should live. “Be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger”. And, “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves”. True religion, he tells them, is “to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” James points to a world not of judgment but of kindness and generosity. Though he doesn’t use the word, it is a world governed by love.

Mark’s gospel points us in the same direction. The pharisees are upset by disciples who do not follow all the ritual practices of the tradition. These practices-much like those we learned during Covid-involved thorough washing of hands before eating, as well as washing food from the market before eating it. Failure to follow these meant you were unclean. Jesus’ response reframes what makes you unclean: it is what comes from within, your emotions, intentions and words, that is the problem, not what comes from outside. The list of evil intentions is comprehensive: “fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly.”

Our readings from the Hebrew scriptures are written with the fullness of human love, sensual and erotic. Both Jesus and James are focused on the importance of living with love, on the work of the heart. Together these readings highlight a range of ways love plays a role in our lives. The psalmist’s appreciation of the beauty of the court is focused on how it reflects God’s blessing. Our responses to the world around us is a response to human engagement in God’s creation: we can admire beauty and grandeur, or be dismayed by destruction. We can experience God’s creation through nature, but also through art and music. Like the psalmist, we need to acknowledge this as God’s work. But it is not just that we experience these things: it is what we do with that experience. And here, both James and Jesus suggest that the response is active. Love is not a feeling, it’s what we do to and for others.

Bishop Curry has talked about the Jesus movement as the way of love. Love is not just a Hallmark card, though certainly phrases from the Song of Solomon have made their way onto some of them. Love, in all its forms, is sacred. It is something we experience from others, and towards others. It is a response to the beauty of the world, or special experiences. And it guides our response to all those we encounter.

Love is the center, and it is holy. It is our response and our action. We receive love from God, and respond with love, to God and to each other. Love is everything.