Month: October 2024

Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost, October 27, 2024, Proper 25: Job 42:1-6, 10-17; Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22); Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 10:46-52

This week we read the third part of the exchange between Job and the Lord. In the first, Job’s “complaint was bitter”, and he imagined that if he could just find the Lord, the Lord would answer. But the Lord was seemingly nowhere to be found. Last week we heard the Lord’s answer to Job, which could roughly be summarized as “Who do you think you are? You may be good, but you didn’t create the world.” In this third installment, we close out the conversation: Job admits that he had “uttered what he did not understand”, and as a result he repents “in dust and ashes”.

In the way that the book of Job reads a bit like a fairy tale, beginning with “There once was a man…” it has a happy ending. The Lord restores the fortunes of Job, and he has more children, including three daughters who were the most beautiful women in the land. And Job lived 140 more years, until he died, “old and full of days”. It is a fairy tale ending to what has been a fairly dark tale.

In the midst of his apology to the Lord, Job says, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you”. It is a fascinating statement: seeing is vital for Job. It is true for us: we don’t say “hearing is believing”, but we do say “seeing is believing”. It may not always be true: we all know there are things we don’t want to see. Or in the words of 1 Corinthians, “For now we see only a reflection, as in a mirror, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12) Seeing, really seeing, is powerful. So Job “sees” the Lord in a new way.

Today’s Gospel is also about seeing. For the last few weeks Mark has been telling stories of Jesus trying to tell his disciples what is going to happen, and finding that they don’t get it. Today is a variation on this. Jesus, his disciples, and a large crowd are leaving Jericho. Bartimaeus is a blind beggar, and much the dismay of those surrounding Jesus, he starts calling out for Jesus, asking for mercy. The crowd tries to silence him: he is interrupting and making a scene. But Jesus stops, and asks for him to be brought forward. He jumps up, and Jesus asks a simple question: What do you want me to do for you? And he asks for his sight to be restored. It is immediately restored, and Bartimaeus follows Jesus.

There are so many remarkable things about this exchange. First, Jesus makes no assumptions about what Bartimaeus needs or wants: he lets Bartimaeus define his needs. And the request is basic: let me see. There is nothing self aggrandizing in the request, nothing fancy. Just, let me have my sight back. Yet in a way, Bartimaeus had “seen” Jesus before he could see: he knew who Jesus was. And then, when he is healed, there is no big speech, he just joins the followers of Jesus.

What is it we do not see? What do we try not to see? What is it we need Jesus to open our eyes to? What do we hear of the Lord but not see? That is a challenge for all of us.

Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost, October 20, 2024: Job 38:1-7, (34-41); Psalm 104:1-9, 25, 37b; Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:35-45

We could call this week “clueless human” week, where we are repeatedly reminded of the gap between God and humans. But we are also reminded that even when we are clueless, God does not abandon us.

We start with Job: last week we heard him complain, and ask the Lord for an explanation of his fate. This week the Lord answers. “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” he starts.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.

Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?”

That “surely you know” is a bit snarky: the Lord is not happy with Job’s questioning of his fate. But what is important is that the Lord does answer: he dignifies Job’s complaint with a response, even if it’s not the one Job wanted. Job has demanded answers, but those are “words without knowledge”. And he is reminded that while he may have been virtuous, he is not the creator.

James and John are also clueless, though Jesus is kinder to them than you might expect. The start of their exchange–“will you do whatever we ask?”–is not propitious. Jesus is smart enough not to say yes, but instead asks what they want. And they want to be guaranteed places on his right and his left when he comes to his glory. We should not be surprised that Jesus answers with another question: are you able to drink the same cup I drink, and share in my baptism? Sure, they say: and then Jesus allows them to share his life, which we know is not a cushy one. But Jesus notes that he can’t decide where people sit in heaven; that’s not in his job description.

James and John seem clueless, but they have just heard Jesus tell his followers that he would soon be killed. They have been listening to Jesus’s hard teachings about divorce, about money, and about family, and Mark tells us that his followers were both amazed and afraid. James and John want some certainty. And so do the rest of the disciples: they are upset not because they think James and John asked something inappropriate, but they all want the promise that James and John have asked for. Why should James and John win that place?

So Jesus has to stop and again try to tell the disciples: God’s kingdom is not like the earthly kingdom. In God’s kingdom, the great are those who serve everyone, not those who are served. This is not the first time Jesus has explained this to them, but it’s a hard lesson for them, and for all of us humans.

I really appreciate the way Mark lets us see the failures of the disciples, because however clueless they are, Jesus stays with them and helps them. James and John’s desire for certainty about the future, their quest for security when afraid, is deeply human. We’ve all done it at one time or another, held on to something that we are sure will make us safe, whether a job, or a friendship, or a belief. Jesus does not offer the safety we seek in the world. He does not offer the best seats in the house, but reminds us that it is in service to others, not in ruling over them, that we enter the kingdom.

If we have all, at one time or another, wondered why we were called on to suffer, or sought false security, we have mostly also managed the other side. The psalmist proclaims, “O Lord my God, how excellent is your greatness!” Whether it is the wonder of great music, or seeing the northern lights, or the joy of connection, we have all at times been with the psalmist.

When we are afraid and seeking security, it is reassuring to remember that God does not give up on us. The Lord answers Job, and Jesus does not reject James and John and the others. Because of that, there will also be times when we too can proclaim, with certainty or maybe just faith,

O Lord, how manifold are your works! in wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures. Hallelujah!

Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 23, October 13, 2024: Job 23:1-9, 16-17; Psalm 22:1-15; Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31

“And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.” Thus the Letter to the Hebrews lays out our vulnerability before God. We cannot hide: we are naked before God, and all our thoughts are visible.

Our reading from Job and the Psalm have a sense of that vulnerability, but also of isolation. Job has given up the patience with which he first bore his sufferings, and is crying out to God. He just wants a chance to place his case before God, certain that if he could, God will justify him. But no such luck: God is nowhere to be found. “If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.” Job’s despair is understandable.

A similar sense of abandonment shapes the psalm. You may recognize Psalm 22 from the Good Friday liturgy: it is the psalm that Jesus quotes when he is on the cross. The psalmist acknowledges both their sense of abandonment, but like Job, also their faith in God. “O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest. / Yet you are the Holy One, enthroned upon the praises of Israel.”

When I have gone through hard times, like Job and the psalmist, I have sometimes not felt the presence of God. In retrospect, I suspect that what is crucial is that God was not present in the way I expected, but was in fact present through those who cared for me. But it can be hard to recognize God in the mix of fear, grief, and anger that tends to overwhelm me in those difficult times.

These readings are not particularly comforting; nor is the Gospel. We start with the story of the rich man, who is told that he has to sell all he has and follow Jesus. As I examine my books especially, that is hard to read. Yet when Francis of Assissi heard this gospel, he did give up his goods and follow Jesus. I can confidently tell you, on my authority as a historian, that Francis is in a very small minority. And yet my monastic friends tell me that there is great freedom in not having things.

Jesus does not stop there. He explains to the disciples that they have to cut themselves off from their families to follow him. To say this is hard is an understatement! Sure, riches are promised in both this world and the next. But thinking about the fates of Jesus’ followers, they got the persecutions Jesus promised in this life. Again, I think we can confidently acknowledge that relatively few Christians over the past two thousand years have followed this.

“The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow”. Thus the Letter to the Hebrews. If our readings from the Hebrew scriptures speak to our experiences of feeling abandoned by God, those from the New Testament speak to the choices we need to make when doing our best to follow Jesus. Those choices are not easy.

There is another part to the story. We know that even when God feels furthest away, God is present. And we know that while we will, like the disciples, often fall short of what we should do to follow Jesus, we can be forgiven, we can try again. The love of God is expansive, and Jesus asks us to separate ourselves from those things that stop us from showing that love in the world. We do what we can.

Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 22, October 6, 2024: Job 1:1; 2:1-10;
Psalm 26; Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12; Mark 10:2-16

There are weeks when I wonder what the people who organized our lectionary were thinking, and this is certainly one of them. We start with Job, who will be our companion for the rest of October. This is the beginning of the story, a fable: Once a upon a time, there was a man in the land of Uz. In the section we skipped, we learn that Job was a wealthy man. He had seven sons and three daughters, and “seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, five hundred donkeys, and very many servants”. One day the “heavenly beings” presented themselves to God, and with them was one called the “Accuser”, also called Satan. His exchange with God is similar to the one we read today: God touts how faithful Job is, the Accuser says, well, sure, he hasn’t suffered, it’s easy to be faithful when things go well. So God gives the Accuser power, but says he can’t physically touch Job.

So suddenly one day, a string of disasters lead to the death of all Job’s livestock, and the death of all his children. Job’s response is to tear his robe, shave his head, and fall on the ground, saying, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”

And then comes the passage we have here. The Accuser suggests to God that Job can still pray because he hasn’t physically suffered, so we get the sores all over his body. And still he does not curse God.

Job is the story we use to talk about the problem of undeserved suffering, if any suffering is ever deserved. Why, in the words of Rabbi Harold Kushner, do “bad things happen to good people”? Kushner points out that we have two choices: we can think of God as a master manipulator who decides who suffers and who doesn’t, or we can think of God as an observer who will accompany us. I can’t imagine a God who spends their time micromanaging the world, so like most Episcopalians, I choose to think of God as one who observes and accompanies us.

This week I read an interview with Munther Isaac, the pastor of a Lutheran church in Bethlehem.* While the West Bank has seen less violence than Gaza, attacks on Palestinians there have grown. When he was asked about hope, he said he didn’t think about hope right now: “We are just trying to survive and live day by day”. And then he said this: “We pray for deliverance, but the Bible doesn’t promise deliverance. It promises that God will be with us.” It is good to remember the difference..

If Job draws our attention to the problem of suffering, Mark draws our attention to the challenges of faithfulness. Here we have Jesus on divorce, in a passage that has often been weaponized against people, whether those who are divorced, or gay and lesbian Christians. If Job is about suffering, this passage has caused suffering.

But it helps to see it in context: the Pharisees set Jesus up with a question: “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife”. They want to trip him, to show that he is not faithful to the law. Jesus does his usual thing, of asking them a question in response: What did Moses say? Moses allowed men to get a certificate of divorce and divorce their wives. Jesus then says, “Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you.” Instead, he suggests the spirit of the law is different. He then speaks of the way marriage joins two people together, becoming one, and says “what God has joined together let no one separate”. These are the words we use in the wedding service, words that affirm marriage as a sacred institution.

That’s all well and good, but then Jesus suggests that those who remarry after divorce are committing adultery. This is the logical consequence of his teaching on marriage. And yet, I don’t think we should read it literally. On a certain level, a second marriage is a betrayal of the promises made in the first. But Jesus recognizes that humans sometimes suffer from “hardness of heart”. Divorce represents a failure of the hope and promises which people bring into a marriage. That is true, and we should not pretend otherwise, however right in other ways a divorce might be. We are, Jesus said, people of hard hearts. Yet this is not meant to exclude or punish those who divorce and remarry: we have hope, after all, that our hearts can open. At the center of Jesus’ ministry is a message of love and radical inclusion. We can acknowledge failure and move forward in hope.

And Jesus follows this with an opening, welcoming the children who have pressed around him. He invites the people around him to come to God not as sophisticated adults, but as children, with open hearts. Children approach the world with wonder and excitement. We can try to do so too.

Somehow, covered with sores, Job still praises God. Like a child, his heart is open. Following Jesus requires us to try to soften our hearts, to open them to the love around us. And to remember that while we may not be spared suffering, God is with us.

* “Palestinian and Christian in a Violent Time“, Interview by Elizabeth Palmer. The Christian Century, October 2024, 48-53.