Holy Books and Holy Hands

I have been following with interest the furor caused by the burning of the Koran and other Muslim materials by the U.S. military in Afghanistan. It is only logical that such furor would erupt; given the chaotic, even abysmal conditions in Afghanistan its people are an eruption waiting to happen. I have no interest in placing blame on our military personnel who say the disposal was unintentional, or in condemning the Afghan people who have protested violently for four days and counting. Instead I would like to reflect on the way the attitudes involved in this crisis reflect on the life of faith.

I understand full well the spiritual inclination to honor holy books. Living faiths around the globe have long recognized and encouraged it, and many delineate appropriate methods to use when disposal becomes necessary. It strikes me as peculiar, however, that we (we in general, no specific we intended) demand such respect for paper, print, and binding, when we ignore and therefore disrespect the wisdom and profundity inscribed therein. Wouldn’t the most profound expression of respect be actually living the spiritual life as prescribed in our holy books?

A similar dynamic is evident in the ongoing debate in American Christianity about belief vs practice. Beliefs about God are much like the paper, print, and binding of holy books, and the practice of faith is… well, it is the same in both instances. Beliefs about God are a dime a dozen; while practices modeled on God seem few and far between. Beliefs about God have significant value, but that value is not intrinsic. They have value when they foster understanding that can bring light to a darkened spirit and pull a life out of chaos, and – especially – when they point beyond themselves and make possible a lived experience of God. In the end I say let’s respect our holy books …by living out their wisdom; and let’s respect beliefs about God …by letting God be a part of our lives day by day.

Only by Following (Feb 26 in 9:30 worship)

The question that Jesus asks Peter and the other disciples at Caesarea Philippi, “Who do you say that I am?” (NRSV) frames our entire Lenten journey. Just like the disciples we will learn what it means to follow Jesus only on the journey …only by following Jesus. In Mark 8.27-37, just as Jesus and the disciples start their journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, it is clear that Peter has no idea what it means to call Jesus, the Christ. He says it, sure; but at this point it’s just an empty slogan he possibly thinks will impress Jesus. But along the way, watching and learning from Jesus, learning from his own mistakes, allowing God to mold him slowly – ever so slowly – and walking into the gathering darkness that would almost swallow him whole; Peter learns what it means to follow Jesus, and puts some weight behind his confession.

The journey is not always lighthearted, and perhaps it is darkest just before the dawn; but as we journey in faith toward Jerusalem we, too, can learn what it means to follow Jesus, and learn in reality that there is a dawn …the dawn of his rising. Let your Lenten journey begin with a prayer that you will be transformed by the journey, and that you will learn what it means to be molded into the image of Christ.

Back in the Day (Feb 19 in 9:30 worship)

There is a reason we chose Transfiguration Sunday to celebrate “Back in the Day,” decking ourselves in period clothing from yesteryear. Believe it or not, there are many parallels between the disciples’ interpretation of the transfiguration and a common attitude toward our own past. That is to say, when Peter and the others saw Jesus in his glorious reality for the first time, they wanted to freeze and enshrine the event, build monuments so that they could always look back to that day with its excitement, awe, and mystery. But the transfiguration scene anticipates an important event in the future; the resurrection of Jesus. It offers a glimpse of how things will be in God’s future. Enshrining this experience is the last thing Jesus would want. He knew that trying days lay ahead, and this experience was intended to strengthen and empower the disciples to stay the course to its conclusion.

Sometimes we look to the past, the good ol’ days, much like Peter. We want to enshrine them so we can always look back to those days when life was simpler, we were younger, life was stretched out before us, and on and on. But living in the past is no substitute to living toward God’s future. The past, our tradition, is important precisely because it strengthens and empowers us as we live into God’s vision for us. One theologian has compared standing on tradition to riding the crest of a powerful wave. Its roots reach deep into the ocean, providing stability and strength. But we ride its crest onward, always onward toward the future which lies open before us. Perhaps such an attitude could aid us as we seek to discern God’s vision of ministry and fellowship for the days ahead. We can allow the strength of our past to inspire and strengthen us for the future. Are you game?

A Joyful Jesus, A Smiling Savior (Feb 12 in OPCC worship)

I’d like to ask you to read Matthew 9.9-17, and focus your mind’s eye on Jesus. What does he look like? How do you envision his posture, body language, and facial expressions as he goes through this encounter? Is he relaxed and smiling? Is he having a good time? Or is he somber and serene; quietly observing everything going on around him and waiting for the next teaching moment?

Many of us, I am sure, will settle on some version of the serene thing, because it is hard for us to embrace the notion of a joyful Jesus, a smiling savior. But there is ample evidence in the gospels that Jesus was happy, even joyful. In fact, he often got into trouble because he and his disciples weren’t serious enough about required rituals, and instead of fasting like a good Pharisee, he caroused around with ner-do-wells, having a good ol’ time. Jesus used humor in his parables and other teachings, and wasn’t above getting in an ironic jab at Rome from time to time.

Let’s face it; Jesus was happy in his faith; his spiritual life was joyful. So why don’t we see him this way? For that matter, why don’t we see ourselves this way? Why do we so often assume that our faith must be somber and serious all the time? Is there room for joy and laughter in faith? That’s the question we will examine on Sunday.