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Reflections on the Sunday lectionary readings

Stuff

Hosea 11:1-11 and Psalm 107:1-9, 43  •  Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23 and Psalm 49:1-12  •  Colossians 3:1-11  •  Luke 12:13-21

 

This week's story from Luke begins with someone asking Jesus to tell his brother to share the inheritance from their parents. Putting his request aside, Jesus tells another story involving a rich man with the problem of a big harvest: where to put it all? He thinks it through, deciding to tear down his barns and build bigger ones to create more storage space. Next, God shows up – an unusual occurrence in Jesus' stories – calling the man a fool and telling him that his life would be ending that very day. Jesus ends with a warning that this is how life goes for those who think only of themselves. In the following passage, the very next verse (Luke 12:22) begins with a warning about worry. 

 

For a model in managing worry, there is nothing like a day with a three-year-old. Recently, my grandson and I were getting ready to spend the day together, a complicated day involving a train ride, a museum, a merry-go-round, and his grandfather, whom he adores, but who was going to show up at an undetermined time. I was trying to explain the day and the various ways it might go, using a simplified vocabulary. He kept asking questions, listening carefully. Finally, he turned his little hands palms up, gave a big shrug, smiled, and said, "We don't know what's going to happen!"

 

We don't know what's going to happen. For a three-year-old, the joy of not knowing, of watching the day unfold with curiosity at every step, is perfectly natural. For adults, though, it's more complicated. We don't know whether we will have enough money to get us through our old age, or whether a family member struggling with cancer is going to live. The longer list of things we don't know, from climate change to whether people approve of us to the potential for nuclear war to the best way to drive home in heavy traffic, is endless. Some unknown is always available as a focus for worry.

 

Worry is often a thinly disguised expression of another emotion: fear. Going back to the rich man with the big harvest, the joy of the harvest did not last long before fears began to creep in. Where would he put it all? How would he manage to hold on to it? What could go wrong? In these worries, it does not occur to him to reach out to others for their ideas. If anything, he sees them as a threat to him and his stuff. His mind, completely focused on himself and his fears, does not see that solutions might be found in his family or larger community. Others might have space in their barns, or other ideas about storage, or somehow see the problem differently. Others might need some of the grain. A feast might be in order. But the rich man, in his fear, has lost the capacity to connect with others.

 

The rich man has also lost the capacity to relax, eat, drink and be merry. Even though he tells himself that finally he has enough, if he were to live longer, it would not be long before other worries (are the locks on my barns strong enough?) would interfere with his relaxation. Thus, the joy of living has been continually beyond his reach, throughout his life. The more he focused on his fears, the less he could see how to manage them in relationships with others. Managing fears with others would not mean handing his worries off for others to take over for him; but instead, in a spirit of cooperation, to look for solutions along with others, mindful of one's responsibilities to one another. When a person is participating fully in family and community, the burdens are spread. When people work together, amazing things can result: We don't know what's going to happen!

 

For reflection

Morning: What am I afraid of today? How might my fears run (and ruin) my day? Where will my responsibilities for myself and to others come up? How can I be clearer with others without passing my anxiety off to others?

Evening: Where did fear take hold? Would it be possible to notice it sooner?

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Hospitality

Hosea 1:2-10 and Psalm 85  •  Genesis 18:20-32 and Psalm 138  •  Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)  •  Luke 11:1-13

    This Sunday's gospel reading from Luke covers many aspects of prayer in a short 15 verses. It begins with Jesus teaching the Lord's Prayer, possibly the most quoted, most well-known verses in the Bible. It ends with the assurance that those who seek truth will find it. And in the middle is an odd little story, not so well known, about going to a friend in the middle of the night to ask a favor: in this case, for food to serve guests who have just arrived, tired and hungry, from their travels.

    In a harsh desert environment, hospitality towards travelers can mean the difference between life and death. In these settings, cultural mandates requiring hosts to provide food, water, and lodging became deeply embedded community principles. When principles are a part of one's culture and/or faith, they begin as an external rule. Careful adherence can shore up one's sense of self as doing what is right, sometimes bringing a side of praise from others too. At some point, though, one does begin to wonder about these handed-down principles. Part of growing up is a reflective process of looking at one's own family and cultural ideals over time and accepting them – or not – as one's own deeply held values.

    In today's story, it seems that the person asking the friend for help has taken the hospitality principle on as a part of himself. He is unconcerned with pleasing his friend, disturbing him and his family in the middle of the night and shamelessly pleading with him for help. He is quite unpretentious in admitting that he is unprepared. These behaviors suggest a person who is certain that he wants to be a good host, and determined to keep trying, regardless of mistakes that have been made.

    This determination to keep trying can only come from an internal way of being, rather than a devotion to an external cultural principle. Somehow, in the story, the asker had himself already come to the place where his reasoning – both emotional and intellectual – led him to own the principle of hospitality for others. Perhaps he has noticed a tendency to be less hospitable to strangers than friends, and rejected this approach, recognizing his own reactivity and seeing it as less than his best self. Perhaps he has noticed a stingy attitude towards his guests and realized in his mind that all of us need each other's generosity. Whatever the process, hospitality is no longer just something that others have told him is important. It matters to him. At this point, little can stop him from continuing to seek ways of honoring the principle in his life, even if it inconveniences his friend. The ask is clear, and the asker is certain about what he is trying to do. A mature life involves an underlying clarity about what one aiming for. A mature pray-er is unashamed to bring the ask.

For reflection:

Morning: What am I trying to do today? What are my underlying principles? What do I need to ask for?

Evening: Where did I operate out of my principles? When did I fall back on doing what would meet expectations or please others, without reference to what matters to me?

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No Martha Stewart

Amos 8:1-12 and Psalm 52  •  Genesis 18:1-10a and Psalm 15  •  Colossians 1:15-28  •  Luke 10:38-42

    Several years ago, there was a popular saying: What Would Jesus Do? WWJD for short, the expression suggested that one can quickly ascertain what Jesus would do – the kind thing, the gracious thing, surely – and that the difficulty would be in doing what Jesus would do. But the difficulty is more than that. Often it is hard to know what Jesus would do.

    As the Luke story opens, Jesus and 12 of his closest friends, presumably, have shown up at the home of Mary and Martha. Martha is frantically preparing food, while Mary listens to Jesus, sitting at his feet. Martha interrupts the conversation, confronting Jesus, asking him whether he cares that she is doing all the work, all by herself. Martha, it seems, is pretty sure she knows what Jesus will do. She's thinking, "he's a nice guy, a fair guy, right? Surely he will send Mary back to help me out." Jesus first responds by acknowledging that she is worried and distracted by many things. But then, he lets Martha know that how she is managing these worries and distractions are precisely the problem – her problem, and a problem which Mary will not be required to take on for her.

    Clearly, this was not the answer Martha was looking for, nor the nice answer she expected to hear. In the long run, though, perhaps it was the kindest thing anyone ever said to her, or to many of us, who are also worried and distracted – pulled apart, almost – by many things.  Stress, as it is commonly called these days, shows up all the time in the experience of having more than one "can say grace over," as the saying used to go. What is Jesus saying to all of us in the Martha boat?

    To begin, Martha (and us) must let go of the need to be the favorite. Noticing her sister Mary seated at Jesus feet, she probably felt left out. Like a grandchild asking which one the grandmother loved best, Martha was trying to assure that Jesus loved her just as much, or maybe just a tad more, based on her doing all the work. Like the grandmother, though, Jesus' love was unlimited.

    Second, Martha was challenged to reconsider how she was framing the problem: a person left to do all the work by herself.  To see this differently, Martha would need to think about the other people who could help, to whom she was connected over many years in the same village. It would require her to ask for their help, a humble position she may not have been accustomed to. It would require her to have stayed connected with them over time, so that mutual cooperation in times of need was already in place. In short, it would require her to be a full member of her community. When guests are arriving and one comes up against the reality that she is no Martha Stewart, it is good to have friends.

    Finally, Martha also has to let go of the need to be the perfect hostess. While trying to do everything just so can create a nice party atmosphere, it is often inspired by the desire to have others think well of oneself. When the need to serve the perfect meal is motivated by the worry of what others will think, it is an expression of anxiety. Martha is worried about many things, focusing on pleasing others to shore up her own lack of self.

    Jesus had little interest in pleasing others or making them feel better. WWJD? begins with another question – what would Jesus think? Put more broadly, what is the truth here? Mary, sitting at Jesus' feet, was pursuing truth, and the self she was becoming could not be taken from her. Those with more solid self are better positioned to hear truth, and to act accordingly. They are also positioned to hear another's worry without taking it on. In highly functioning groups, each member avoids absorbing the anxiety of others, trusting that each can manage her own troubles and will grow through the process.          

For reflection:

Colossians 1:28 It is he whom we proclaim, warning everyone and teaching everyone in all wisdom, so that we may present everyone mature in Christ.

Morning

What is important to me about this day? Where might I be tempted to take more on than I can do? Where might I lean on others to do what is on me to do? 

Evening

When did I feel overwhelmed today? Where did I see a larger truth than I had known before?

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The Good Question

Amos 7:7-17 and Psalm 82  •  Colossians 1:1-14  •  Luke 10:25-37

 

    Ah, lawyers! Can't live with them, can't live without them – at least that seems to have been the case for the last 2000 years or so. Say what you will, though, about their overall character and suitability for inclusion as part of the human species, they do have one admirable strength: the ability to ask good questions.

 

    In today's Luke reading, the question "who is my neighbor?" generated one of the most important stories of all religious literature. The text provides many angles on what it means to be human. The pitfalls of leadership are revealed, as both the Luke and the Amos readings contain religious authorities more interested in preserving the status quo and observing details of the law than in loyalty to the underlying principles of their faith. The assumptions of the comfortable are quickly turned around, as the lawyer finds himself responding to Jesus' final question (v. 36) from the point of view of a powerless person who needs others. In addition, the challenges of tribalism are on full display, as the despised Samaritan (an enmity generated over hundreds of years before the common era and continuing in new forms today) turns out to be the neighbor.

 

    The neighbor – the one who showed mercy – provides a template for what it means to have a solid self. Note what he does. He approaches a badly hurt and possibly dead person on a road where a person needs to hurry, lest he too be attacked. Perhaps cringing (? the story does not say) from the sight of the injuries, he calms himself, cares for the wounds, gets the person to a safe place, and nurses him through the night. The next day, he goes on his way to his responsibilities elsewhere, after assuring that the man will be cared for until his return.

 

    Being responsible to others involves strength of character. While it does not mean giving up oneself and responsibilities for self – the good person continues his own journey the next day – it does mean living according to one's own principles at all times and in all places.  Paradoxically, more solid self provides more flexible self: the good person has enough inner clarity and calmness to see and choose a course of action among a broad array of options. Even when fears are stirred, as can happen on a dark mountain road when coming upon someone lying half-dead in a ditch, the good person can use emotional reason to think through a response consistent with his or her own best self.

 

    Even though the situation was frightening, the Good Samaritan had it easy in a way. It was easy to recognize the person in the ditch as one needing mercy to be shown. What is harder is to be the good person in the ordinary wear and tear of life. That person at work – the one with the annoying habits – may need mercy, even though her arrogance makes it hard to see. Understanding that the person is wounded (who isn't?) is a beginning. Trying to see what he or she is up against can be useful. Being kind, rather than judgy, may open up different brain pathways within oneself for approaching her without antagonism. Avoiding a sense of responsibility for the colleague keeps one from interfering with that person's own emerging self; recognizing one's responsibility to the colleague keeps one true to self. Practicing mercy in one's everyday life may make it more accessible when the stakes are higher.

 

For reflection:

    Colossians 1:13 He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son.

 

Morning:

    Where will I have a chance to show mercy today? Where could I get clearer about my own needs and dependence on others?

 

Evening

    How did I see mercy operating today, in my own life and the lives of others?

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