Jul 30 2020 Judges 4: 4-23

There was Sisera lying dead, with the tent-peg in his temple.

This is in the story about Deborah, the judge and ruler. She summoned Barak, I’m presuming a warrior, and to overtake Sisera, I’m presuming a bad guy. Barak, and his 10,000 warrior followers headed out, along with Deborah. They found Sisera and his meager troops, and after Sisera fled on foot, all of Sisera’s troops were killed. Sisera finds safety from another tribe, with whom his tribe had peace. Jael, the wife of the clan leader comes out to meet Sisera, lets him in her tent, gives him drink, and lets him sleep on the soft rug, telling the guards to let no one in. Up to this point in the story, it sounds like Sisera has found peace. But no. Jael takes a tent peg, and puts it through Sisera’s temple, killing him. Eventually Barak comes looking for SIsera, and Jael shows him Sisera, dead on the rug with the tent peg in his head. 

The structure of Morning Prayer is that there’s a reading from the Psalms, then the Old Testament, New Testament, and finally Gospels. In between the scripture readings, there’s a ‘canticle’ which is a bit from scripture that is a song or poem recited by someone in scriptures. This morning’s appointed canticle after the Old Testament reading was The Song of Moses, which I think in part is actually sung by his sister. In any case, it is a song of praise, sung by the Israelites after crossing the red sea. It merrily talks about the horse and the rider being hurled into the sea, and how God stretched out God’s hand and the earth swallowed them up. 

Between these two readings, I get a sense that there was a punitive, angry, judging God, who’d condone tent pegs in the head, and cause people to be drowned in the sea. 

Maybe it’s my sunshiny disposition, or maybe its heresy, but I think they had it all wrong. I don’t think God, the God Jesus talks about, is a God who causes mass casualties, or condones murder. Those are not the traits that Jesus describes when he talks about God. Rather, Jesus talks about an all-loving, all-merciful God. Yes, God is all-powerful too, but just because he could cause mass casualties, I don’t think that’s God’s way. Nor do I think the existence of casualties proves that God is mean or not all powerful. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes they happen to good people, and sometimes they happen to people I deem bad. 

But I do not believe that I know enough about other humans to pass that judgment, to decide that someone else is bad enough to warrant God’s wrath. Again, that is not the God Jesus proclaims. Jesus, in fact, ate with the people society had deemed as bad – the prostitutes, corrupt tax collectors, sinners. 

Sometimes, despite my best efforts, I find someone who I think is genuinely bad, and it’s easy to presume that God agrees with me. When something bad happens to that person, it’s easy for me to think that bad thing was because God was smiting them. But again, that’s not the God Jesus talks about. 

I have plenty of loving colleagues who could write their own canticle, about God, race, police, murder, mass casualties. I think they’re wrong too. I think God doesn’t want or cause bad things to happen, to anyone. I think God wants peace. 

The reading from the New Testament this morning was about the selection of Matthias as the twelfth apostle. The others actually drew straws to pick Matthias. I don’t think God made them pick the Matthias straw. But I do think God looked at what we humans did, and said, “I can work with that”. 

This morning, I’m thinking about an all-loving God, and how I don’t think tent pegs would be God’s instrument of peace, any more than riots, or murders, or violent mobs. I think we judgmental, myopic humans can ascribe to God bad things, particularly when they happen to people we perceive as our enemies. But would we do that if the other person was our friend? Would we think that God caused mass casualties if the casualties were our loved ones?  

Wouldn’t we be better off becoming friends with the ‘other’, rather than taking a tent peg to their head, all in the name of God?

Jul 23 2020 Collect for Seventh Sunday After Pentecost

Have compassion on our weakness, and mercifully give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask

This has been the longest I’ve gone without writing, since beginning in December 2018. Much has happened since July 12, much that I can tell myself is the root of my hiatus. A few highlights. 

The city where I live has made national news from nightly protests. Having worked for government for decades, and recently for a police department, I deeply empathize with the Portland Police Bureau and the good officers there. To be clear, I am not suggesting they are all without fault or all good. But for women and men who put on bullet proof vests every day as a part of their work uniform, neither is it fair to say All Cops are Bastards, which his scrawled all over downtown. At their core, the protests are still about racial injustice and oppression. This occurs throughout all professions, but the stakes are so much higher with the police – who are authorized to use deadly force. As a result of that entrusted power, the police can be held to a higher standard than those of us who are not authorized to kill. And that is a hard expectation to fulfill, especially when violence erupts, bottles and hammers are thrown, and my formerly beautiful downtown looks like a war zone. Between pandemic-plywooded buildings, torn down statues, and graffiti everywhere, it’s deeply sad. The people with whom I work, clergy and lay leaders of the church, are deeply upset by what’s happening in our Diocese. Emotions are running very high, along with a sense of needing to do something, anything. 

Meanwhile, Covid. I have the great opportunity to work with congregations that are trying to support their people during this pandemic. Whether that’s services in a parking lot, office hours, or slowly reopening, I’m involved in reviewing plans that are submitted to the Bishop, comparing them to the state’s requirements and working with the leaders to align plans to what we know today as safe. As in many areas of the country, our Governor has slowly opened things up. Church plans reflect that loosening. Then twice in the past two weeks, the Governor has retightened things, with mandatory face masks inside and fewer people in gatherings. 

Meanwhile, our Diocese is in the process of electing a new bishop. The process to plan the election is conceived and approved by largely volunteers. As staff, however, much of the execution of the election falls to 4 of us. The election was originally scheduled in June, but when the pandemic began, those plans were quickly scrapped. The election was moved to August, with plans for a gathering of 350 to vote for four candidates. Plans made, plans revised. In June that was scrapped. Then the plan was to have polling places, with no more than 25 in a spot, spread throughout western Oregon. Plans made, plans revised. When the Governor said 10 people inside is the limit, that was scrapped. (Doing no service to us, the state exempted churches from the limit, although there is no increased immunity or safety resulting from gathering to pray than gathering to socialize.) We opted to use the Governor’s guideline of 10, for safe gatherings, and now the plan is to hold an entirely virtual election. In five weeks. Without knowing how to do it. Oh, and after the election is completed, the results are sent around the country so that all of the other bishops and governing boards can approve the validity of the election. Without their consent, the election doesn’t count. Oh, and no one has ever done a ‘virtual election’. No pressure there. 

Meanwhile, my day job continues. In the past 6 weeks, the Bishop has ordained five people, and I’ve had the pleasure to serve with him, all over the state. These services would have been conducted together, but with the pandemic, each had 10-25 people, depending on location. Last weekend, I corralled my husband into driving six hours on Saturday to the southern Oregon coast where there were two ordinations during the weekend. Sunday we drove back. Looooong weekend, but lovely to get away. 

Meanwhile, my loved one remains with us, and is doing well. We left them alone overnight on Saturday, and seemingly all was well, although there was some anxiety before we left. 

As a result of all of that, I ignorantly concluded that I didn’t have time for morning prayer and writing. Or morning exercise. And now, I’m feeling the effect of that. I desperately need to make the space for this. It sets my day off to a better start. It reminds me who’s in charge. It forces me to slow down and pause for a moment. As today’s collect reminds, have compassion on my weakness, and give me those things for my blindness, I cannot ask. 

Jul 12 2020 Mark 1: 21-27

Did You come to destroy us? I know who You are—the Holy One of God!

Jesus has entered the temple and was teaching. A man with an unclean spirit came in the temple, and Jesus banishes the unclean spirit, healing the man. Up to this point in the Gospel of Mark, we’ve heard about John baptizing Jesus, and Jesus has called his disciples. His first acts of ministry are the teaching in the synagogue and the healing of this man. 

The man has unclean spirits, who speak to Jesus in the first person, plural. We know who you are, Jesus of Nazareth. Living with someone with voices, these stories always strike a chord with me. 

I recently read a study about the voices that people with auditory hallucinations have. Basically, there’s something called subvocalizations, and we all have them. If you’ve ever found yourself concentrating hard on something, and you find yourself muttering to yourself, that’s what happens when those sub (or below) vocalizations, rise to the level of actual vocalizations. And you might not even know you had them. They’re different from thoughts, but very related. We have thoughts in our brain, but when we’re really concentrating, our brain lights up in the areas of speech, in addition to thought. Our vocal chords are primed and might even be moving without the prerequisite air to actually make sound. Subvocalization. 

With people with auditory hallucinations, they have these too. And like me, they don’t register that they’re having these parts of their brain lighting up, before actually speaking. Unlike me, when they recognize the subvocalizations but don’t recognize that they’re from their own thoughts. The connection between thought and subvocalization is missing, and therefore the voices are attributed to something or someone else. The brain is a wonderful storyteller and will try to make sense of things by filling in missing bits. Therefore, if someone recognizes words in their head but don’t recognize them as their own, clearly the words must be from an alien, or an FBI chip, or God. These are the stories told by paranoid brains that recognize subvocalizations, but don’t recognize them as their own thoughts. Without the paranoia, the voices are attributed to loving companions, or invisible friends. 

It could be argued that people with auditory hallucinations are not less aware than those without, but perhaps more aware. They recognize those pre-words before we do. There are places in the world that treat people with diseases that involve auditory hallucinations, such as bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia more as revered special people, with brains that understand things we do not. I’m not suggesting that this should be universally implemented, but I do think there is something to be said for a more generous acceptance of people with auditory hallucinations. 

Back to the Scripture. After the man and his voices talk to Jesus, the man acknowledges that he knows who Jesus is – the Holy One of God. This is the first acknowledgment of Jesus’ divinity, and it comes from this man with either hallucinations, or an unclean spirit. Jesus was, by all visible accounts, a young Jewish teacher in the synagogue. He had not broken into his public ministry. He probably didn’t have a golden halo or special aura about him. But the Divine was recognized in this humble man. 

If we believe that the Holy Spirit indwells in all of us, we all have a bit of the Divine in us. If I believe that, than doesn’t that mean that we should be able to recognize or at least acknowledge the Divine in each other? 

This morning, I’m thinking about whether I’d be able to recognize the Holy in another. Whether I’d see it in the street person, mumbling to herself. In the angry protester. The apathetic businessman. I want to be able to see the Holy One of God in each person I meet. I do think it’s hard to see that trait in each other, especially when the fully-human parts of ourselves shine through in all our self-absorbedness, greed, and illness. Regardless, it’s there. The Holy is there in every person I meet.

Perhaps I just need to have faith that it’s there, and then act like it’s there. And once you believe it, and act on it, then you see it. Today, I’ll start with believing it. 

Jul 7 2020 Matthew 23: 13-26

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. 

Jesus is on a roll, a ‘woe to you’ roll. It’s always hard to meet the crabby or angry Jesus – the Jesus upsetting the tables or asking his followers how they can be so stupid. These are uncomfortable passages to read, and at least for me, my thoughts immediately construct ways that make these bits less convicting. 

One of my go-to justifications is to remember that Jesus was both fully divine and fully human. These angry bits are just Jesus being fully human, occasionally showing our human shortcomings. And while I think there are instances where Jesus portrayed fully human attributes, I’m not sure it’s fair to dismiss his anger and finger wagging as somehow less convicting, because they came from his fully human-ness. 

The other thing that’s easy to do when we read these bits is to rail right along with Jesus. Yeah, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup but the inside is full of filth. Yeah, you’ve neglected justice and mercy and faith!  How dare you! There are certainly times when this feels right. There is often so much broken in the world, so little justice, mercy and faith. 

The risk with joining the rally cry is that we’re so busy agreeing with Jesus’ condemnation of others, we deflect the idea that he’s talking to us. And yes, while there are other hypocrites, others who lack love, justice and mercy, I do too. That’s why these bits are uncomfortable for me to read. I don’t like to think about my culpability in what he’s saying. None of us do. 

Right now in our country, there is a lot of righteous indignation, for absolutely right reasons. And unfortunately, I’ve seen too many instances where those who are most incensed are the ones who are the most hypocritical. Today, Jesus is talking to the scribes and Pharisees who often railed against others. They were deeply religious and felt they had God on their side. And yet, their actions showed a lack of mercy and justice. This sounds to me like some of the modern-day protesters. They are right to be angry and upset with a lack of justice and mercy. But in their zeal, the demonstrate a willingness to dispense with justice and mercy against those who they’re protesting. 

To be clear, I am not condoning the actions of racists or supremacists; I condemn the actions of racists or supremacists. And as a person of faith, I have to hear Jesus talking to me, challenging me to not be a hypocrite. To love, show mercy, have faith, and be just. Even to the people intentionally or unintentionally perpetuating horrible injustices. 

This is hard stuff, this righteous indignation. Jesus can do it, because at the end of the day, he loved all. Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do. When we fallible humans are swept up in that same fervor, we risk becoming like the Pharisees, hypocritical in our meting out justice and mercy and love. 

This morning, I’m thinking about sitting with these hard sayings from Jesus, and what they mean to me and about me, before I join the angry voices, crying out with Jesus. 

Jul 4 2020 Matthew 22: 23-40

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

 

Love God. Love your Neighbor. So simple. Yet not easy. Today is the 4th of July, and reading through the Declaration of Independence, I’m reminded that we’re facing the same challenges today, as back then. All people, although created equal, are not treated equal. We do not all have the same access to life, to liberty, to the pursuit of happiness. 

Love God. Love your neighbor. When you consider that love is an active verb, not a sentiment, I wonder what the world would look like if we all tried to do that. Love God. Love our neighbor. Empathize with our neighbor. Remember they are someone’s child, or father, or beloved. That Antifa rioter? Beloved. That cop? Beloved. Those college kids at the Corona Parties? Beloved. Whoever it is who gets under your skin, or on your last nerve? Love them too. Our only chance at loving our neighbors – all of them – is to first love God. And to remember that we are equally loved by God. With that over-abundant love from God, we have love to share. Even with the unlovable. 

This morning, I’m thinking about what it would look like if we loved our neighbor. All of our neighbors. How could we do that? And what would it look like in these pandemic, charged times?

And now a personal note. I’ve been more absent from writing than I’d planned, and that’s the result of several converging things. Last week, my bicycle needed to go in for new brakes. With over 9,000 miles logged in the past 3 years, a heavy bike, and two big hills on my commute to work, I go through brake pads and rotors several times a year. With the pandemic, bike shops in Portland are swamped, and they’ve had my bike for a week. My regular 35 minute bike commute became a 10 minute car commute. So in the morning, instead of sitting in front of my computer, in addition to the hours I’d sit in front of my computer at work, I elected to throw in some other exercise, including yoga and long walks. I still prayed Morning Prayer, as our staff gathers every morning for 20 minutes for that practice. But I opted to move my body in the morning instead of writing. I say this because I’m generally an all-or-nothing kind of gal. If I committed to write daily, I write daily. If I miss one day, I’ve failed and I quit. But I’m working on moderation. I intend to write frequently, nearly daily, maybe daily. But if I don’t, I’ll return and write again, rather than quit. 

The other thing that’s happened is that I picked up the book, “How to Break up with Your Phone”. Between a new watch that logs my activity (which I love), and a day job that has me in front of a computer, I did not need to be spending time on my phone. The book begins with lots of research about how and why we’re so compelled by our phones and the apps they contain. It’s entirely contrived and we are absolutely manipulated. As a result, I’ve made some changes on my phone, which have resulted in changes in my behavior. No more social media apps, no more games. What that means is that when I post something, I’m not sucked back into the cycle of checking to see who’s liked or commented. I love comments, and I appreciate the feedback. And I will read it all and appreciate it deeply.  And without the immediacy of a phone app, I’m a little more hesitant to get back on the computer when I get home, from being on the computer all day. So my online presence may be moderated as well. 

Instead of sneaking peeks online during the day, I’ll take a walk, or sit quietly, or stretch, or pray. When I get online to write or review, I’ll fully be online, to write or review. 

So thank you, for accompanying me on my journey towards moderation. It’s only taken me 50+ years, and I’m still working on it!