Lent 5 C - March 17, 2013

In today’s Gospel, Jesus has come to the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, his friend recently raised from the dead. Martha serves the meal. Mary uses expensive fragrance to anoint Jesus’ feet, and then wipes his feet with her hair.

Take a moment to visualize this scene, to be in this scene.  Martha and Lazarus, wondering and watching their sister Mary. 

Jesus, perhaps surprised as he watches as Mary comes towards him and sit at his feet.

Mary, who takes this valuable perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet, lavishly pouring the oil.  People are watching, amazed, incredulous as the fragrance fills them.  And with everyone already focused on them and their interaction, Mary dries Jesus’ feet with her hair. 

And then there’s Judas – incensed at the apparent waste.  Mary should have sold that precious oil, and given the money to the poor.

This is one of the stories about Mary and Martha, two women who have become the archetype of two different personalities or dispositions.  Martha makes the meal, Mary sits at Jesus’ feet.  In the Gospel of Luke, Martha goes so far as to complain to Jesus about all her work, and all Mary’s non-work. And although John omits this part of the interaction between Martha, Mary and Jesus, you can still get a sense of the dynamic between Mary and Martha.  

I must admit that I’ve always had a special place in my heart for Martha, the worker bee - who busies herself with action.  Maybe because I’ve always felt more like Martha than Mary.  Maybe because I never really understood Mary.  But I’m slowly working on my Mary-ness. And it all started in the basement of the Seattle Center, about 5 years ago.   

For the five years before we moved from Seattle, I served as the VP of United Way.  While there, I had the honor of overseeing a service event for people experiencing homelessness, similar to the “Project Homeless Connect” organized by United Way here.   It was a one-day event for people experiencing homelessness where they could get legal assistance, state id cards, voice mail boxes, shelter and other benefit information, as well as services like portrait photos and hair cuts.

Because United Way could find no other organization eager to do it, I volunteered to organize a foot washing, at their request. This was not the ceremonial washing we do at church, but probably more like the original – washing the dirt and tired off the feet of weary travelers.  I got the supplies, secured the volunteers and oversaw the day.  The event was in the basement of the Seattle Center exhibition hall.   I had 8 foot washing stations in a little alcove near the bathrooms, 16 folding chairs in pairs of two facing each other, with a soaking bin between them, loads of towels, and bags of donated new socks.  Eight parishioners agreed to work for 6 hours that day, washing the feet of Seattle’s homeless. None of us knew what we were getting ourselves into. I’d also extended an invitation to the Bishops, who’d planned on attending.

So there we were.  Tentatively setting up amongst the food and health care providers, with our pink hospital soaking bins and towels. The first people came in and took off their socks & shoes. Most of the socks we threw away.  The air was full of emotions - nervous, embarrassed, intimate.   There was bustle and all of our senses were piqued. 

To begin with, it was awkward and nervous.  But once the people put their tired, cold feet in the warm soapy water, the barriers melted and we shared stories. After the first awkward 3 minutes we were companions. The people we saw had first names, and stories and children. After their feet soaked for as long as they wanted, they’d put their feet on the toweled lap of the washer to be dried. Some even got a lotion, powder or a little foot rub.

Mid-day, I was out talking to the interested onlookers. A gentleman stood in the hallway, extremely nervous and shy, but clearly interested in what we were doing. Fernando was about 55 years old, from Mexico, and didn't speak much English. He was a handsome, proud looking man, who looked like he’d seen a lot of life. Reluctantly he sat down and started to take off his socks and shoes. About that time, Bp. Nedi Rivera flew in the room from another meeting, rolled up her sleeves and asked how she could help. I asked if she would sit opposite Fernando, since she was the only one in the bunch who had any Spanish speaking skills.

Fernando was now even more nervous, with this Spanish-speaking woman with a collar on, sitting opposite him.  But soon they were talking in hushed Spanish. In the midst of the bustle, they were having the most intimate exchange – at least from what we all saw. She talked with him like he was the most important thing in the world.  We all saw that, and their interaction became central, in the midst of all of that bustle.  Soon, she was on the floor at his feet, both of them weeping. She leaned up and dried his eyes.  By now there was a palpable presence in the alcove.  She sat with him for a long time. She dried his feet with her towel, and when she’d finished drying his feet, she bent over and kissed his feet. 

On that day, I saw the power and grace of Mary’s actions, or more appropriately, the companionship she was able to offer in the absence of actions.  

During the time Bp. Nedi really sat with Fernando, they were both blessed.  They shared a very intimate moment.  She was present – really present with him.  In that brief exchange, she shared his life, shared his burdens during those few moments of companionship.   She was Mary at his feet.  

She served as a powerful model of how to really be present, and the impact she had on Fernando and all of the volunteers was lasting.

The day was a success in part because of the industrious and efficient volunteers, the people with tired feet, and those who donated supplies. I was very efficient and kept things running very smoothly.  I was in a Martha moment.  And because I was so busy doing things, I didn’t experience any blessed shared moments, similar to the one shared by Bp. Nedi & Fernando.  Because of the story they truly shared they were both blessed.  She sat with him.  She blessed him with her intentional focus. She created space.    

Mary’s gift was more than the perfume.  It was her intentional attention on Jesus that created space – space that was filled with grace. 

After the Seattle event, the Seattle Times ran a story about the day, the people helped and the volunteers. They talked to many of the providers, including our group and the story was a great recap of wide array of events that took place and the people touched that day.  

The public responded with comments to the story.  While they didn’t use the term “denari”, as Judas did, many readers wrote in response to the article that the money and time we spent on foot washing should have been spent for things “the homeless” really needed – food, shelter, health care. They claimed what we did was wasteful and not helpful.  Having been there, I know this to be untrue.

As a result of Bp. Nedi’s actions, and the comments from the Seattle Times, I began to understand Mary, to understand Jesus’ comment, “You will not always have me”.  Mary was present with Jesus.  She shared an extremely intimate moment, without regard for the hustle and bustle.  Without regard for what the others would think.  She became a part of a shared narrative, a story that only she and Jesus shared, because she was present and attentive, and served as a companion to him.

Next week, we begin Holy Week. Between Palm Sunday and Easter, we have the opportunity to be a companion with Jesus and with each other.  By doing that, we become a part of the story, of creating the space for a grace-filled moment. We are blessed.

On Maundy Thursday, we will again commemorate Jesus’ servant ministry by washing each other’s feet.  I think we approach that foot washing something like Paul in today’s Epistle.  He’s going on about how great he was.  Member of the people of Israel, tribe of Benjamin, a Pharisee, persecutor of the church.  Blameless.  He was much bigger, better, and above all that church stuff.  Like Paul saw himself and the church, I think we see the foot washing as something that’s too awkward, too silly, too contrived, something we don’t need.  Something we’re above.  But Paul goes on to say that he counts all that pretense as a loss, because of Christ, because of knowing Christ.  I know it’s awkward.  I know it’s uncomfortable.  But I also know that Jesus did this for his disciples.  And when you share that intimate moment, either as the washer or the person washed, you are creating space for a grace filled moment.  

I encourage you to be a companion to someone, to be really present, and to someone’s Mary.  Practice with each other, serving each other and being served by others.  Join in, stand up and get your feet washed. 

You will share an unbelievable, wordless sacred moment.  And God’s grace will fill the space between you.  

Last Epiphany C

­Today, we celebrate the Transfiguration.  I’ve heard about and celebrated the Transfiguration for years, but not until this year, when I had to spend time praying and thinking about the readings, did I appreciate its placement in our calendar. 

This is the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany, which also makes this the last Sunday before Lent begins. This week, we begin our Lenten journey with Ash Wednesday.  We’ll spend 40 days in that penitential and prayerful season of Lent, preparing for Holy Week and Easter, for the death and resurrection of Christ.   It’s in the shadow  of that imminent journey we’ll make that we get these readings today, full of light. 

In the Old Testament reading, we hear about Moses going up to Mount Sinai, where he receives the Law, or the 10 commandments. The reading tells us he was talking with God.   Wow.  Talking with God sounds so . . other worldly, so incredible, so something inaccessible to me.    When he returns, it says the skin of his face was shining.  After sharing the Law with Aaron and the other leaders, Moses took that shiny illumined face, and covered it with a veil.  He’d remain veiled until he went back and talked with God, when he’d take the veil off, get lit up again, and then put the veil back on, covering up his face to return to his people. 

In the Gospel, we hear a seemingly similar story, except this time, the story is different.  Jesus goes up a mountain to pray, bringing with him Peter, John and James.  

In both cases, Moses and Jesus are up a mountain.   I love that feeling of looking out over a landscape from a higher place.   There really is something weightless and feeling a little closer to God, when I’m at a place to look out over and across a vista.  There’s something immense and Holy about such spaces.  I certainly experience that when elevated on a real mountain, but I also get that sense when looking out over a valley, even from Skinners Butte, or Mount Pisgah.   Anywhere the elevation gives you a higher perspective, there’s something that feels beautiful and calm.  

So Jesus goes up the mountain to pray, to that beautiful and calm place.  While he’s praying, his clothes became dazzling white, and the appearance of his face changed.  That sounds pretty similar.  Go up a mountain, and get illumined.  

But then, Jesus  companions see Moses and Elijah with Jesus.    What an amazing, and possibly terrifying series of events.  And yet, at that moment when I might be pretty scared,  Peter turns to Jesus and says, “Master, it is good for us to be here”.  He senses this is a good place.  

At this point in the story, Peter, John and James try to fit what they’ve seen into their human paradigm, into their world of what they understood.  They offered to make three dwellings, possibly three shrines for Jesus, Moses & Elijah.  Peter and James and John were trying honor, memorialize or retain this amazing truly mountain-top experience they were having.  Of course, Moses & Elijah didn’t need shrines to be honored, dwellings to be  housed, and  couldn’t be retained or contained in any case.  

God then overshadows them with a cloud.  This could be another possibly terrifying thing to occur at the mountain top, with dazzling Jesus, and the apparition of Moses & Elijah.  God tells them, “This is my Son, My Chosen, Listen to him”.  At that point in the story, Moses & Elijah disappear and Jesus is again alone with his friends.  They tell no one. 

To me, this year, the greatest difference in these stories is not the presence of other human witnesses, of Peter, James and John, to this transfigurative event.  It’s not the presence of other prophets, or even God’s commandment to those there that they were to “Listen to Him”.  To me, this year, the greatest difference in these two stories is not something present in Jesus story.  It’s something that was absent from Jesus’ story.   

Unlike Moses, Jesus didn’t veil himself.  He didn’t cover his illumined face.  That light remained visible for all to see.  

Origen, a priest and theologian from the third century, compares Christ and us, the Church,  to the Sun and the moon.  Even on a cloudy Oregon night, the light from the moon makes the night not totally dark.  And on a clear night with a full moon, the nighttime light from the moon is startling.  And yet, the light isn’t from the moon at all.  The moon, on its own has no light to offer.   The sun is so amazingly bright that it can illumine the moon, 93 million miles away.  The light is so bright it can reflect off the moon, and can cast shadows in the darkest night.  

In the readings today, the light from God illumined Jesus and Moses.  Where Moses veiled his face, Jesus let that illumination be seen and shared.  We too are illumined by God.   Like the moon, it’s not anything we do to be illumined.   God’s light is so great that it lights us up just like the sun lights up the moon.    The moon does not choose whether to be lit up or not – it just happens.  We cannot chose to be lit up or not.  It just happens.  

But like Moses and Jesus, we can choose what to do with that light.    

Like a cloudy Oregon night or Moses’ veil, sometimes things get in the way to obscure our gifted light.  Sometimes we put the veil on ourselves.  We cannot bear the love and light and forgiveness that is given and do not have the strength to reflect that love and light and forgiveness.  We put the veil on ourselves, so no one knows.  So no one sees.  So no one else is illumined.  No one can see our transformed transfigured self.  Sometimes not even ourselves.  

 Sometimes we don’t know the light is there.  Sometimes it doesn’t feel like the light is shining on us.  We feel like a new moon, with something like the Earth that is so big that it fully blocks the light.    I’ve had times when I’ve felt so down, or so bad, or so undeserving, that I feel like there’s a big thing between me and God’s transfigurative light.  Talking with women in prison, I’ve heard their stories about big, bad horrible things that they’ve done, that they believe permanently separates them from that love. 

But unlike the new moon, God’s love and light is always on us and in us. We are a transfigured people.   We cannot escape it, regardless of whether we want to, or believe it. 

So here we are, sitting at the beginning of Lent.  Lent, for many – including me, can be a time of self-inflicted distancing from God.  I’m not worthy.  God doesn’t love me.   That wrong I’ve committed is so big that God’s love cannot reach me, cannot illumine me.   If I’m not careful, I mistake the penitential somber season of Lent for a time to punish myself with guilt or remorse over what’s happened in the past.  Then that remorse or sense of unworthiness can grow to the size of the Earth, which can totally eclipse the moon, so the sun never reaches it.  

 If I’m not careful, I can grab for the veils. I cover my illumined face, so it cannot be seen by others – including me.    

With Lent upon us, we are not asked to veil our faces, or hide our light.   We are not asked to deny the light and illumination from God.  We are not asked to distance ourselves from God, to voluntarily put ourselves in the Earth’s shadow, with no light or love.

 We are no less loved, no less illumined, no less transfigured during Lent than any other time of the year. And throughout the year, throughout our lives, things happen that make us grab for our veil, or make us feel that God’s love can’t reach us.  

And while Lent is not a time to distance ourselves, Lent is a time we are to pray and think about all of those things in our lives that makes us feel veiled, or makes us grab for those veils ourself.  We are asked to think about our relationship with God, and with others.  

Yes, it’s a penitential season and we’re asked to do some soul searching.  But sitting at either end of our Lenten Journey every year are pretty uplifting and comforting events.  We start with celebrating the Transfiguration, and end with the Resurrection.  Every year.   Lent sits between these promises of illumination and new life.  As today’s collect says, “Grant that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance may be strengthened to bear our cross and be changed into his likeness”

People often want to give something up during Lent.  Another option would be to add something to your Lent.  During Lent, pray more.  Talk with God more.  That’s precisely what Moses was doing when he was transfigured.  Talking with God.  It’s not something unattainable, reserved for other better more holy people.  Talking with God is for us.  And when we pray, when we talk with God, we too are illumined and transfigured.   Take that transfigured illumined shiny self with you all day, all Lent, and reflect the light in the world to everyone.  And please,  leave your veil at home.

Amen.