Kim and Stephen; God's Faith
2009-09-18 by David von Schlichten
Thank you to both Kim and Stephen for their tub-blogging this week. Kim, especially, has provided several useful entries, including reflections on the importance of children and other often invisible people. Please scroll down and soak up.
Both Jeremiah and Psalm 54 look to God for help and trust that God will indeed help, will be faithful. My Bible study participants this week lit up at the idea of God's faith or faithfulness to us.
"We always talk about our faith, but not God's faith," was the group consensus.
I said to them, "That might be a good sermon topic."
They replied, "We think so."
Starting next week I will be posting more frequently here at the hot tub. I hope you will join me,
Yours in Christ,
David von Schlichten, Lectionary Blog Moderator
Seeing the Invisibles
2009-09-17 by Kim Justice
My sermon seems to be in the “cooking” phase today, which more or less means I don’t have a lot to say.
But here’s what I’ve been thinking about today, while my sermon is baking: What does it feel like to be invisible?
If you ask a group of kids which super power they wish they had, some will say they wish they could fly, some would wish to have x-ray vision, but a good chunk of them would wish to be invisible. My husband, who is a twenty-eight year old kid as far as I can tell, still wishes to have this power. And I can promise you that the reason he wants this particular power is so that he could be in all sorts of mischief and not get caught at it. Now on the other hand, I would also choose invisibility, but for a vastly different reason. I would love the “fly on the wall” view. And I guess, not only that, but sometimes I think it would be nice to simply blend in, not noticed.
That is, of course, until I wanted to be noticed and wasn’t. I have actually been invisible. In fact, it’s happened just enough that it’s a joke with our family. As a child, my mom, dad and I would often go out to eat. More than once, we sat at a table in a somewhat empty restaurant and waited for many, many minutes without so much as having our drink order taken. We’d finally flag down our waiter, only to have him say, “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you there.” I’ve not had this experience, but my dad did: he was waiting in line, and the clerk actually leaned around him to say, “Next!” We’re fairly ordinary people-- apparently too ordinary.
But I’ve bet we’ve all had those times when we felt invisible. Who of us hasn’t had the experience of being a small child in a big crowd? When you’re a child in a sea of folks, all you can see are pairs of legs. I hope we’ve all also had the experience of a kindly adult who realized our plight, and swung us mightily up on to his shoulders.
Maybe what Jesus is asking of us is something that simple. Notice the un-noticable, and love them enough to do something about their situation.
Simple. But then again, if we all did it, the world just might be a different place. This isn’t a cutesy story about Jesus holding a child. It isn’t a story that should be relegated to a stained glass window portrayal. Jesus is being really subversive. After all, what would our world look like if we suddenly not only noticed those we’ve worked so hard not to see, but interacted with them. And not only all that, but what if we dared to love them?
Do you understand how that would rock our world and social orders, Jesus? What are you trying to do to us--make us like you?
2009-09-17 by David Howell
the lay discussion at Pastor Talk To Me About... Amy Malick has just shared a real life story that goes with part of the gospel text this week.
and thanks to Kim Justice and Stephen Schuette for their good work here!
Welcome the "Child"
2009-09-16 by Kim Justice
Dislocated Exegesis. That’s what seminary professors call it when you take your text out of the comforts of your cozy office, and out into the “real” world. The idea is that your encounter with...well, whatever it is that you encounter, changes how you see the text.
When I was supply preaching, and had weeks with which to wrestle with an upcoming sermon, I faithfully wrote my text out by hand and carried it to as many places as I could. But now that preaching comes every Sunday, and I have all the other things to do that come with being a pastor, all the things I “should do” don’t always get done. But today, I had the opportunity to do some dislocated exegesis as I sat with a church member undergoing her first chemo treatment.
As I looked around at the people there, in their various stages of treatment-- some really sick and some just worn out, some talking with friends or family and some sitting quietly-- I tried to think about Mark’s Jesus, and greatness, and servanthood, and welcoming the child. The immediately obvious servants were those nurses and doctors who were so kind and gentle and diligent. What impressed me about them wasn’t how well they were doing their respective jobs, but rather, the ways that they just added such a dignity to something that isn’t dignified at all. They treated each patient in such a way made it obvious that they weren’t working with fragile sicklings. Instead the people who were there were real people who have lived real lives filled with real joys and hurts. The cancer center wasn’t the morose, somber place I envisioned it to be, and I really think that might be a direct result of the staff attitudes. I guess in some ways, these folks are servants just by virtue of occupation. But in other ways, these folks reminded that servanthood is about much more than what one does. The attitude with which these folks approached what could’ve been just a job made them true servants.
Another thing that struck me during the time I was in the cancer center is that these might be the “children” Jesus talks about welcoming. I don’t think Jesus was being metaphorical by choosing a child, but I do think that child was representative of all those whom society considers powerless, the ones who don’t have a lot of “market value”. In my world, days are marked off by meetings and the things I’ve accomplished. One of my shortcomings is that I place a lot more value on “doing” than I ever will on “being”. Not to be Captain Obvious, but cancer patients aren’t the most “productive” people out there. What I noticed was an absence of date books, cell phones, laptops, and leather portfolios. No one was frantically checking a watch, wondering if that all-important meeting was about to be missed. Some folks, I learned, would spend the greater part of a day in that same chair. And I saw no one who seemed to care two cents about impressing the other people. By virtue of the cancer, these folks have, at least for a while, been knocked out of the rat race. What their bodies will allow them to do mostly fully and consistently is rest.
Children, as far as I can tell, don’t much get the whole rat race thing. They think about the things they like doing, and order their worlds around those things. But adults feel those pressures to be “great”, and work and work and work to that end. We roll out the red carpet for those who are like us, the ones who have accomplished things similar to what we have accomplished. (But not the ones who might have accomplished more, because that would make us feel inferior.) When, though, was the last time you rolled out the proverbial red carpet for a homeless person, or someone who had done jail time, or that teenager who checks you out in the grocery line? I know I’ve driven past my share of the “Will work for food” signs.
What Jesus is getting at when he tells folks to welcome the child is in essence, “Get off your high horse--adjust your values because this child is as precious in my sight as you are. This child, who doesn’t “add” to society, who hasn’t yet earned his way is beloved. Treat him as royally as you would treat me.”
I thought about what my life would be like if I couldn’t measure my worth in units of productivity--what if something knocked me out of the rat race, and the only thing I had enough strength for was to rest in someone’s arms. Unfortunately, I think that might be as great a grief to me as anything else. Jesus doesn’t say it, but I wonder if I hear an unspoken sort of challenge in Jesus’ words about welcoming the child: welcome yourself as a child. Maybe as much as Jesus challenges us to welcome and love the one who is weak and powerless in society, maybe Jesus also asks us to welcome and love ourselves and simply rest in his arms. Maybe we’re being asked to quit floundering about, trying to earn our way.
For some, the task of loving the one who isn’t “earning” his way is really tough. But for some others, perhaps that part will be the easy part. For them, the hardest task will be allowing themselves to sit playing at Jesus feet, and believing that it is enough.
Silence Interrupting the Argument
2009-09-15 by Stephen Schuette
I’m fascinated with what the disciples (and we) want to talk about and don’t want to talk about – the engagement with each other about things we are anxious to express, and then on the other hand this strange silence and loss for words, even remoteness.
They’re interested in who is the greatest. They’re interested in position. They’re interested in how the order is established. They’re interested in getting “ahead” – ahead always implying that someone is behind you trying to overtake you while still others are in front of you who need to be overtaken. We can be obsessed by the competition and can discuss the game endlessly. I know I can get pulled into such discussions, since “right” and “wrong” and “winning” the debate begins to generate its own energy – never mind that the point is meaningless. Anyone who’s ever had a brother or sister or spouse must know about the unregulated energy of such discussions. My how the words can fly while the listening fails! “Is too.” “Is not!” “Is too!” “Is not!”…
So who wants to be called out to see things from a larger perspective when they’re right in the middle of the game? Who wants to give up their point when you think you are so close to winning?
After all that energy the silence must have been deafening. The silence arises from what they don’t want to talk about. It’s that uneasy silence when there are really meaningful things to be said but everyone avoids saying them. Jesus’ question pulls them into that silence. With his words everything that they had been invested in falls away. Suddenly they are speechless.
Looking ahead real speech, meaningful speech from the disciples doesn’t catch fire until Pentecost, following the fulfillment of what Jesus taught in vs. 31.
Reminds me of the old church school song: “O be careful little mouth what you say…O be careful little ears what you hear.”
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