ladyleona

[ladyleona]

Extraordinary Time

He came down with them and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them. (Luke 6:17-19, NRSV)

The period of time between Pentecost and Advent is known in the church as Ordinary Time. It’s marked by green covering the sanctuary paraments and the absence of high celebratory days like Christmas and Easter.

To be honest, I don’t enjoy Ordinary Time. It is by far my least favorite season of the church year. It’s long and drawn out and doesn’t lead up to something big or exciting. Ordinary Time feels very boring for this woman (me) who loves seasons that include new liturgies and fun hymns we only get to sing once a year.

I also get bored with Ordinary Time because we tend to hear many of the same parables and stories from the Gospels that we’ve heard many times before. We’re following the life and ministry of Jesus, and when you already know the gist of it, it’s easy to become uninterested, tuned out, normalized to the miracles.

When I read texts like today’s in Luke, it strikes me as extremely… ordinary. It doesn’t make me ooh or ahh, blow my mind or surprise me in any way. It’s been drilled into me for decades that Jesus teaches and heals. That’s Jesus’ thing. This passage isn’t any new revelation to me.

It’s dangerously easy for me to forget how extraordinary the life and ministry of Jesus really was. It becomes my own spiritual practice to dig into a text to see what is novel or unique about it, what I haven’t seen before that will show me a new side of who God is and how God is acting in the world.

When I dive in to decipher the extraordinary nature of this passage in Luke, the part that sticks out to me is how “all in the crowd were trying to touch him.” There seems to be some sort of power locked up in the human touch of Jesus.

We’ve now lived for many months without being able to touch one another, fearing that another’s touch would harm us or make us vulnerable. When I read of people wanting to touch Jesus, I picture fans at a concert trying to get to the front of the stage in hopes of getting to touch even one finger of a lead singer’s hand. This story reminds me that our God is on the stage and wants to be touched by us. Not only that, but our God did the riskiest thing and became touchable – vulnerable to the touch of others – and through that touch shared the love, power, and healing nature of God.

We humans are healed through touch. Whether it’s a physical therapist helping our range of motion or a friend holding us as we grieve, touch has a healing power and it’s something the whole world is crying out for right now. We are the crowds, scrambling to the front of the stage, reaching our hands out as far as they’ll go to touch the One who can heal us and make us feel together once again.

And even better, when we get to the front of the stage, this God doesn’t walk backstage after the first 10 hands. This God stays there all night, touching each and every concert goer so that they may all be known and healed.

I don’t know about you, but I want to go to that concert. It sounds pretty extraordinary.

[ladyleona]

What now?

“I hope to come to you soon, but I am writing these instructions to you so that, if I am delayed, you may know how one ought to behave in the household of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and bulwark of the truth. Without any doubt, the mystery of our religion is great:

He was revealed in flesh,

   vindicated in spirit,

       seen by angels,

proclaimed among Gentiles,

   believed in throughout the world,

       taken up in glory.” (1 Timothy 3:14-16, NRSV)

We find ourselves here, the week after Ascension Sunday when we celebrated Jesus’ ascent to Heaven to be with the Father. For the disciples of the time, I can imagine this moment in history was a little terrifying. They have just witnessed the birth, life, ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension of the One who they call Lord.

The question I would begin to ask is: What now?

Their leader is gone. Sure, He prepared them and they technically know what to do, but it sure feels like the end of a really incapsulating movie that had a big climax, happy resolution, and is now over. You can’t ever live it the same way again, but you’re moving forward as a completely different person.

For me, I think this is when faith kicks in. This is when we begin practicing what we – and what Jesus – have been preaching. When we live as if this mysterious thing that just happened actually means something. Even when it’s terrifying and you don’t know what to do next.

We find ourselves in these moments throughout our lives, having gone through something with no clear path going forward:

When we lose someone we love and must work through the messiness and grief of not living alongside of them.

When we commit ourselves to anti-racism work and then have to discern what the next right action step is.

When we retire and figure out how we want to serve and spend our days in this new stage of our lives.

We find ourselves in these scary, unknown, no-clear-path-forward places, wondering “What now?” But what we modern-day Christians have the privilege of knowing is that Pentecost is just around the corner. The Holy Spirit will come down and inhabit this world and our lives. I imagine this is a comforting day for the disciples – and for us – knowing that we’re not alone in this whole church, faith, or life thing. We have an Advocate that’s been given to us that will walk with us along the journey, whatever path we end up taking.

But until then, we also have faith in the mysteries we have witnessed and the promises God continues to make to sustain all of God’s people.

[ladyleona]

Being Seen and Named

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:1-10, NRSV)

Jesus is working his way to Jerusalem when he makes one final stop in Jericho. He has his sights set on where he’s going - on the dark and desolate road ahead of him - and is planning to simply pass through the town. But then a man catches his eye.

As Jesus is walking down the road, his eyes follow the short man who seems to be looking for a place to see over the crowds. He’s running around trying to find a tree to climb before it’s too late – before Jesus walks past him. Jesus, intrigued by this man’s deep desire to see him walks over to him in the tree, looks him in the eye, and calls him by name. “Zacchaeus,” he says, “I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

The crowd groans, because Zacchaeus is not only a tax collector, but the chief tax collector. In other words, he’s beyond redemption and there’s no hope for him. Why would Jesus go to him? He’s a waste of Jesus’ time.

But then – like many other stories we’ve been reading from Luke’s Gospel – Zacchaeus has a moment of repentance, of turning, of changing. He’s going to give (or has already given) half of his possessions to the poor and will pay back those whom he cheated. All before Jesus even steps into his house!

When I read this, I imagine that even though Zacchaeus is rich and at the top of the ranks in Rome, he knows he’s lost. If he didn’t think he was lost, he wouldn’t have climbed a tree to see over the crowds and witness this Jesus man in person.

And I also imagine that its in this moment of looking at Jesus – and being called by name – that he saw himself most clearly. He had now been seen, in his full humanity, by the one who everyone had been talking about. “It’s true,” he must’ve thought, “he really does hang out with sinners like me.”

When we come face to face with Christ, we see our lives, our possessions, and our time terrifyingly clearly. We become aware of how we’ve been lost, and in looking into the eyes of Jesus, we are saved from our wilderness and shown the path home.

This is Zacchaeus’ story. This is our story. And this is the final story we hear of Jesus with others before he gets on that donkey and goes into the city.

We’ve walked this Lenten journey together, witnessing to the light and hope Jesus continually brought to the suffering and lost throughout his ministry. And now we stand here, alongside Zacchaeus, being seen in our full humanity, being named as a child of God. Before his ministry takes a sharp turn in story, this is what Jesus wants us to know and remember: “The Son of God came to seek out and save the lost.”

In the coming days, we’ll see that how he does that “saving” might not match our expectations.

[ladyleona]

A reflection on this MLK Day

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:43-48, NRSV)

Other than his “I Have a Dream” speech, Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” might be his most known piece of writing. In it, he writes from his jail cell directly to his fellow clergyman in Alabama.

The letter is honest and respectful, but highlights his disappointment in the church and white moderates who fill the pews, both of who are not supporting black people in their fight toward justice. He knows he needs white religious leaders to help him get to people in power. He knows he needs the oppressor in order to free himself from his oppression. He knows the justice God demanded of Christians and is hoping against hope that white Christians will follow the call.

I’ve read this letter many times before, first in high school for an English class. But every time I read it, it takes on new meaning depending on the state and climate of our country. When reading his letter this year, alongside today’s text from Matthew, it was painful and humbling to realize that when Martin Luther King was writing this letter, I was his “oppressor.” Taking Matthew’s words, I was his enemy. Me, the white moderate Christian, daughter of a Pastor, lover of the church. I’m the one to whom he’s writing this. I am the Christian who continues to disappoint my black siblings with my complacency and fear of change. I’m the one who professes faith in Christ but doesn’t use my voice and actions to bring about God’s justice in the world.

As I reflect on Jesus’ words to his followers and MLK’s letter to me, I am shown how I’ve been loved and prayed for by those who call me enemy and oppressor. Through his words from the jail cell, MLK is loving me into change, trusting that God‘s Spirit will work within me and move me toward justice. When I don’t know how to love my enemies, maybe it’s a sign to stop looking for my own enemies and instead look for who calls me enemy and learn from them. Look towards those who have the courage, faith and audacity to love and pray for me trusting that I am able to change and move from enemy to sister, oppressor to ally. That is Christ’s call, shown to us in a very Kingdom-like fashion – from those whom society has marginalized.

The letter ends with these words – the true showing of loving one’s enemy and sharing a common vision of the coming Kingdom:

“I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil-rights leader but as a fellow clergyman and a Christian brother. Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.”

Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.

[ladyleona]

Looking forward into 2021

It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, 27 and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; 28 just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:26-28, NRSV)

January 1, 2021.

Did we ever think this day would come?

I’m not usually one for fresh starts. October, November, and December are my favorite months so January comes to me every year with a bit of sadness, reminding me how long I have to wait for the best time of year. But this January 1st was long awaited, and I think this fresh start might give me an extra boost to keep on keeping on during these hard times.

As we inhabit this “new” space of 2021, we can now look back on 2020 and try to see things clearly, because no matter who you are, it was a year of brutal, unasked self-reflection. So let’s take a moment and look in the mirror:

We witnessed how COVID was not the great equalizer. The elderly and vulnerable were more susceptible to the disease. The middle and lower classes lost their jobs and healthcare while the rich increased their wealth. The already lonely and forgotten became even more isolated.

We witnessed how our society is set up to serve others above another. We saw the horrific mistreatment of black bodies on our social media feeds. We saw systems that we put our trust in – maybe even idolize – break down.

We witnessed powerful divisions between ideological sides. We felt the struggle of how or whether to even talk to our families during the election. We witnessed violence, defensiveness, and an inability to listen.

This is all of what we see in the mirror. Even though it’s hard to stomach, this is a reflection of who we are. Friends, we are in need of confession and repentance.

This passage that we read in Matthew today tells a different story, and I think it’s a story that can lead us into 2021 with fresh eyes. You see, the Kingdom is where these systems, hierarchies, and divisions are put to death. The Kingdom is where the needs of our suffering neighbors – the vulnerable, unemployed, uninsured, marginalized – come above our own needs, so much so that Jesus even “gave his life” as a sacrifice.

Bishop Michael Curry – the Bishop of the Episcopal Church – says that in hard times and in hard conversations, we must simultaneously kneel and stand. We must kneel in humility, opening ourselves up to learn and be open to another’s experience. Similarly, we must stand for the things Jesus stood for – radical love, welcoming, and sacrifice on behalf of the neighbor below us.

As we walk away from the mirror and move forward into 2021, things are still unsure, unsteady, and filled with anxiety. But we have a path forward – the path of Jesus, the path of both kneeling and standing. We have the hope of the Kingdom among us – in the breaking down of systems and structures that do not serve our communities and our neighbors. We continue to celebrate the incarnation of God with us, trusting that God inhabits this broken world alongside us.

2020 was hard, and it will be one we will not soon forget. But may we use this fresh start to look clearly in the mirror, turn (repent), and move towards a more Kingdom-like world.

[ladyleona]

The beginning is with us

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

2 As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,

   who will prepare your way;

3 the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

   ‘Prepare the way of the Lord,

   make his paths straight,’”

4 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8 I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” (Mark 1:1-8, NRSV)

This is such an interesting beginning to the book of Mark. We read the prophetic passage from Isaiah and then watch it come to life through the life of John the Baptist. The writer is clearly showing us that this messenger who will prepare the way of the LORD is John.

Similarly, this messenger as mentioned in Isaiah and John both appear to be in the wilderness. Not only in the wilderness, but crying out and proclaiming in the wilderness.

So let this soak in a little: The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, does not begin with God (plot twist!), but instead begins with an ordinary human hanging out in the wilderness, proclaiming the forgiveness of sins. How extraordinarily odd.

But just wait! It gets weirder.

In his proclamation, John says, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me […] I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

Reading this as a modern-day Christian, it doesn’t seem too confusing; he’s obviously talking about Jesus. But imagine being the people hearing this for the first time: John’s words are super vague. This proclamation includes no real details about who this person is, where they’re coming from, or when they’ll be coming. Is it some kind of king? Is it even human? And this Holy Spirit - what’s that? We know of the wind and spirit that was in the stories in our Hebrew scriptures, but the “Holy” Spirit? No idea what that means.

So again, you can see how odd this is as a beginning to the life and reign of Jesus Christ. According to Mark’s telling, Jesus’ story begins with us, in the wilderness, not really knowing any details about anything, most likely with a mix of excitement and nerves.

I wonder if this is Jesus’ first teaching, even before walking the earth. Throughout the prophets and now through the life of John, we witness a movement from the power and reign of the temple and Jerusalem, to the humility and nothingness of the wilderness. The crowds and followers are led to the wilderness with a prophetic promise – one that will come into being in its own sort of wilderness, Bethlehem. The Jesus who will heal and minister will similarly be led outside the gates of the city and die alone in another type of wilderness, Golgotha.

We don’t know how, when, or where God chooses to come - that’s the waiting we experience during these weeks of Advent. But if we follow John’s lead and head to the wilderness – straight into the broken and unknown places, into the pain and suffering of our neighbors – maybe we just might find God there. Maybe our presence there will allow God to have a body to dwell within. Maybe our proclamations – though vague and unsure – will hold the space for Jesus to break into this world.

It seems like that’s the best place to wait right now, doesn’t it?

In this second week of Advent, may we gather together in this wilderness, and wait…

[ladyleona]

God bless you

What do you say to someone who’s dying?

Someone whose body is ravaged by this heartless corona, and calls the church office to ask for a Pastor to be by their side.

Someone whose breath has been stripped from them as they use every ounce of energy left to speak each word, every incomplete sentence.

How do you respond when they quickly, efficiently, assuredly say,

“I’m dying.”

What courage it takes to say those words. Let alone to a stranger. To me.

The only thing I could think of was:

“God bless you.”

God bless the life you have walked and your last battle with it today.

God bless your final moments here as you experience Christ crucified and suffering alongside you like never before.

God bless your journey to the other side as you’re reunited with the communion of saints.

God bless you, child of God. May God shower God’s blessings upon you today and for eternity.

[ladyleona]

A New Economy

He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” (Luke 14:12-14, NRSV)

I always read and understood this passage as another example of Jesus’ love for the poor, crippled, lame, blind - all the misfits. However, I heard another interpretation the other day and it helped me see Jesus’ parable in a new light.

This text, first and foremost, is about an economic system. This economic system - one that Jesus knew well and was most likely unquestioned during his life - is one built on social capital and paybacks. The practice was, invite your rich friends and neighbors to your party, so that when you’re in a pickle, you can go to them asking for a favor and they are guilted into repaying you. Very tit for tat sort of system, one that doesn’t value human relationship at all but instead sees humans as manipulated products we use for our own gain. The wealthier get wealthier and no one else gets in.

Sound familiar? (*wink wink*)

Jesus, on the other hand, is clearly teaching that we should not participate in that garbage. Don’t do it. Instead, invite the people who have nothing to give to you, no favors to grant you, no power to hold over you. Though these people have nothing to give in the current economic system and would never have had a chance to enter into the tit for tat economy, they are now invited to the dinner with no strings attached.

It can be easy to say “love your neighbor,” but what makes this commandment harder is when we take it seriously and actually look at Jesus’ life. One of the most common ways he loved God’s people was through dismantling and challenging systems that excluded and oppressed them. For example,

The Roman economy left a lot of people out.

The United States’ healthcare system has abandoned millions during a pandemic due to its unnecessary connection to employment.

There was no way for the poor, crippled, lame, and blind to enter into the economy without the courage and willingness by Jesus to make room for them.

There is no way for the black bodies of our country be treated equally (instead of unjustly arrested, incarcerated, and killed) unless we have the courage and willingness to change systems.

We are no different than Rome. We have built up systems that exclude people of color, the poor, differently abled, and queer. And these people are crying out, wanting to be included but with no path in.

And don’t be mistaken - it’s not their job to find a path or force their way in. Remember it was Jesus who changed the system and invited them. Jesus was the one who spoke out and challenged how things were doing.

This is a call out to us, the white, cisgender, middle and upper class folk (that’s me!). We have a job here - a Kingdom-driven job - to dismantle and challenge these systems of oppression and create the paths for our neighbors to join us. With no strings attached and no expectations of anything in return. Simply out of love and demand that our fellow humans should have a seat at the table.

If we are truly following Christ, our work does not end with our day to day behaviors toward our neighbors; that is only the beginning. The work continues by seeing systems of oppression with clear eyes, and dismantling them one dinner banquet at a time.

And if we don’t, there will be millions left out with no path in.

[ladyleona]

Our Year of Jubilee

People have been wondering why this moment of racial reckoning is happening now rather than before. After seeing black bodies broken, battered, and lynched for years, we (aka white people) seemingly haven't wanted to do the hard work before today. We're opened now in a way we haven't been before. We are growing the courage to bring up these conversations at work and in our families; reading the books that teach us the true history of our American story.

"But why now?" everyone is asking.

The answer in my eyes is clear: Sabbath.

COVID-19 has been disastrous to all of humanity in every way possible. First and foremost, the death toll has been humbling. But millions of the survivors are now without family, jobs, income, health insurance, or basic needs. This pandemic has been a 100% preventable disaster, and the long-term suffering it will create has only begun.

BUT, I can't help but name one important blessing from COVID-19: the forced Sabbath it has thrown upon us all.

We are no longer in lockdown, but there were over two months where people had nothing to do. No place to go out to eat, no live shows or sports, no kids' activities, no extracurriculars, no social gatherings. Zip. Nada. Nilch. Nothing.

And we hated it. It was painful. It was lonely. But it brought us something we abuse every day: the gift of time and moments of silence. It brought us the gift of Sabbath.

In the book of Leviticus, there is an order from the LORD to take a Sabbatical year every seven years in order for you, the land, and your livestock to rest. Additionally, every 49 years (after seven Sabbatical years), you are to take a Year of Jubilee. During this year, you not only rest, but everything is brought back into order. You return to your home land, equal out unpaid debts, reconcile with your neighbor about a discretion. You spend this year evening everything out again and essentially starting from the beginning.

I can't help but see 2020 as our Year of Jubilee. A moment forced on us by our inability to stop, assess the situation, and put our neighbors' health and wellbeing first.

When we spent two months in a lot of silence and boredom, watching everything we thought we'd never have time for on Netflix, we created space inside our beings to make things right again. We had the time and energy - after a long period of unintentional rest - to focus on others.

So when the horrendous lynching of George Floyd crossed our news feeds, our minds, hearts, and bodies were shaken for the first time in weeks. And because we had a Sabbath, we actually had the energy, desire, and vision of justice to do something about it. After previous killings of black people, our lives didn’t have space to care for and take action on behalf of our suffering neighbor. This year, that was different. I truly believe if we hadn't been in lockdown from COVID-19, George Floyd's death would have been another Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin, Emmitt Till - a couple weeks of protests but then white people gotta take their kids to soccer practice.

Honoring the Sabbath is a commandment, and this year has shown us why we must keep it.

I once heard a Pastor say that he would get fired for breaking all the commandments, but no one would care if he didn't honor the Sabbath. That's the culture we're up against, but we need to continually make it a priority, especially when COVID has passed and every minute of our lives are scheduled out.

And we don’t just do this for ourselves, but we do it for the literal lives of our neighbors.

During this 2020 Year of Jubilee, we are taking steps to even the playing field and truly reconcile a community. But in order for this to be sustained, we must rest. We must live in silence. We must find the solace or nothing will ever change.

[ladyleona]

Eucharist in the age of COVID

120 days.

It’s been 120 days since I last came to the table and received the gift of Eucharistic, since I felt the intimate presence of my saints with me, since I heard the words “for you”.

And goodness, it’s been hard. It’s been lonely, full of anxiety and impatience, not knowing when next I will sit around the table with my crew, and know the true presence of Christ in my midst.

The bread and wine is, first and foremost, an unearned gift. And it would be arrogant of me to think that I can’t survive without it - 120 days is proof of that. And I obviously know that Christ is present outside of the elements. But there’s nothing quite like the Meal at God’s table, and I’m growing really hungry.

Last week at the Food Bank’s Northeast distribution, I was floored by the amount of food surrounding me. I couldn’t believe between the constant line of cars and amount of food we were handing out that we never ran out. Each family got everything they could ever need for at least of week of food, and it was true nourishment, not stuff full of sugar and preservatives. We were surrounded by true abundance.

It was only on reflection that I realized this table at the distribution might be the Eucharistic table during these unusual times. This food is a gift from the abundant God, food for our journey, and given freely without any limitations. It is handed over from one member of the community to another, without any questions about need or whether they deserve it. This box of dairy will fill their growing children with needed calcium and strength; the frozen meat and produce will give them energy and nutrition. I can’t help but believe Christ is present in this food, at this table.

It’s not how I imagined my first communion back from shutdown to be, but we know our God shows up where there is need and want, in the weird places. No one’s in the sanctuary right now, so God heads to the Northeast parking lot and shares God’s abundance with God’s people.

“This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, shed for you.”

[ladyleona]

Sin and Grace

What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin go on living in it? Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. (Romans 6:1-4, NRSV)

“Should we continue to sin in order that grace may abound?”

In essence, this question makes it sound like we have a say in God’s grace, as if we have some control over it. We think: if I act in a sinful or selfish way, I receive more grace. And if I love and serve my neighbor, then maybe I won’t get any grace; what would I need grace for? If we are asking ourselves this question, we are left suffering and uncertain about our relationship with God. God then becomes the parent we can never live up to.

But we don’t need to be left suffering and uncertain because we know who God is. God is a giving God, a God whose very essence and relationship in the Trinity is sustained through giving to and through one another. This God gives no matter who we are or what we do. This God gives grace abundantly because that is the essence of God.

What does this mean for our sin? Well first, it means that God’s grace doesn’t change depending on our sin or good works. What a great gift that is! God gives whether we notice God’s gifts or not, but it does put into perspective a lot when we can recognize and become aware of the life and love God gives to us daily.

So then, when we don’t have to worry about earning God’s grace - when we don’t have to work our way up the ladder or worry about slipping up - we are then freed to give and love and shower grace upon the world just as God has given and loved and showered grace upon us. There’s nothing holding us back. We are no longer enslaved or burdened by our sin, left wondering how God will respond or if we’re still worthy. This allows us to live freely in the love and joy of the resurrection, knowing that we won’t do anything perfectly but that God’s grace is still with us.

We know that we are by no means perfect. From the moment we wake up in the morning, we are sinful creatures. But through Christ, we are loosed of the chains that identity or actions hold over us. Through Christ’s resurrection and God’s unending gift of grace, we enter into a new life, a life no longer measured by good deeds or sins, but by the love shown to us and flowing through us into the world.

May we welcome God’s unending grace today and enter into this abundant life we share with Christ.

[ladyleona]

Do you want to get well?

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth zatha which has five porticoes. In these lay many invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” (John 5:1-8, NRSV)

Can you imagine being sick for thirty-eight years? I’m only twenty-six so I would still have 12 years to go! Many of you have battled years long diagnoses, treatments and doctors’ appointments which I can imagine have felt like many decades. But thirty-eight years?! I can’t wrap my head around it.

So what does this afflicted and tired man do after battling his suffering for thirty-eight years? He goes to the pool in Jerusalem. Now this pool is known to have healing qualities; no one can explain what or how it happens, but they go in sick, hurting, and in pain and come out healed. It seems like a promising solution.

But again, his suffering continues. Everyone else is wanting to get into these healing waters – everyone wants their own piece of what will make them whole and healthy again - and this leaves no space for the man to get his turn. His fragile and failing body keeps him from making his way in and no one seems to even notice his trying. He is left wanting a helping hand but no one will even touch him.

Along comes Jesus, who finds the man exhausted and hopeless. What’s even worse is he finds the man lying right next to the very thing that is supposed to heal him. It’s as if he can see the magic pill on the counter but cannot pick it up. Imagine this man’s emotional pain from all of this: What else is there to fight for? Why is it even worth trying?

But Jesus sees the weakness in this man, and Jesus is drawn to it. And so he asks, “Do you want to be made well?”

Even though the man responds apathetically explaining his despairing situation, I have to believe Jesus asking the question at all brought a sliver of hope into the man’s life. After fighting the flu or a cancer diagnosis, all you want is a doctor to ask you “do you want to be made well?” because you have to believe if they’re asking you that, they know how to help.

So this man has hope, even if just a sliver. And then Jesus performs another miracle.

“Stand up, take your mat and walk.”

There was no abracadabra, there was nothing the man needed to do. Jesus didn’t even need the healing pool that was apparently all the rage. Jesus just healed him, right there, between the words that were spoken.

“Stand up, take the bed you have been confined to for thirty-eight years, leave this place that has promised you healing and let you down, and be part of this world once again. You are worthy of life and it is life you have been given.”

It is in these moments that I know God is most present - when we have become cynical about our suffering, isolated from those who could help, and staring at the thing the world has said would heal us but hasn’t. This is when Christ comes to us and says, “stand up, take your mat and walk.”

[ladyleona]

Relevance vs. Identity

This Lent, I am reading The Crucified God by Jurgen Moltmann, a supposed “classic” theological text. The first chapter names poignantly well the tension of relevance and identity in the church. At times, we are drawn to move with the times, adapting to the needs of today. While at other times we want to maintain our grounding in the tradition and foundation of the first church. This can often cause strong divisions in the church; it becomes a fight between the liberal and conservative mind, social justice and tradition.

It was only after the first group discussion that it caught me how well Moltmann named the theme highlighted in the Netflix movie, The Two Popes (spoilers ahead). This movie begins with Benedict and Francis, two leaders in the church with radically different ideas of where the church needs to be going (or staying, for that matter), arguing about what should be done differently to make the church what it needs to be.

Benedict sees the church as the needed constant in the world, the unchanging force that will provide people a place to be apart from the secular world. In Moltmann’s words, he is fighting to maintain the church’s identity.

In contrast, Francis sees the church as an old dodgy institution that needs to think critically about who it’s leaving out and make changes to become more welcoming and open to all. He is fighting to maintain the church’s relevance.

They can’t agree on anything.

Until they go to the cross.

One day, they are brought together for a meeting in the Sistine Chapel. It is here that they continue their fighting until Benedict begins prodding for more. He begins asking Francis the why. And all of this leads them into a time of confession.

Francis then shares his story of his early years as a priest in Argentina, and how it was due to his actions that his priest friends were tortured for many years by the state. You can feel the weight of guilt and shame on his shoulders. You witness his need to make up for his mistakes by working toward a church that can stand up for all people. He doesn’t realize he is confessing until Benedict stands up and forgives him. Forgives him for his actions and releases him from his burdens. It is a moving moment to see two men who think very differently and are at the top of the Catholic church engage in the simple sacrament (they are Catholic) of confession.

But Benedict reminds him, even he – the Pope – is worthy of forgiveness. So through the power and gifts of the Holy Spirit, Francis forgives him of all his sins, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

This moment was the catalyst for their future together.

These two men went to the cross together. These two men, who in the eyes of the world are closest to God, entered into the suffering and dirtiness of the cross and came clean. They became more human to each other than they had to anyone else. They named their sins, giving away the power it had over them.

And in this holy moment, they were brought together in one vision. They became friends. The church was strengthened. Their humanity was forgiven and made new through reconciliation.

This is the cross. This is what Moltmann points to over and over again as the focus of the church. We can not come together if we do not go to the cross together. The church will lose sight of Jesus if we are not pointing to the crucified Christ.

The sucky part is that it is really messy to point to the cross. It means forgiving people – even the Pope – who have done us wrong. It means being vulnerable with people. It means sharing the shame and guilt we carry around with us. It means being human with those who we see as different than ourselves. This call to point to the cross of Christ is not easy; fighting over identity and relevance is a lot easier. But it is the only way the church will continue to proclaim the Gospel.

What’s striking to me as I ponder this first chapter and think back to the movie is that this tension is not new. Moltmann wrote this poignant chapter in the 1970s and 50 years later, we still see this fight between tension and relevance among us, even at the highest levels of the church. But it is in this tension that we are forced to look toward the cross. It is the only answer. It is the only thing that will bring us together into the one Body.

[ladyleona]

The Hardest Commandment

I fall short on all the ten commandments, but the eighth one is the one that calls me out the most often. For all of you who don’t recite the ten commandments every morning (how dare you!), this is the one I’m speaking of: “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.” (Exodus 20:16)

I first learned about the breadth of this commandment back when Allison Johnson – a former seminary intern at the Center – was creating a confirmation class for Adam and Amanda’s two girls who were in middle school at the time.

Essentially, this commandment is all about seeing and sharing the goodness in others rather than dishing out the dirt you just heard at a party. This means keeping yourself from spreading the rumors that are going around the office or not sharing the judgments you might have of someone with the people around you.

After being strongly convicted of this when Allison was putting her lesson together, some of us at the LC turned this commandment into a verb. “You just eighth commandment-ed him!” or “Wow, I am totally not eight commandment-ing today.” Making it a verb makes you very aware of how often you do indeed bear false witness.

There are naturally people who are better at following this commandment and I look up to them; I would even say I’m jealous of them. We have a student at the LC who is so good at eight commandment-ing, he even eighth commandment-ed a street preacher that was on campus this fall! Always seeing the goodness and divine within everyone, I look up to this student as my cynicism and judgment is reflected back to me.

I’ve thought about this a lot this past week because there have been two occasions where I’ve heard bad things about people or a rumor that’s spreading around campus and immediately wanted to share it with my colleagues. What is it about us that just loves sharing nasty things about others? Why are we so attracted to how people have failed and how they’re living their lives “worse” than we are? I gain nothing in my gossiping and judgment.

This fall, the LC staff is reading Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s “Life Together” in preparation for our living and learning community in the new building. In the chapter I read this week, he was highlighting the various ways we need to be ministers to each other. And one of them in particular called me out – the ministry of meekness.

In this ministry, we are called to sink all the way down to the depths of humility so that we might see the Christ in our neighbor. And to do this, we must see our own sin as the absolute worst. “If my sinfulness appears to me to be in any way smaller or less detestable in comparison with the sins of others, I am still not recognizing my sinfulness at all. My sin is of necessity the worst, the most grievous, the most reprehensible. Brotherly love will find any number of extenuations for the sins of others; only for my sin is there no apology whatsoever. Therefore my sin is the worst.”

Pretty harsh, huh?

And when I read this, I immediately had those two people I’ve been judging come to mind. To think that my sin is worse than anything they have or have not done is a brutal accusation. There is no room for me to see my neighbor other than the beloved, child of God that they are. There is no room for me to see myself above them, better than them, more worthy of God’s love than them. And I think that’s the core of the eighth commandment and key to the Christian communities of which we are a part.

Bonhoeffer says, “God did not make this person as I would have made him. He did not give him to me as a brother for me to dominate and control, but in order that I might find above him the Creator.”

So may we eighth commandment our neighbors today and every day. The neighbors who may be in the midst of a scandal. The neighbors who we see panhandling every morning on our way to work. Even the neighbors who are in or campaigning to be in the White House. May we humble ourselves enough to see our own sin so that we can see the Christ within them.

[ladyleona]

Buildings

This might not be surprising, but I’ve been thinking a lot about The Lutheran Center building coming down lately.

Over the past four years, I have smiled when thinking about this topic because of all the stress and problems this building has caused us. The continuous water problems, the fact that we have no safe tap water to drink, showing the Terminix guy around to where all the ants are. It’s all been hilarious to me because I know I would cry if I thought about it too long. Even this move out of the building has me wanting to take the first sledge hammer to the walls because I am so ready to get. everything. out.

But now it’s changing. The clock is ticking. This building as we know it will be gone forever in just a few short weeks.

I’ve moved a couple times in my life, both into new homes and new church buildings. I’ve even had a handful of different offices just in my short tenure here at the LC. But all of the places I’ve moved from are still there. If I ever get that nostalgic feeling running through my veins, I can just drive on over to La Salle street and see my first adorable Lincoln home. I even drive by the church I grew up in regularly when I drive down 27th street.

I moved out of these places but they’re still there. They still hold my memories. And if I ever get forgetful, I can easily go back to these buildings and be reminded of my previous life.

But I won’t have this luxury with the LC building and that’s really hitting me now. I won’t ever see the old purple tile in the lounge that was a pain to clean but really highlighted the era of the building. I won’t ever sit at the weird slab of wood that was held up by filing cabinets that I called my office desk for two years. Never again will I experience the tiny staircase going down to the kitchen or the freezing sanctuary in the winter months. These were all quirks that us students laughed about, that made this broken and beat up building the beautiful home that it was.

These buildings hold our memories – or at least they hold mine – and it will be hard for me to watch it come down. To know that this project is literally taking apart so many alumni’s first homes, places of weddings and baptisms, and rooms where deep and Spirit-filled discernment took place hurts my soul if I think about it too much.

This past spring, Marie Kondo – the organizer extraordinaire – taught people to thank items in their life before letting them go, to thank it for the gift it was in their life. So that’s what I’m working on doing in these coming weeks.

Through pictures and videos of the past and present, I am thanking this building for what it has been for me and thousands of others. I am thanking God for the Pastors and people that built it, cared for it, and kept it upright all these years. I am thanking all of the alumni, supporters, and students who continue to risk the loss of this building on behalf of future students, so that this ministry can move into a new and exciting era of ministry for the coming decades. And I’m thanking our architect, engineers, and contractor who will bring this new building to its completion, a building that will feel just as much as a home to new students as this one did for me.

The building might be gone, but we still have what was sent out with us - our faith that was formed, the relationships that were strengthened, and the God we worshiped.

Thanks be to God.

[ladyleona]

Thirsty Jesus

Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” – John 4:13-14 (NRSV)

This story is a familiar one. Jesus approaches the woman at the well and blows her mind with some “living water” talk. She is amazed by it, asking for it from Jesus so that she never has to come to the well again.

She is drawn to him and his words. She’s never had anything like this living water before. Having been emptied and beaten down by life as an outsider, this is great news for her. This is hope for a new life, a new way of being in the world, one where she is not dependent on water from the well or from earthly sources of life. It’s a beautiful story about quenching a deep thirst that has never been met.

Later in John, there’s another verse about thirst. It comes from Jesus while on the cross. He simply says, “I am thirsty.” – John 19:28 (NRSV)

Two verses later, he bows his head and dies.

This juxtaposition of verses was stunning to me when I came across it.

Early in his life of ministry, Jesus explained to a Samaritan woman the life-giving spirit of this water, inviting her into union with God. Explaining that she could be filled with this Spirit, this water. At this point, I would assume that Jesus had ever experienced this kind of thirst before, having been directly fed from the Spirit herself.

And then 15 chapters later in Jesus’ last breath, Jesus becomes thirsty. The one who promised an endless spring of water to a Samaritan woman is himself thirsty.

Now, this stirred a lot of questions for me at first. Thirsty? Why would Jesus be thirsty? Obviously, he’s dying and is probably physically thirsty, but I doubt that the lover-of-metaphors-John would be talking about physical thirst.

So I can only come to understand this sudden thirst of Jesus in one way: Jesus had so fully emptied himself on the cross that he couldn’t even access God’s living spirit. He participated in the wholeness of the human experience in that moment: being thirsty, both physically and spiritually, and having the world isolate us from God.

This hit me hard. It’s often hard for me to think about Jesus as fully human, because he had it easy; he was in complete union with God as an integral part of the Trinity. But on the cross, I now see that he was distant from God; he was no longer being fed directly by God. He had been barred by the world’s sin and brokenness, and with nothing left in him, he felt the breadth of human suffering, pain, and loneliness.

Now, when I read the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, I see Jesus on the cross. I hear his thirst. I know he gets it. And I know what he’s offering is possible and real.

And when I hear Jesus’ words on the cross, I know his humanness. I know the power of the cross that separated him from God, that sucked the divine life from him, in order that he may die a human death.

It truly is the beauty of Christ to know that my God has been thirsty, too.

[ladyleona]

Pre-Lenten Reflections

I love bookstores. Walking into Barnes and Noble is one of the most calming and promising experiences, knowing that there’s thousands of pages that are waiting to be read and stories that are dying to be shared. I never walk into B&N with a book in mind to just go in and buy. I walk in with one very specific goal: find books that I want to read �� after I’ve finished reading the thousands of other books on my list.

So I’m what you might call a bookstore wanderer. I just walk around a bookstore, picking up books here and there to read a little about, making a list on my phone of which ones intrigue me, and then going online to read the reviews. Usually walking out with nothing but a longer “to-read” list in my pocket.

And what I’ve been struck with the past couple of times I’ve been in a bookstore is the number of books that are set in the time of World War II. To name a few of my favorites:

The Tattooist of Auschwitz

Warlight

All the Light We Cannot See

The Book Thief

These – and many more – are love stories, family stories, stories of humanity and connection and hope in the midst of a horrible time in history.

And I just love them.

And I know I’m not the only one that loves them because they’re always on the “Best Selling Paperback” shelves, right in the front of the store. It’s like people see a novel set in war time and think, “Oh this will be so good!” How weird is that?

But it’s what happens! And the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more fascinating I think it is.

A majority of those of us reading these books never lived during WWII. We don’t know the horrors personally; we only know stories and documentaries and momentos that our grandpas brought back as soldiers. And these books not only bring us into a world we’ve never known, but they tell a captivating story of how the world as it was wasn’t the only story.

The concentration camp wasn’t the only story because Lale fell in love with Gita. (The Tatooist of Auschwitz)

The occupation of a blind young girl’s home wasn’t the only story because there was an uncle looking out for her safety. (All the Light We Cannot See)

The burning of books wasn’t the only story because that’s where Liesel found free books to read. (The Book Thief)

As humans, we are naturally drawn to light. We need stories of faith and courage to propel us forward, to reframe challenging times in our lives. After difficult times, we look back to see the hope of the past, in expectation that it will give us strength to continue.

We are about to embark on a Lenten journey, a time when we often draw nearer to the darkness, the heaviness, the brokenness of ourselves and the world.

But as we do this, I am reminded by my walks through the bookstores that this darkness - this brokenness, this sin - is not the only story. This Lenten story is like picking up a WWII novel, knowing the death and tragedy the journey will lead us on, but searching expectantly for the light.

We are about to walk toward the cross – the deepest depth of darkness. But we know that the death the cross bore is not the only story.