Saturday, October 25, 2008

November 2--Loathing the Pharisee


Lectionary focus: Matthew 23:1-12

I used to love to loathe the Pharisees. As a young teenager growing up during the rise of the Religious Right, I would cling to the scathing critique of the Pharisees throughout the gospels as a way to stand defiantly within a religion that seemed so very far removed from my own values. Those modern-day Pharisees “make strict rules and try to force people to obey them!” I would declare to anyone who would listen. “But they are unwilling to help those who struggle under the weight of their rules.” The Religious Right has it wrong, I would convince myself in frustration. If Jesus were here today, he’d be railing against them!

But now that I, myself, am a religious leader the critique cuts closer to home.

How could I possibly deny that I do good things so that the people I supposedly “serve” will see them? How could I possibly deny that I take great care in choosing what to wear when I preach (not too trendy, not too mousy) and how I will fix my hair and makeup (don’t forget the bright lights and how you will look “on stage”)? How could I possibly deny that I enjoy sitting in that fancy chair behind the pulpit with my well-planned sermon and studying with the “most brilliant” scholars in the field and attaching the name of an Ivy League divinity school to my resume? How could I deny that I have become what I used to love to loathe?

The matter becomes even more complicated when we bring in the historical context in which Matthew is writing his gospel. Those who follow “The Way” of Jesus are literally in a political struggle with the Pharisees to pick up the pieces of Judaism after the destruction of the temple. The harsh rhetoric against the Pharisees may, perhaps, come from the mouth of Jesus, himself. It may just as likely be hyperbole on the part of the gospel writer in order to win over a frightened public. And it is just the kind of hyperbole that has led to centuries of (sometimes violent) Christian anti-Judaism. My frustration with the Religious Right pales in comparison with what “good” Christians have done to those “other” Pharisees.

Yet if we are to be honest about our motivations, regardless of our religious tradition, how can any of us deny that this description of the Pharisees is really the description of ourselves? Especially in a tough economy when job security is everything and being noticed by the most important people might mean the difference between a salary and bankruptcy. Because it’s not just about practicing our religion, Jesus seems to suggest. It’s about practicing our lives. And don’t we love to have the people greet us with respect in the marketplace?

“Whoever is your servant is the greatest among you,” Jesus said. “Whoever makes himself great will be made humble. Whoever makes himself humble will be made great.”

Yes, we have a whole lot to lose by following this teaching. We have our jobs and our homes and our prestige. But so did the disciples. And so did the post-Easter, post-Temple community to which Matthew writes. They, in fact, had more to lose than we do. They, in fact, lost it all.

What does it profit if we gain the world but forfeit our soul? Now more than ever, our greatness comes from our service to others. May we have the courage to serve in the coming weeks and months. Amen.
Gusti Linnea Newquist
(Additional Lectionary Texts: Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37; 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13; Matthew 23:1-12)

Thursday, October 16, 2008

October 25--Loving at the Edge of the Promise



“You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.”


Lectionary focus: Deuteronomy 34:1-12; Matthew 22:34-46


When I read this Sunday’s lectionary text from Deuteronomy about the final days of Moses I think immediately of Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous speech the night before he was assassinated in 1968. He had proclaimed the story of the Exodus and the vision of the Promised Land as a liberating hope for African Americans struggling to integrate after centuries of slavery and segregation. Martin Luther King felt a personal identification with Moses on the mountaintop after decades of marching and speaking and submitting to jail on behalf of justice. He had prayed and preached and inspired a community through a long wilderness, and he could see that land flowing with milk and honey just a few steps away. But he was not there yet, and he knew he might not get there in his lifetime. So he called upon others to take up the struggle in the months and decades ahead. And he died the next day without seeing his dream become reality. He died, like Moses, at the edge of the promise.

Forty years later, this biblical vision embraced by Martin Luther King, Jr. continues to propel many of us forward toward racial justice and reconciliation. And as a white woman who has lived almost her entire life in the American South, I know we still live at the edge of the promise Martin Luther King envisioned, even though we have come so much farther than ever before. Because racism and economic oppression are still all too real, I want hold up this promise of hope for all who continue to struggle for liberation and life abundant. I want to proclaim with Martin Luther King that this vision is what it means to “love the LORD your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength . . . and your neighbor as yourself.”


But there’s a pretty big catch. The “promise” for some can be a nightmare for others.


I have learned in the past several years that it is a radically different experience to read this text from Deuteronomy in my current New England congregation: a community that includes Palestinian Christians. Their very presence in our midst requires us to consider again the biblical community on the other edge of the promise Moses hears repeated on that mountain in the desert. Because if you are the neighbor already living in Jericho or Gilead or Judah, you hear this “promise” as a mandate from a tribal god to drive you from your land and destroy your way of life forever. If you are a Canaanite living at the edge of the promise, your neighbor is not anything like your friend. Your neighbor is really your enemy.


If this is the case, then, what does it really mean to love the LORD our God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength? What does it really mean to love our neighbor as ourselves? What in the world was Jesus talking about when he gave us the two great commandments?

He was not talking about Valentine’s Day and touchy-feely Hallmark cards! What we learn from Martin Luther King and what we learn from the Palestinian members of my congregation is that anyone who has lived on either edge of the promise—the one seeking liberation from oppression and the promise of new life and the one suffering invasion and occupation and conquest—knows that loving God and loving neighbor is the spiritual discipline of a lifetime. And it is really, really hard.

Yet when the lawyer asks Jesus which commandment is the greatest, Jesus tells the entire crowd to love their God and to love their neighbor. “On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

He is quoting his own Scriptures (Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18). He is saying that we should interpret everything in them through these two commandments: love God; love neighbor.

The 4th Century theologian St. Augustine, says the same thing. If you read a biblical text and it does not lead you to love God and to love your neighbor, then read it again. You didn’t get it right the first time.


So let’s go back to Moses in Deuteronomy, at the edge of the promise he never entered himself, and see if we can hear a life-giving message for everyone. Even though we know what happens next—especially because we know what happens next—let’s hear that story again as the final word of the five books of the Law, which hangs on the commandment to love God and to love neighbor. And if we read it again, with this commandment in mind, we see that the final word of the Law is not about conquest and destruction. Neither is it about slavery and persecution. It is about hope.

And I think Jesus would say that we all live at the edge of God’s promise when we claim a vision of justice and peace that is right in front of us and yet so very difficult to achieve. We all live at the edge of God's promise when we trust in the living God who is beyond definition, geographic location, and tribal identification. We all live at the edge of God's promise when we follow a God who has chosen to persevere with all the nations through the particular history of the people of biblical Israel, a persecuted minority through most of its existence. God’s promise to that people is the same promise to all, Jesus would say. It is not a claim; it is a gift.

In return, God insists on healing and reconciliation among those with historic tensions. God calls for personal transformation in the midst of social transformation. As we live and love on the edge of that promise, we are owned by the vision, rather than owning it ourselves. We work for its partial implementation, even as we trust in its coming fulfillment. This is what it means to love God, to love neighbor, and to love self.

May God grant us the grace and the courage to follow these two great commands in this week and in the weeks to come. It is really hard. But with God, all things are possible. Amen.


Gusti Linnea Newquist



(additional lectionary texts for this week: Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17; 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8)




Saturday, October 11, 2008

October 19--In God We Trust



Matthew 22:15-22

John Boehner spoke the fundamental truth in his floor speech just before the passage of the $700 billion rescue/bailout legislation a couple of weeks ago, regardless of how we feel about his politics. The House Republican minority whip reminded Congressional leaders that the motto on our money is “In God We Trust.” And he called upon God to help us through this crisis, concluding that God’s help was the only thing that would ultimately suffice.

He’s right. Separation of church and state, respect for religious pluralism, and implementation of just economic policies aside, John Boehner is right. If our lectionary study these past several weeks has taught us anything it is that God alone is worthy of our trust in the midst of economic uncertainty; God alone is our salvation; God alone has abundance to share . . . and expects us to share it in return.

Even The Boston Globe noticed that the lectionary texts over the past few weeks have focused on “God’s economy,” just at the time the rest of us have focused on the all-too turbulent machinations of our own global economy. “As Congress debated and President Bush signed a bailout for Wall Street,” the Globe reported on Saturday, October 11, “clergy have been pondering from the pulpit the pros and cons of capitalism, their reactions ranging from condemnation of financiers to soothing spiritual succor for average folks suffering financial setbacks” (“Subprime Thoughts in Sublime Settings,” B2).

God does have something to teach us about faithful economics, I would argue, just at the time we are all getting a crash course on commercial paper and market liquidity. God does have something to teach us about trusting God’s abundance and receiving it with gratitude . . . and then responding to that abundance with faithful stewardship of all we have been given.

In God’s economy, we have learned these past many weeks, those who govern can and will forgive massive debts . . . but they then expect such forgiveness to be extended to others (Mt 18, 09/14). In God’s economy, we have learned, every worker can and will receive a living wage, regardless of that worker’s perceived productivity (Mt 20, 09/21). In God’s economy, we have learned, a wandering tribe of outcasts escaping slavery can and will receive bread and meat and water that will only come when it is needed . . . but it cannot ever be hoarded (Ex 17, 09/28). In God’s economy, we have learned, our communal lives are ordered by a complete and utter devotion to a dynamic and mysterious “ground of being,” which limits the consequences of our greed and envy (Ex 20, 10/05). In God’s economy—and in our own economy—we have learned, the god of gold will never save us, but God’s steadfast love will endure forever (Ex 32, 10/12).

What more do we have to learn, as we approach another Sunday, as we approach another week of market turmoil, as we approach another month of recession and job loss and political uncertainty? What more do we have to learn, as we compare our economy to God’s economy and find ours wanting?

“Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar?” Matthew’s type-cast Pharisees and Herodians ask of Jesus in our gospel text for the week. “We know you are an honest man and teach the truth of God’s way.”

They are not asking an honest question, of course. They are trying to trap him. The tax is a hated instrument of Roman power and is—debatably—idolatrous. It is also the law. If Jesus answers in the affirmative, he is discredited among his most avid followers. If he answers in the negative, he is handed over to Roman authorities. Can Jesus give an honest answer?

“Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” Jesus says. “And give to God the things that are God’s.”

This ends the conversation. But it is only just beginning. Because everything, of course, belongs to God.

So give to Wall Street the things that are Wall Street’s, Jesus might be saying to us today. And give to God the things that are God’s. Our economy is not God’s economy, he might declare to us boldly. But here is how we can put into practice what we have learned:

--We can plead with our rulers to forgive massive debts—and expect such forgiveness to be extended to all. We can plead with our creditors for mercy—and we can extend that mercy to those who owe us (Mt 18, 09/14);

--We can strengthen our social safety net to make sure everyone has access to the basic necessities of life, knowing that we are also included in that safety net (Mt 20, 09/21);

--We can accept with gratitude God’s generous provision for our survival, even if it pales in comparison with the luxury to which we have grown accustomed (Ex 17, 09/28);

--We can place our primary trust in the God who is dynamic and indefinable, not confined to our fears, not pinned down by our panic—and allow that trust to order the ethical relations of our common life (Ex 20; 10/05);

--We can repent of our worship of the god of gold and turn once more to the God who remains with us always, who gives us opportunity in the midst of chaos, who will not abandon us to the evil we create (Ex 32; 10/12).

Give to God the things that are God’s, Jesus says to us over and over. God has already given everything to you. You can trust in that. You can depend on that. And you can share that with everyone you meet.

May we who would be faithful have the courage to trust what we have learned and to share these lessons broadly. Now is the time.


Gusti Linnea Newquist


(additional lectionary texts for this week: Exodus 33:12-23; Psalm 99; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10)

Friday, October 3, 2008

October 12--The God Who Remains




Exodus 32:1-14; Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23

(Additional texts for this week: Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14)







“We have sinned just as our ancestors did. We have done wrong; we have done evil.” –Psalm 106:6


“These are scary times,” I said to Kristen earlier this week as we prepared for the waitressing gig we had both picked up for the night. I was thinking of the economic bailout debate and the upcoming job loss report and my evaporating retirement plan and the uncertainty of a long-term job search. “These are scary times,” Kristen agreed, thinking of her three kids and her pending divorce and the increasing scarcity of work just at the time when food costs and gas costs and the New England winter’s energy costs are on the rise. “These are scary times,” we hear from every economist on every newscast from television to radio to newspaper to blog. “We’ve never been here before,” these economists say. “We just have no idea how things will turn out.”


“These are scary times,” I can’t help imagine the ancient Israelites of our Exodus text saying to one another as they linger in the desert morning after morning, waiting for Moses to come back down off that mountain. “We’ve never been here before,” I imagine them saying as they go to bed at night with no plan in sight. “We just have no idea how things will turn out,” I imagine them whispering to one another as anxiety builds and panic spreads. “Make us gods who will lead us,” I can hear them beg of Aaron, the only leader they have left. “Moses led us out of Egypt, but we don’t know what has happened to him.” Give us something we can see and touch. Give us something we can trust.


I can’t help relating to their need for a tangible image of the god they claim to serve. I can’t help but see ourselves in them as they continue to cling for stability to the very thing that can never be stable--a god of gold.


“Take off the gold earrings that your wives, sons, and daughters are wearing,” Aaron responds to the Israelites, “and bring them to me.” And Aaron takes all their gold and molds it into a statue of a calf. Then he announces a feast in honor of God.

But God is not honored.

“They have made for themselves a calf covered with gold, and they have worshiped it and offered sacrifices to it,” God thunders at Moses, still up on the mountain. “I am so angry with them that I am going to destroy them. Then I will make you and your descendants a great nation.”


Gulp.


“Hold on a minute, God,” I want to say in defense of the Israelites, in defense of myself, in defense of every one of us who begs for some visible sign of security and stability. “How long do you expect us to languish in this leadership vacuum with no clear path forward and forecasts of gloom and doom everywhere we turn? We just wanted to see you. Aaron’s the one who made us worship the god of gold. Wall Street did it; not me!”


And it’s true, of course. Aaron did decide to mold the gold into a calf. Corporate lenders did decide to entice borrowers to make mortgages they could never afford. Government regulators did fall down on the job. Partisan bickering did contribute to the crisis, rather than solve it. Why should people like Kristen and me and the average Joe on the street bear the brunt of God’s anger, bear the burden of the bailout, bear any responsibility for where we are now and how we move forward?


But of course . . . if we’re really honest . . . if we’re really, really honest . . . most of us did dance—at least just a little bit—in that party for the golden calf we’ve been having for a while. Most of us, if we’re really honest, at some point have asked for that visible image--for that god of gold--to keep us safe, to keep us secure, to give us a reason to party when we're scared. Most of us, if we’re really honest, want our leaders to make it easy for us, so we don’t have to do the difficult spiritual work of trusting in a God we can’t see and a future we can’t know. Most of us, if we're really honest, deserve at least just a little bit of divine anger in response to our sin. We're in this one together, and it hurts all the way through.


And so it helps to see God negotiate with Moses, who is pleading our case forthrightly, who is appealing to God’s reasonableness, to God’s reputation, to God’s promise already given. And it helps to see that God can “repent” of anger, that God can “turn away” from the evil consequences of our actions, that God can give us the opportunity to do the same. For this is exactly what God chooses to do in this Exodus text. God will not abondon us to the consequences of our actions. The evil we have done is not the final answer.


It is not an easy reconciliation. It is not an immediate fix. Moses returns to the people and imposes a day of reckoning. The relationship between the people and God remains tenuous. But it remains!


And that, in the end, is the one thing we can depend on. Whether we have worshiped the god of gold or whether we got dragged to the party without participating in it. Whether we begged Aaron to make us a god we could see or whether we helped to fashion it ourselves. God is still with us, repenting of anger, turning us away from the evil we create. We can have another chance. We can make a new way together.

“Let anyone who wants to follow the LORD come to me,” Moses says to the people upon his return. Let anyone who wants to follow God join together, we can say to one another now that the truth of our economic crisis is upon us. It is time to repent. It is time to turn around. We can make a new way, with our God as our guide. May this be our commitment in the days and weeks to come. May we seek out those who will help live anew. In the midst of a crisis comes a new opportunity. We can begin again. May it be so. Amen.



Gusti Linnea Newquist