From the Gospel of Luke:
“You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?”
(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 9:41 (NRSV) – October 18, 2014)
Project Evaluation Review Technique – “PERT” . . . . I learned to do PERT charts in business school. PERT charts diagram the flow of a project through its various tasks and processes, assigning some as “essential” tasks which must be done in a particular order, later tasks depending on earlier tasks to have been accomplished by particular persons, while other tasks “float,” they can be done any time by any team member.
I wonder sometimes if Jesus could have made use of one. What would he have put into the “essential task” boxes and what into the “floating task” boxes and what would have been the flow of activities and to whom would everything be assigned? If Jesus had made use of a PERT chart, I wonder if he would do with it what I eventually did with every one I tried to make for parish ministry . . . throw it away in frustration!
That was the eventual outcome of every parish project PERT chart because inevitably some essential task to be done by a volunteer would not get done; the entire enterprise would grind to a halt and either never be accomplished or only get done if the rector or another paid staff member did what the volunteer had promised to do.
I confess to possibly breaking the Third Commandment on a regular basis. I suppose I could have echoed Jesus’ words of frustration, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?” However, more often than not, my prayer of weariness is a single word, “Jesus!” I try not to do that, but it just pops out. Stymied and upset, before I even think about it, I let loose, “Jesus!” My hope is that he understands this as a prayer rather than as an curse. (I once had a Jesuit spiritual director who opined that, uttered in exasperation, the ejaculation “O fuck!” may be the most honest of human prayers. I don’t use that one very often.)
In such instances, the PERT chart, now useless, ends up in the circular file cabinet. In fact, I’ve stopped making PERT charts for any project that requires volunteer labor. It’s just a waste of time.
Of course, the church is not a volunteer organization. The apostles were not volunteers – they were called. Christians, likewise, are not volunteers – we are called. “You did not choose me but I chose you.” (Jn 15:16) Jesus, the one who does the calling, probably has more claim to be frustrated that parish clergy like me, who are simply among the called . . . but there it is.
In any event, I hear the frustration in this text and, therefore, I trust that he understands when I utter my prayers of exasperation.
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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
Truth, United States Senator Hiram Johnson observed in 1917, is the first casualty of war. When war becomes nearly universal is truth in danger of being fully obliterated? I don’t think so; I think truth will ultimately survive and prevail. My faith is that the Truth will no doubt prevail, but for the moment, I am speaking neither of grand philosophical concepts nor of the One who made the audacious claim, “I am the Truth.” (Jn 14:6) Rather, I speak simply of factual accuracy and of the intellectual integrity of those who communicate; that truth is suffering some mighty hurtful body blows at present.
I love Psalm 121 for a variety of reasons. It is the psalm which the sanctoral lectionary provides for the feast of St. Francis of Assisi (October 4), always a favorite saint. It is the psalm my late mother chose to be read at her funeral. It is one of the psalms of ascent which pilgrims to the Temple are believed to have sung as they made their way to Jerusalem for the major festivals of ancient Judaism; on pilgrimage in Israel and Palestine, my wife and I recalled it as we rode in a travel coach from Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv to ancient city. There many good memories, some joyful, some sad, all meaningful, associated with it.
Did Jesus actually say these things? Most contemporary bible scholars would probably answer “No.” The author of John’s Gospel has made Jesus say the things a largely Jewish community of the church in the late 1st Century, a church struggling to cope with its separation from traditional Judaism, believed about Jesus; Jesus is thus both the subject and the interpreter of the message of John’s Gospel. In the 21st Century, we might have preferred the author to have included the interpretation of Jesus in the narrative, not in the words spoken by the character of Jesus portrayed here, but that’s not what we’ve got. What we’ve got is the Jesus remembered by a community with a highly developed Christology telling that community, and us, who Jesus was then and now.
John uses the word “believe” three times in this short passage: once quoting Jesus about witnesses to his acts of power and twice regarding the royal official’s state of mind. What, precisely, does John mean by doing so? That is one of the ponderable but unanswerable questions about scripture, the precise meaning of a biblical author. 
Shechem was known as Sychar in Jesus’ time. Near that land that Abraham had bought for use as a tomb, just a short walk south from the traditional location of Joseph’s tomb, is a well that belonged to Jacob. At that well, Jesus stopped to ask a Samaritan woman for a drink; part of the story of that meeting and Jesus’ conversation with the woman (the longest of all the conversations recorded in the Gospels) is today’s Gospel text (John 4:27-42). 
The second tomb is that of Fr. Justinus, the priest who took over the church from St. Philoumenos and continued his work of restoration. An accomplished artist, Fr. Justinus wrote all of the icons which now decorate the nave, sanctuary, and crypt, including an icon of the martyrdom of St. Philoumenos. Fr. Justinus’s tomb is empty because he is still alive. He built his tomb himself and it is placed just outside the front door of the church; he walks past it everyday coming from his residence in the neighboring monastery to the church. It is a daily reminder of his (and our) mortality and of the dangers he (and many) face in the on-going violence or threat of violence that characterizes the Holy Land today.
I wasn’t going to mention this, really, but the mind makes strange associations and when I read the Gospel lesson this morning, particularly this line about the wind blowing where it will and us being unable to tell its origin or its destination, the image that came immediately to mind is an automobile turn signal.
Every time I read this tale from John’s gospel, I am caught up short by this apparently pointless question. It seems such a non-sequitur, a request for irrelevant information. What could it have mattered where Jesus was staying? John doesn’t bother to give us an answer. We don’t know where this event took place. John never tells us a town and though the two disciples are permitted to come and see where Jesus was staying, the information is never given to the reader. A useless, irrelevant question made important in the dialog but never resolved for the audience — my college writing instructors would have torn this story apart.
Today we are witnesses to one of the great and popular miracles of the gospel story, the feeding of the 5,000, which is actually the feeding of many more than that — notice the last few words of the gospel lesson text: “those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.” (v. 21, emphasis added) Matthew gives little thought to the men’s wives or their uncounted, unnamed children.
About a mile away from the spot where that happened, on the beach of the Sea of Galilee is another church. It is called by two names. One is the Church of the Primacy of Peter; the other is Mensa Domini, the Lord’s Table. It marks the place where, after his Resurrection, the Lord appeared to his disciples and cooked for them a breakfast of broiled fish. As they ate, Jesus asked Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter
Traveling in Palestine recently, I was accompanied by a priest who had formerly been a Benedictine monk. In religious life, he had taken the name “Peter” and adopted St. Peter the Apostle as his patron. 
