Category: Luke (Page 13 of 25)

Metaphors – From the Daily Office – October 30, 2014

October 30, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From Luke’s Gospel:

Jesus said, “Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 12:1 (NRSV) – October 30, 2014)

Metaphors I often wonder what (if any) thought went into the construction of various lectionaries, particularly the Daily Office lectionary of the Episcopal Church. Are the sometimes strange, sometimes enlightening, often puzzling juxtapositions of texts planned or simply fortuitous?

Today Jesus uses yeast as a metaphor for what he considers to be the corrupt teachings of the Pharisees. Meanwhile, over in the Old Testament department (actually the Apocrypha department these past several days) we have a note from Ben Sira about wine; although he admonishes his reader not to get intoxicated and quarrelsome, he praises wine in moderation saying:

Wine is very life to human beings
if taken in moderation.
What is life to one who is without wine?
It has been created to make people happy.
Wine drunk at the proper time and in moderation
is rejoicing of heart and gladness of soul.
(Sirach 31:27-18)

Yeast, of course, is necessary for the creation of this good wine. In fact, wine makers are often very protective of their particular yeast strains. (Once when I was in college, my roommates and I decided to brew some beer. One of my roommates had a friend who worked for a very famous maker of California champagne – yes, I know, it’s just sparkling wine if not made in France – and was able to obtain – illegally, I admit – a quantity their proprietary champagne yeast. We thought that we’d be super-cool making beer with champagne yeast, that our beer would be magnificent; we weren’t and it wasn’t. But I did learn about proprietary wine yeast.)

So the metaphor of yeast is, like all metaphors, an ambiguous one, as is the metaphor of wine which is also used as a symbol of teaching in the Bible (consider Jesus’ parable of new wine and old wineskins). While Jesus uses yeast here to represent to corrupt teachings of the Pharisees, and Paul will later use it as a symbol of sin and malice (I Cor 5:7-8), Jesus also uses leaven as parabolic of the kingdom of heaven (Mt 13:33; Lk 13:21). Metaphorical ambiguity is the name of the game!

And as a game is how metaphors should be approached. I tell my Education for Ministry students to play with metaphors. Look around the room, pick an object (just on my desk this morning there are a pair of eyeglasses, a stapler, a coffee mug, and a concert ticket, for example). Now say, “The kingdom of God is like [that object]” or “Beware the [object] of the Pharisees,” and begin to explore what that might mean: “The kingdom of God is like a concert ticket” – “Beware the eyeglasses of the Pharisees.” Play with that.

Whoever put together the Daily Office lectionary probably had no intention to link “bad” yeast with “good” wine, but using our theological imagination to play with the metaphors, we can do so. I think we should: we should explore and have fun with biblical metaphors and, in the process, learn something.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Frustration – From the Daily Office – October 18, 2014

October 18, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

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.

Clear Instructions – From the Daily Office – October 17, 2014

October 17, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel of Luke:

Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 9:35 (NRSV) – October 17, 2014)

You couldn’t get clearer instructions, could you? “Listen to him!” So why don’t people?

I don’t mean people in general, I mean people who call themselves Christian. They pay attention to Leviticus and Deuteronomy. They pay attention to Paul. Why don’t they pay attention to Jesus?

Get their knickers all in a twist, for example, about gay and lesbian people and their relationships when Jesus had nothing at all to say about that — they pay attention to a couple of verses in Leviticus, a couple of verses in the letters of Paul, but do they listen when Jesus says to the woman guilty of adultery, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.” (Jn 8:11) That’s just about the only thing he had to say about anyone’s sexual relationships, “I don’t condemn you.” Why don’t they listen to him and do likewise?

Seems to me that Jesus boiled everything down to something just about as simple as the Father’s admonition. When asked which of the commandments was the greatest, he said: “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” (Mk 12:29-31) My diocese has summarized this on a bumper sticker:

Love God Bumper Sticker

You can’t get clearer instructions, can you? Listen to him!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Leftist? Rightist? – From the Daily Office – October 16, 2014

October 16, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel of Luke:

If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it. What does it profit them if they gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit themselves? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words, of them the Son of Man will be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 9:23-26 (NRSV) – October 16, 2014)

So ….

I left off writing these things publicly, but found that not writing them put a crimp in my spiritual life. I write them for my own spiritual well-being and if they are of assistance to anyone else that’s all well and good, too. I thought I was stressing out under the self-imposed pressure of writing one everyday, but I think now the stress was from trying to be “gentle” with my words so as not to offend anyone. However, since I now realize that I am writing them for myself, I don’t need to worry about that. If someone reads what I have to say and is offended by it, they can choose not to read another thing I write. That’s their responsibility, not mine. (Frankly, I think that’s part and parcel of the attitude demonstrated by Jesus in the last sentence of this selection. “I say what I say. If it resonates, follow me. If not, we part company.”)

OK . . . introductory remarks done with . . . this morning someone in an internet discussion group did the drama-queen leaving act. “TEC [the stupid current trendy abbreviation for the Episcopal Church] and this group have veered too far left, so I’m leaving.” You could hear the door slam as they left (and picture them standing outside with their ear pressed to it listening for the reaction).

What do people mean when they apply the terms “Left” or “Right” to the church? Do people even know what those terms mean, period?

These terms are political terms translated into British and American politics from the French Revolution of 1789 during which members of the National Assembly divided themselves by where they sat in the chamber, supporters of the king to the president’s right, supporters of the revolution to his left. They were first introduced into British politics in the 1930s to label politicians according to their position on the Spanish Civil War — those who supported Franco’s Nationalists were “the Right,” those who supported the Republicans were “the Left.” From Britain, these terms made their way into American political discourse, but what they actually mean in the political arena today is pretty muddled.

Which means, of course, that when they are applied to the church they basically mean nothing! Or, rather, they mean “the church is doing that with which I disagree.” For example, when someone opens the distribution of Holy Communion to the non-baptized (something I disagree with, by the way), is that a “Leftist” or a “Rightist” thing to do? I don’t really know; I suspect that, depending on what one thinks those terms mean, one can construct an argument for the application of either one.

What a ridiculous waste of time!

When judging a church denomination, parish, diocese, organization, ministry, whatever . . . isn’t the question not whether it is “Leftist” or “Rightist” but whether it embodies and follows the gospel? Whether it and those people who claim membership or activity within it have denied themselves and taken up their cross and followed Jesus? And when we make that discernment, exercise that judgment, aren’t we called to do so with the greatest possible amount of charity, allowing the possibility that others may perceive the gospel mandate differently from ourselves? “Faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.” (1 Cor. 13;13) That’s neither “Leftist” nor “Rightist” in my thinking.

Here’s my final thought on this subject . . . OK, it’s not my final thought; I’ll probably have more to say or write at some other time . . . but for now, it’s the concluding bit of what I’m writing today.

Any time I am tempted to label someone else in the church or some church group or some theological or ministerial activity, to say “That’s Leftist” or “That’s Rightist,” I remind myself of the question asked by one of America’s best popular theologians, the late cartoonist Charles Schultz speaking through the character of Snoopy:

You Might Be Wrong

Keeping that in mind, my hope is that Christ will not be ashamed of me.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

The Dead Matter – From the Daily Office – July 25, 2014

July 25, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel according to Matthew:

After conferring together, [the chief priests used the silver Judas returned] to buy the potter’s field as a place to bury foreigners. For this reason that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 27:7-8 (NRSV) – July 25, 2014)

Shrouded Corpses Until our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary my wife had never traveled overseas. She’d been to Canada, but that was it for foreign travel for her. For our anniversary we went to Ireland, something we’d talked about doing for many years. In fact, it had been my plan for our honeymoon, but that (obviously) didn’t happen.

Since then, we’ve returned to Ireland and we’ve traveled in Israel and Palestine. Each time we’ve gone overseas (and I’ve made two other trips by myself), she has insisted that we up-date our wills, temporarily transfer assets to our children, and make other death preparations before leaving. My wife is afraid of dying in a foreign land and (I suppose) of being buried in a potter’s field.

I’m not. I don’t care where I die and I don’t care where I am buried.

I wonder if that difference between us is because there is a “family plot” where she knows her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins are buried, whereas my deceased family members are just about everywhere.

My father, the first of my nuclear family to die, is buried in Las Vegas. My brother, the next, is buried in his hometown of Winfield, Kansas (his wish and that of his second wife, another Winfield native). My mother and stepfather were cremated and their ashes deposited in a church memory garden in southern California. My mother’s only brother, the only extended family member whose grave I know of (because I handled the arrangements), is buried in Winfield like my brother, but in a different cemetery. I have no idea where my grandparents are buried; my father’s parents are somewhere in Denver, Colorado, and my mother’s somewhere in or near Long Beach, California, I think. Visiting family graves for Decoration Day would be an expensive road trip!

There’s none of these places special enough to me — except maybe my hometown, Las Vegas — that I would want to be buried there, and even Las Vegas is without significant meaning to anyone else in my family. (Our daughter was born there, but she considers Kansas her “home place.”) So I bury me anywhere, even in a foreign country; I don’t care.

In any event, I wonder about those foreigners in that field. Like the man whose betrayal money purchased their graves, their burials would be attended to by non-family. Perhaps, like his, their burials would be hastily arranged and the rituals only partially attended to. Like him, they would be buried in tombs not their own. But did they care? I think not.

Recently, a group of us clergy were talking about funerals and funeral planning. One of our group pointed us to a wonderful essay by undertaker and poet Thomas Lynch entitled Tract: I commend it to you, as well. Interviewed about that piece by Frontline, Lynch said:

[Q] Will you care after your death if they take care of you in death as you did your dad? Will that matter?

[A] Whether or not my family is involved with the care of my body, that’s their business. I’ll be the dead guy, and the dead say nothing. This is a sign to me that they don’t care, that heaven is not having to worry about these things, so I’m determined not to worry about them either.

But, you know, we used to say to my father, who directed a fair few funerals, “What do you want done with you when you’re dead?” and he’d say, “Well, you’ll know what to do.” I think mine will know what to do, too, not because I’ve said, “Do this or that,” but because they have seen life as I have seen it, and they sort of know me and I know them. And so they’ll know what to do.

[Q] And yet you write that beautiful essay Tract in your book, The Undertaking, which is in some way a map, is it?

[A] Well, read it closely, and what I’ve written is that as long as they deal with it, I don’t care what they do. I do not care but that they do it honorably. That they do it for themselves I think is very important. So yeah, I enjoyed writing that piece. And I do think that while the dead don’t care, the dead matter. The dead matter to the living. And at least so far as my experience is concerned, the living who bear those burdens honorably are better off for it.

(Frontline interview)

“The dead don’t care, the dead matter.” I don’t care and when I’m dead I’ll care even less. I really don’t think my scattered family members cared. Those foreigners buried in the potter’s field, once they were dead, didn’t care. But they did and do matter. They matter most to the One whom they were like, the one who had no hole, no next, no place to lay his head (Lk 9:58), not even a grave of his own, the One who like them (and like Moses before them) was “a stranger in a strange land.” (Ex 2:22, KJV)

“The dead don’t care, the dead matter.” And they matter to the One who has gone that way before.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Who Would Be the Church? – A Holy Place in the Holy Land – From the Daily Office – July 3, 2014

July 5, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalter:

Behold now, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord, you that stand by night in the house of the Lord.

Lift up your hands in the holy place and bless the Lord; the Lord who made heaven and earth bless you out of Zion.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 134 (BCP Version) – July 3, 2014)

Up an hour later than usual, breakfast at the Sisters of Nazareth today was the same as yesterday. Our bags were collected and we walked down past the R.C. Basilica, past the open air mosque, through the market district and to the bus. A long ride first to Mount Tabor and then to the very small town of Burkin.

Mount Tabor is the traditional location of the Transfiguration, that strange vision seen by Peter, James, and John of Jesus in conversation with Moses and Elijah. There is a lovely church here designed by (you can, by now, probably guess) Antonio Barluzzi. To get to the top of the mount, we had to get off the bus at a visitor center at the base and then ride up the mountain in minivans.

The road up is steep and has many switchbacks — now there is a physical parable or metaphor for the spiritual life! The physical reality of the place is lost in the simple description one finds in the gospels: “Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart, by themselves.” (Mk 9:2) Mark (and Matthew who repeats the story) make it sound like they went out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. This would be a hike! This really is a high – and steep – mountain.

The church is quite beautiful with a dazzling mosaic of the Transfiguration event in the dome of the apse, two interior side chapels — one dedicated to St Francis; one for the Reserved Sacrament — and two exterior chapels — one for Elijah and one for Moses. St. Peter never got to build his three monuments (booths) but the Franciscans and Barluzzi did it for him. The Elijah chapel is interesting in that it contains a mural of the prophet’s competition with the prophets of Baal — two altars are depicted, one with a pile of meat but no fire and one with fire consuming what is on it. I’ve never seen that story depicted in art before; in this mural, the meat on the altar of Baal looks like it came straight from a really good butcher’s shop, prime cuts.

On the terrace next to the church, we encountered a cat (the most recent of many), really just a kitten, who was very vocal and very affectionate. She would have made a great souvenir, but getting her through customs would likely have been impossible. She was quite a distraction from the view, however.

One other interesting piece of art was in a gated (locked) garden — I think it shows St Francis either taking Jesus’ body from the cross, or helping Jesus’ to get down from the cross. Without being able to get closer to it and more time to study it, I can’t really be sure. In either case, it is a subject for further contemplation.

Back down the mountain we got back in our bus and took off for Burkin which turns out to be a small and very depressed village (most cities, towns, and villages in Palestine are depressed — whatever economic prosperity there is in Israel is not being shared with the Arabs). Here we visited the tiny church of St. George, which commemorates the spot on which Jesus healed ten lepers. (Luke 17:12-19) It is the fourth oldest continuously in use worship space in the world! There has been a church here since the early Fourth Century! It is under the jurisdiction of the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate.

We were guided into town and to the church by Usama, a member of the Greek Orthodox congregation. One can tell that he and the other members of this church are very proud of their heritage. Unlike most older Orthodox buildings we have visited, this space is immaculate. The silver is polished; the cloth hangings and altar vestments are clean and bright; the icons are dusted. Pride in their place is patent in every corner.

The worship space is tiny – our group of 18 people more than half filled it. It is probably very crowded on Sundays for the Divine Liturgy and at other times of Orthodox worship. This congregation has a membership of 65 people. They are the only Christians in a town of over 7,000 population. Their witness is astounding!

Usama then guided us to his home where his wife and some other ladies in the congregation, assisted by a young boy, hosted us to lunch. The tables were filled with tomato and cucumber salad, yoghurt, pita, and chiken and lamb shwarma served on heaping platters of seasoned rice. There was enough to feed a group five times our size.

Several of us had two or three helpings of the delicious food when Usama’s wife, Neda, came around and piled one more serving on everyone’s plate: “Eat,” she said, “how do I know you liked it if you leave some behind?” It was all in good fun and the graciousness and vibrancy of their hospitality was overwhelming.

The congregation supports itself by selling the usual trinkets, but mostly by making pure olive oil soap which they sell for an amazingly low price. Evie and I will look into whether we can find a way to help sell their soap in our part of the U.S. to provide greater income for them as they maintain the Christian presence in this place.

We talked with them about the dwindling of the congregation, what it is like to be a Christian minority in an overwhelmingly Muslim community. Neda said that she and her neighbors get along just fine, that she and her family visit them to celebrate Eid al-Fitr (the major Muslim feast celebrating the end of Ramadan) and their neighbors visit them to celebrate Christmas. We asked if they had ever considered leaving. “No,” Neda replied quickly, “If we left, who would be the church?”

Who would be the church? A question for us all to ponder.

Lord, bless these servants who lift up their hands in your holy place and witness to your Name!

Post by That Which We Have Heard & Known.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Awkward Anglicanism – From the Daily Office – June 23, 2014

June 23, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Letter to the Romans:

But now, irrespective of law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Romans 3:21-22 (NRSV) – June 23, 2014)

Awkward Great! Here it is, the single phrase in Paul’s writing, the single preposition the translation of which can radically change one’s understanding of the doctrine of justification by faith. But . . . I’m not going to address that doctrine this morning; I’m more interested right now in ambiguity.

And in that vein, what I just wrote about translating the original Greek is not entirely accurate: it’s not how a preposition is translated because, in the Greek, there is no preposition. The Greek of the last phrase (everything after the last comma) is dikaiosene de Theou dia pisteo Iesou Xristou ei panta tou pisteuonta. The construction pisteo Iesou Xristou is what is called the genitive case. The standard translation of this case into English requires insertion of the preposition “of”. However, it can also be understood as a variant called the objective genitive in which the preposition “in” is inserted for interpretation. In other words, Paul’s Greek is ambiguous.

Which means — right? — that we have to figure out which it is. Is the righteousness of God disclosed by our faith or by Jesus’ faith? Are we saved by our trust in Jesus or by Jesus’ trust in his Father?

This is a debate that has gone on for centuries and the church’s traditional answer has been to go with the objective genitive translation and insert an “in” in this sentence (and similar statements throughout Paul’s writing). But doesn’t that put the ball in our court? Doesn’t that say it is something we do, not something Jesus does? Somehow, it seems to me, that that one little preposition — “in” — puts us in charge of the process of redemption; it requires of me that which Jesus once painfully demonstrated even his most ardent followers did not have — faith at least the size of a mustard seed. (Mt 17:20; Lk 17:6)

So, we have to figure this out! Or do we? What if there is no definitive answer to this question? The ambiguous Greek of this otherwise simple phrase cannot be made any clearer. Like much of Holy Scripture it is a matter of interpretation and either reading can find support in other verses of the Bible; whole theologies have been constructed on one reading or the other.

Early in the morning, not yet showered, with only one cup of coffee in me . . . I’m not going to reach any definitive answer nor build a theory of salvation. In fact, wide awake and dressed for battle I wouldn’t be able to do so. And that’s just fine, because in its ambiguity, Paul’s prose probably should be understood in both ways. I believe that Paul (or perhaps the Holy Spirit working through Paul) is being deliberately inexact, forcing his readers to think in alternative and creative ways!

This is both the beauty and the frustration of bible study, the beauty and the frustration of Christian belief. Accepting such ambiguity, and learning to live with it, is why I am an Episcopalian, an Anglican. For me, this is the beauty and delight of Anglicanism. Our theological tradition is sometimes called a “both/and” tradition. Anglicanism is also sometimes caricatured as attempting to be everything to everyone and thereby being nothing to anyone. We Anglicans describe ourselves as a via media (“middle way”) among the various iterations of western Christianity, between the papal authoritarianism of Rome and the paper authoritarianism of the Protestants. This middle position has been called both a strength and a weakness; I tend to view it positively, but I have to admit that it’s often an awkward place to be. Anglicanism is often awkward!

I think that awkward position is precisely where consideration of which preposition to insert when interpreting Paul’s Letter to the Romans puts us, and I think that it’s a good place to be. Between “of” and “in”, between either/or and both/and, between nothing and everything is a place of dynamic tension. It’s not a place to find definitive answers, but it’s a good place to start the day.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Woe to You – From the Daily Office – June 18, 2014

June 18, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From Matthew’s Gospel:

Woe to the world because of stumbling-blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling-block comes!

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 18:7 (NRSV) – June 18, 2014)

Weeping Angel Until I undertook a little bit of Greek language study, I always thought Jesus’ pronouncements of woe were angry condemnations, predictions of doom, and certainly they can be that. On the other hand, they can be understood as something very different. The Greek word translated as “woe” is ouai which can also (and perhaps more properly) be translated as “alas.” The word is onomatopoeic, representing a deep sigh of sorrow or resignation. Perhaps Jesus is not so much condemning as mourning.

I grew up with a picture of Jesus that was internally contradictory. There was the Good Shepherd Jesus who was loving and kind, who healed children, sought out the lost, and wept over the death of friends. On the other hand, there was the angry, condemning Jesus who braided a whip out of cords, overturned tables, pronounced doom-laden “woes”.

Although his earthly post-Resurrection were certainly more the former sort of Jesus, it seemed it was the angry Jesus who really rose because that’s the one John of Patmos said was coming back: “From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty.” (Rev 9:15)

Then I studied Greek and read, for example, Luke’s “blessings and woes” rather differently:

Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets. (Lk 6:24-26)

The same ouai, the same deeply sad sigh, the same “alas” as in today’s reading. Now it seems to me that Jesus, rather than venting fury at these people, is saying, “I feel sorry for you rich . . . I fell sorry for you full . . . I feel sorry you who laugh . . . I feel sorry for you who have great reputations.” This Jesus, sadly disappointed rather than angry with those about whom he expresses woe, is not contradictory to the Jesus who heals, who cares, who listens, who feeds, and who weeps.

I still don’t know what to do with that raging horse rider with the sharp sword for a tongue, but I’m feeling a lot better about the Jesus who says, “Woe to you . . . . ”

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Bread on Water – From the Daily Office – June 12, 2014

June 12, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From Ecclesiastes:

Send out your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will get it back.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Ecclesiastes 11:1 (NRSV) – June 12, 2014)

A Mass of Feeding Carp I have to admit that on first reading this, I had no idea what Qoheleth is saying here! Not the slightest.

So I looked at a few commentaries and they all seem to agree (a) that “casting bread on the waters” was an ancient Israelite metaphor for wastefulness, something to be avoided and (b) that the preacher is using turning this metaphor on its head and encouraging generosity to the poor and unfortunate.

OK, so far — I’m enough of an aging hippie that “bread” as slang (“metaphoric language”) for wealth makes sense. “Waters” as a reference to the poor is new to me, but I suppose it works (although I’m rather more familiar with Edward Bulwer-Lyton’s opposite connotation phrase “the great unwashed”).

The “after many days you will get it back” is where I get caught up. This must be a spiritual return, not a monetary return, because there’s no way that that bread is every coming back. Not in this world!

Thinking about throwing bread onto water, I remember the Lake Mead Marina in Nevada. Throw a piece of bread in the water there and the surface becomes a roiling, boiling, thrashing mass of carp! And the bread . . . gone instantly, torn apart by gluttonous fish.

As a vision of what happens to one’s gifts of charity, it’s not very edifying. And pretty much kills any notion that “after many days you will get it back.”

But then . . . Jesus, contrary to Qoheleth, made it pretty clear that that’s not a valid consideration! It’s not a consideration at all. “Return on investment” is irrelevant. Yesterday was the feast of St. Barnabas the Apostle and, at the Eucharist, the Gospel lesson was from Matthew, the sending out of the Twelve in which Jesus instructs them, “You received without payment; give without payment.” (Mt 10:8b) Similarly, in the Sermon on Plain, he told the crowds, “Love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.” (Lk 6:35) Now, Jesus did promise that those who were thus generous would be rewarded: “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” (Lk 6:38)

There will be a return. We’re just supposed to not expect it, which Qoheleth seems to encourage.

That’s the hard part for me. The “not expecting” part. How can I not expect what I am told will happen? How can I not anticipate that and take it into consideration?

And that’s where Qoheleth’s “bread on the waters” metaphor is helpful. I just think about those hungry carp . . . and, nope, no expectation of return. Not one!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Rise! Rise! Rise! – Sermon for Easter 7 (Ascension Sunday) – RCL Year A – June 1, 2014

June 1, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

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On the Seventh Sunday of Easter: the Sunday after the Ascension, June 1, 2014, this sermon was offered to the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(The lessons for the day were: Acts 1:6-14; Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36; 1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11; and John 17:1-11. These lessons can be read at The Lectionary Page.)

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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

(From And Still I Rise,Maya Angelou, Random House:1978.
Note — The verse beginning “Does my sexiness upset you?” was not read in church.)

The late Dr. Maya Angelou, who died this week and was (in my opinion) one of the greatest of contemporary English-language poets, wrote that poem (entitled Still I Rise) in 1978. Though it speaks out of her experience as a black woman growing up in the segregated South of the mid-20th Century, I believe it also speaks to us in our context today, celebrating the Ascension of Christ into heaven and, also, honoring our five newly minted high school graduates.

The Feast of the Ascension was Thursday. You may have missed it, however; it is a feast largely ignored by the Church. It passes by and we seldom, if ever, give any thought to it. In the Sunday rota it is noted only as the day after which the Seventh Sunday of Easter comes: that’s exactly how today’s collect is titled in The Book of Common Prayer, Seventh Sunday of Easter: The Sunday after Ascension Day. Kind of sad, because the Ascension really is the last event of the Incarnation, the last scene of the last act of the great drama which is “the Christ event.” Fortunately, this year (Year A of the Revised Common Lectionary) we have actually heard the story of the Ascension from the Book of Acts. This is not the case in the other two years of the rotation; in years B and C the Ascension isn’t even mentioned in any of the Sunday readings.

The story of Christ’s Ascension is told not only in Acts, which we heard this morning, it is also found in the Gospels of Mark and Luke. Mark’s account is brief, a single verse: “So then the Lord Jesus, after he had spoken to them, was taken up into heaven and sat down at the right hand of God.” (Mk 16:19) Luke’s is also short: “He led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.” (Lk 24:50-51).

Although neither Matthew’s Gospel nor John’s mention the Ascension event itself, both include prophetic references to it. According to Matthew, in his trial before the High Priest just before his Crucifixion, Jesus said, “I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven.” (Mt 26:64) In John’s Gospel, after the Resurrected Jesus tells Mary Magdalene not to cling to him, he gives her a message for the Apostles: “Go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'” (Jn 20:17) So the fact of Jesus’ Ascension is well attested by Christian Scripture.

This Jesus, whom the powers of his age had (to use Dr. Angelou’s poetic language) tried to “write down in their history with bitter, twisted lies,” had tried to “tread in the very dirt” — this Jesus rose, not only from the grave into a new earthly existence, but into heaven. This Jesus, whom they “wanted to see broken, with bowed head and lowered eyes, with shoulders falling down like teardrops, weakened by his soulful cries” — this Jesus rose into very center of the Godhead. This Jesus, whom they “killed with their hatefulness” rose “out of the huts of the Hebrews’ history of shame,” from Israel’s past, a past “rooted in pain,” “bringing the gifts that his ancestors gave;” he is “the dream and the hope” of every human being enslaved to sin and death. He is our hope and he rose. He ascended into heaven taking our humanity into the very presence of God Almighty.

If the Incarnation (meaning the whole of Jesus’ earthly being, the entire time of God’s being in the flesh on earth) were viewed as a stage play, the drama of salvation would be seen in this way:

Act One — In the Nativity, God becomes a human being offering great promise to humankind.
Act Two — In the life of Jesus, God fully enters human existence in all its aspects making clearer the meaning of the promise.
Act Three — In the death and resurrection of Jesus, God defeats death and opens the way of eternal life to all human beings setting the scene for fulfillment of the promise.
Act Four — In the Ascension, the story comes full circle as a human being becomes God bringing the promise of the Nativity to fruition.
(Pentecost and all that follows it are the epilogue, just as the story of Israel and the words and works of the Prophets are the prologue.)

The Ascension is the denouement of the entire story but, unfortunately, most of the audience, thinking the play concluded, left after Act Three; some may even have left in the middle of that act. The climax of the drama played out on Thursday to a largely empty theater.

One of the Episcopal Church’s collects for today says: “We believe your only-begotten Son our Lord Jesus Christ to have ascended into heaven, so we may also in heart and mind there ascend.” (BCP 1979, page 226) I think this prayer gets it slightly wrong. Our ascension with Jesus is not a future thing that we “may” later attain. Rather, in Jesus’ Ascension we all have already ascended. It is not only Christ’s humanity but our humanity that ascended into heaven. God has already seated us in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus; our ascension is not so much an experience to be attained, but a reality to be experienced. As St. Athanasius famously put it, “God became man that man might become God.” This is known theologically as the theosis or deification of humanity, and in the Ascension of Jesus it has already happened.

So here we are, deified human beings capable, as Jesus told us, of doing the very works that he did and, in fact, of doing greater works because he has ascended to the Father and he will do whatever we ask in his name — at least that’s what he promised in the Gospel lesson from John we heard in church two weeks ago (Jn 14:12-13) — but do we actually do them? Do we do the works of power and witness to the truth of the Gospel? Let’s be honest and admit that we usually don’t.

We don’t because we’re a lot like the eleven guys standing on that hilltop in Bethany “gazing up toward heaven.” Like them, as Prof. James Holbert of the Perkins School of Theology has written, “We are too enamored of the ascending Jesus, our necks strained as we peer upward, hoping for a further sign, for a magic act, for a cloud spelling out ‘I love you.'”

Ascension Woodcut It’s my favorite part of the story, really, because it demonstrates just how human the Apostles really were, how much like us. It’s this part of the story that is depicted in the woodcut on the cover of our bulletins. There they are looking up, Jesus’ feet just disappearing, when the “two men” (probably angels) appear and ask them why they are staring into space. In our modern vernacular, the two angels tell them, “Don’t just stand there. Do something!”

Prof. Holbert paraphrases and analyzes what the angels say in this way:

“Why do you stand looking into heaven?” Did you not pay attention to him just a few moments ago? He said, ‘Go,’ and you are rooted on this spot, looking longingly for some further word from him. He will come back in the same way that he went, but you need ask no further questions about when, they imply. “When” is simply not the right question to ask.

Why in heaven’s name (I mean that quite literally!) do so many Christians then spend vast amounts of time, inordinate amounts of energy, immoderate amounts of speculation, asking precisely that very question? We have been asked to be “his witnesses” to the world, not his calculators for his return. It remains a thorough mystery to me why this is so, and has been so throughout Christian history.

But I suppose I do know the answer. It is far safer, far less demanding, to be a speculator than a witness. Speculators write books of calculations, hold seminars that attract thousands, rake in untold piles of loot, while prognosticating a certain time for Jesus’ return. Witnesses, on the other hand, just witness to the truth of the gospel: the truth of justice for the whole world, the love of enemies, and the care for the marginalized and outcast. As Acts 1 makes so clear, the world needs far fewer speculators and far more witnesses. (Speculators or Witnesses)

Which brings me to our five high school graduates . . . . You have finished that part of your education which society has made mandatory. Whatever you do from now on is up to you. You may, if you and your families decide, continue your education at college or university; you may continue it in trade or vocational school; you may continue it as an apprentice in a skilled trade. You may, alternatively, decide to enter the work force immediately and skip any further formal education and training, opting instead for what is known as “on the job training.” And you could, although no one here would recommend it or be happy if you did so, opt to do none of these things and, instead, become a bum, a grifter, a burden on society, in which case you will learn the hard and dangerous lessons of the streets.

Whatever you choose to do, you may have noted that every path means continuing to learn. I hope, as I’m sure everyone here and your parents hope, that you will learn the lessons of faith, hope, and love.

We hope that you will learn the lessons that Dr. Angelou learned and tried to teach us through her poetry — if people tell lies about you, rise above it; if people try to tread you in the dirt, rise above it; if they want to see you broken and weeping, disappoint them and rise above it; if they try to shoot you with their words, cut you with their eyes, or kill you with their hatefulness, rise above it.

We hope that you will learn to be, as Prof. Holbert said, witnesses “to the truth of the gospel: the truth of justice for the whole world, the love of enemies, and the care for the marginalized and outcast,” that you will learn to be (as the Letter of James puts it) “doers of the word, and not merely hearers.” (James 1:22)

That is our hope for you and our prayer.

And now I have a word for the parents of our graduates. I’ve been where you are now, twice. When our eldest, our son Patrick, entered college he went away to the University of the South in Sewanee, Tennessee. We drove him down to Sewanee and, with other freshman parents, we attended a meeting with the school’s president while our children took part in orientation activities. At the end of our meeting, the president was quite blunt: he basically said, “Go away. Get off campus. Let go of your sons and daughters.” Like Mary Magdalene, we were being told not to cling, not to hold on. So we left that meeting, found our son, and said good-bye. After he hugged us both, he turned and walked down the street toward to his dormitory, and he never looked back.

I stood there watching him go and, like those guys on the Mount of Olives, I wanted him to look back; I was “hoping for a further sign, for a magic act, for a cloud spelling out ‘I love you.'” Like them, I didn’t get it. I suppose the Apostles realized at some point as they stared into the sky that their friend, their rabbi, was no longer the man they thought they knew; he was something more. He was, and is, God. Standing on that campus lane at Sewanee, I knew that this young man was no longer the child I thought I knew; he was something more. He was, and is, an adult.

Both of our children, Patrick and Caitlin, are adults. So are yours. I’m proud to say that both of ours are college graduates and, though Caitlin is not working in her chosen field (yet), both are fully employed, productive members of society. So will yours be.

So don’t cling to them and don’t just stand there watching them go away, fading into the distance. You have things to do because, like them, like those eleven guys on that hillside in Bethany, like everyone of us, you too are called to be witnesses “to the truth of the gospel: the truth of justice for the whole world, the love of enemies, and the care for the marginalized and outcast,” to be “doers of the word.”

So graduates, parents of graduates, everyone . . . Remember the implication of the angels at the Ascension.

Don’t just stand there. Do something!

Experience the reality of the Ascension. Christ’s Ascension, our Ascension, your Ascension!

Rise!

Amen.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Category: Luke (Page 13 of 25)

Metaphors – From the Daily Office – October 30, 2014

Frustration – From the Daily Office – October 18, 2014

Clear Instructions – From the Daily Office – October 17, 2014

Leftist? Rightist? – From the Daily Office – October 16, 2014

The Dead Matter – From the Daily Office – July 25, 2014

Who Would Be the Church? – A Holy Place in the Holy Land – From the Daily Office – July 3, 2014

Awkward Anglicanism – From the Daily Office – June 23, 2014

Woe to You – From the Daily Office – June 18, 2014

Bread on Water – From the Daily Office – June 12, 2014

Rise! Rise! Rise! – Sermon for Easter 7 (Ascension Sunday) – RCL Year A – June 1, 2014

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