Category: Christianity (Page 55 of 84)

Magic Hands – From the Daily Office – May 3, 2014

May 3, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Book of Exodus:

Amalek came and fought with Israel at Rephidim. Moses said to Joshua, “Choose some men for us and go out; fight with Amalek. Tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand.” So Joshua did as Moses told him, and fought with Amalek, while Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill. Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed; and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed. But Moses’ hands grew weary; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; so his hands were steady until the sun set. And Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the sword.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Exodus 17:8-13 (NRSV) – May 3, 2014.)

Illustration from Die Bibel in Bildern by Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld At first blush, this just feels like another unbelievable story of religious ritual and “magic hands.” It fits neatly into the pattern of war stories one finds in the Torah that are attributed to the Deuteronomist. For that writer, the Hebrews’ victory in battle always depends not on military preparation, strength of arms, or fighting skill, but on ritual exactitude — perform a religious ritual properly and you win, flub it and you lose.

I recall reading rabbinic commentary, however, that puts a different spin on the story. According to the rabbis, there was nothing “magic” or even particularly noteworthy about Moses’ hands; they were simply a reminder to the Hebrew fighters below to put their faith in God. When they looked up to see Moses’ hands raised, they looked to heaven, trusted in God, and prevailed; when his hands were down, they failed to do so.

When I was in seminary, there was a practicum in liturgics, basically a class on how to do the ritual of the Eucharist. We called it “magic hands.” Our instructor, Dr. Louis Weil, repeatedly advised us to be aware of our hands, to be aware that the congregation would focus upon them and any movement we made, and therefore to make few gestures, but make every gesture one that would not distract the congregation from their worship. I am reminded of Dr. Weil’s instruction by this story.

I’m also mindful that Moses didn’t do this alone. If Aaron and Hur hadn’t been there to hold up Moses’ hands, whether “magic” in themselves or simply a motivational banner to the warriors, the battle would have gone otherwise. The story is a reminder of the importance of community and, for community leaders, of the importance of those with whom they work. No one does the task of leadership alone.

This, too, reminds me of the tradition of the Eucharist that holds that a priest alone cannot say the Mass; he or she must be accompanied by at least one other person: Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Mt 18:20) I am told that in some Orthodox traditions, there must be, in addition to the priest, at least one deacon and one lay person so that the fullness of the church is represented. (That would be impossible in my congregation; as much as I would like to have a vocational deacon or two in our midst, there is none.)

So I think this is a story of more than “magic hands,” more than a story of winning through proper religious ritual. If there is any magic in the hands of leaders, it is found in both the power to which those hands point and in the support on which those hands depend.

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

Measurement Is Not Control – From the Daily Office – May 2, 2014

May 2, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Book of Exodus:

An omer is a tenth of an ephah.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Exodus 16:36 (NRSV) – May 2, 2014.)

Omer Jar An ephah is a bushel, about 35 liters. Ten ephahs make a homer; a tenth of an ephah is an omer. (I’ll bet that was sometimes confusing.) So an omer is 3.5 liters, just a little bit shy of a gallon.

Measurement is a human activity, a very necessary human activity. Accurate measurement is the basis of commerce — consider the weighing of commodities bought and sold, and the counting of the money (whatever it may be) with which the buying and selling is done. Accurate measurement is the basis of science — consider the search for ever more refined units of length, from the distance a horse could walk in a day, to the length of a king’s forearm, to the marks on standard bars of precious metal, to the wavelength of radiation from a krypton atom, to the distance light travels in a measurable fraction of a second. Measurement gives us control over our environment.

Or so it seems. Ultimately, all units of measurement are arbitrary, chosen by humans because they make human existence manageable, but they do not actually give us control over anything. They give us only the illusion of control.

Remember the old conundrum about a tree falling in the forest? “If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to observe it, does it make a sound?” In other words, if someone is not there to measure the phenomenon, does it really happen? This is the riddle of modern physics expressed in the equations of quantum mechanics: the mathematics suggest that subatomic phenomena exist as “probability waves” and, until observed and measured, do not actually occur. Once observed, the wave function collapse; measurement causes a discontinuous change into an eigenstate, a discrete, “pinned-down” value. Once we have measured the system, we know its current state and this stops it from being in any other possible state.

But what if no one observes? What if no one measures? Quantum mechanics (and superstring theory which theoretical physicists have developed further from it) has always seemed to me rather theological. Obviously things have happened; subatomic phenomena have occurred; wave functions have collapsed. If an Observer is necessary for this to happen . . . Who is that Observer? And is that Observer thereby in control?

I’ll leave that to ponder another day and, for now, rely on common sense. If a tree falls in the forest, it makes a sound — it is not controlled by any human observer, by an human measurement. “An omer is a tenth of an ephah,” is a verse of scripture that reminds us that human measurement does not equate to human control.

This verse is found at the end of the story of God’s provision of manna to the Hebrews wandering the desert. Manna, “like coriander seed, white, and the taste of it was like wafers made with honey,” (Ex 16:31) condensed with the dew each morning and the Hebrews gathered it for their daily sustenance, “some gathering more, some less.” (Ex 16:17)

They could measure it, but they could not control it: “When they measured it with an omer, those who gathered much had nothing over, and those who gathered little had no shortage; they gathered as much as each of them needed.” (Ex 16:18) They could not gather more than they needed. If they tried to gather more and keep it to the next day, “it bred worms and became foul.” (Ex 16:20) Only on the sixth day were they permitted to gather a double amount and keep it over night for use on the sabbath.

And they were permitted to gather an omer of it to keep in the ark of the covenant, as a reminder of their time in the wilderness. And, perhaps, as a reminder that measurement is not control.

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

Wilderness – From the Daily Office – May 1, 2014

May 1, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Book of Exodus:

As Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked towards the wilderness, and the glory of the Lord appeared in the cloud.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Exodus 16:10 (NRSV) – May 1, 2014.)

Painted Desert Wilderness Area Two days ago we celebrated the Feast of St. Mark the Evangelist and the Gospel lesson for use at the Eucharist was the opening of his Gospel which relates the story of Jesus’ baptism following which, Mark says, “the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness,” (Mk 1:12) so the word “wilderness” caught my attention today.

Years ago I read a commentary on the book of Revelation in which the author asserted that the wilderness is the true home of the People of God, that it is in the wilderness that the People find their true identity. Here in this verse we find the Hebrews looking towards the wilderness where they find the glory of God. Is that our true identity? St. Irenaeus wrote, “Gloria Dei est vivens homo,” which means “The Glory of God is a living person,” sometimes translated as “The Glory of God is the human fully alive.” Is that what the Hebrews spied in the wilderness? Is that what the Redeemer was compelled by the Spirit to discover out there with the wild beasts?

Yesterday I read an essay comparing the scientific theory of “dark matter” and “dark energy” to the doctrine of Original Sin, and suggesting that both spring from a human “primal desperation to make sense of our overwhelming ignorance.” The author suggested, “Truth lives in a lot of places – but we often just cannot seem to find out exactly where.” In the wilderness, where there is an absence of distraction, where our ignorance becomes more evident, where the Spirit drove Jesus, where the Hebrews encountered the Glory of God, perhaps truth is more readily apparent. And the truth will make us free (Jn 8:32), free to be truly alive.

I am a member of the Masonic fraternity (although these days not a very active one). In Freemasonry, the tools of stone masonry are given symbolic meanings. Among the first tools to which a new Mason is introduced is the common gavel. We are told that in operative masonry this tool breaks off the rough corners of the stone to better fit it to the builder’s use. Freemasons are to use it metaphorically to divest ourselves of the “vices and superfluities of life,” thereby becoming better fit as “living stones” to be used by the Supreme Architect of the Universe. The reference, of course, is to the First Letter of Peter in which the Apostle admonishes us:

Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. (1 Pet 2:4-5)

It seems to me that in the wilderness those “vices and superfluities,” which I think are all those things we use to cover up or deny our “overwhelming ignorance,” naturally fall away — the work of using that gavel to remove them is much easier. The wilderness is a sort of quarry where we are cut away from all that we have accumulated, all that we have used to deny our ignorance; we are trimmed of that excess to become the building stones of that “spiritual house” of which Peter wrote. Little wonder that the Hebrews looked to the wilderness and saw God, little wonder the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness to be fitted for his ministry, little wonder we find our true identity there. Stripped of the doctrines, theories, and metaphors with which we cover our ignorance, we find that we don’t need them. Without them we are living stones, living human beings, a spiritual house, a royal priesthood, truly alive, the glory of God.

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

Hyperbole – From the Daily Office – April 30, 2014

April 30, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalter:

Help, O Lord, for there is no longer anyone who is godly;
the faithful have disappeared from humankind.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 12:1 (NRSV) – April 30, 2014.)

Hyperbole Is the Best Thing Ever I am given to hyperbole. I know that. So, apparently, was David (the superscript to this psalm attributes it to David), as the first verse of today’s evening psalm amply demonstrates. I’ll bet he got into as much trouble (or maybe more) because of that as I get into!

Hyperbole is defined as “an extravagant statement or figure of speech not intended to be taken literally.” The problem is that some don’t understand a hyperbolic statement to be something “not intended to be taken literally.”

Hyperbole can be handy in conversation and public speaking. For example, I can tell you that I am so hungry I could eat a horse. You know very well that I can’t actually do that, but you get the message that it’s been a long time since I’ve eaten. Picking up your luggage, I can complain that your suitcase weighs a ton. Of course, it doesn’t, but you know I think you’ve packed too much. Hyperbole is useful shorthand, but it is risky. When one is speaking, perhaps, tone of voice can indicate the meaning, but in writing — absent tone of voice, facial expression, body language — there is a real risk of being misunderstood. The risk is greatest when one’s audience is unfamiliar with the writer.

Hyperbole, as it happens, is the language of theology. In Works of Love the Danish theologian-philosopher Soren Kierkegaard wrote of the need for hyperbole in Christian rhetoric: “The more learned, the more excellent the defense, the more Christianity is disfigured, abolished, exhausted like an emasculated man, for the defense simply out of kindness will take the possibility of offense away.” With religious subjects, argued Kierkegaard, it is sometimes more important to shout than to offer a reasonable discussion. Because the world assumes that Christianity has triumphed, he suggested, the theologian must use hyperbole as a rhetoric that makes the impossible both practical and necessary, that will draw attention to itself in order to point away from itself to the mystery of God.

Karl Barth, too, was given to hyperbole. In the preface to the second edition of his The Epistle to the Romans he warned his readers not be seduced by the contagious enthusiasm of his hyperbole, asking them not to receive the book with either “enthusiasm or peevishness.” He knew that his exaggerated critique of the church could be (and, indeed, was) found to be both exciting and irritating.

So if I express myself with hyperbole, with exaggeration, with rhetorical overstatement . . . I find myself in good company, as liable to be as misunderstood as David, as Kierkegaard, as Barth, as many other prophets and theologians. Not that I count myself in their league! If I am in their company it is only in the way a child may be in the company of adults, an apprentice in the company of masters, a mortal in the company of eternals. (How’s that for hyperbole?)

In any event, I have to keep that in mind: I’m given to hyperbole and that is risky business. I hope my readers will keep it in mind, too, otherwise their heads will explode! (No, they won’t. I’m just demonstrating my tendency to be hyperbolic.)

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

Getting Older – From the Daily Office – April 29, 2014

April 29, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel according to John:

Jesus said to his disciples: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I am coming to you.’ If you loved me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father, because the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you this before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – John 14:27-29 (NRSV) – April 29, 2014.)

Nursing Home Hallway My mind really isn’t on the scriptures this morning . . . except this idea of being informed of something before it occurs, so that when it does occur, one will be ready to accept it.

A few weeks ago our son and daughter-in-law told us that they are expecting, but swore us to secrecy, forbade us from telling anyone until the news was “FBO” (“Facebook official”), and then told us their plans for telling various people and when it would be public. They put their FBO announcement on his page last night. Of course, I misunderstood and told someone before they put their announcement on Facebook, who then mentioned it on Facebook before they did and let the cat out of the bag (so to speak), and I got in trouble. Story of my life with my kids, really . . . I’ve spent a lot of the last thirty years in that sort of trouble.

Anyway, I’m now faced with impending grandfatherhood — I have been told before it occurs, so that when it does occur, I may be ready. Except I don’t actually have the vaguest idea how to do this, how to grandparent, or how to get ready to grandparent, and I’m not even sure I want to.

My own father died long before I could see how he might have grandparented (I suspect he would have been terrible at it). Of my maternal grandfather, almost the only memories I have are of someone sick with colon cancer for several years. And my paternal grandfather, about whom I wrote yesterday, was a very stern, but kind man who taught me many things (gardening, penmanship, fly fishing), but then disinherited my brother and me because of a 40-year-old grievance against my parents — not the best model of honest intrafamily relationship. My stepfather did as good a job as a stepparent can being grandfather to the children of his wife’s kids with whom he had a rocky relationship; not a good foundational model, although perhaps the best I have available.

The truth is, as I said, I’m not sure I want to be a grandparent! It’s nothing I have aspired to (despite obligatory public kidding with my son and his wife). I think of grandparents as old and I’m not ready to be old. My heart is troubled by and I am, to be honest, afraid of old age. My definition of that term — “old age” — has been a flexible, changing one over the years, but at nearly 62, I am forced to admit that if I haven’t arrived there quite yet, I am ambling down the hallway toward it. The current life expectancy of American males is 76 years; I am 81.6% of the way there. I may not have one foot in the grave, but one foot is definitely starting to stroll down that corridor! I’m not ready to walk the rest of the way and sit in the wheelchair, at least not yet.

This child’s other grandfather has practice — my daughter-in-law is one of three sisters and both of her sisters have had children — so maybe I’ll just let him take the lead on this. I’ll be the grandfather who sends money on birthdays and holidays; he can be the one who embarrasses the child while on summer vacations, camping trips, ski outings, weekends at the beach, grandparents’ day at school, and that sort of thing. He’s closer, anyway (just a couple hours’ drive away).

Obviously, I’m not at peace with this development in our lives. And I suppose it has as much to do with my feelings about the way our society treats the elderly (which is to say, grandparents) as anything else. I’ll admit to having unresolved issues arising from my own mother’s, stepfather’s, and gay bachelor uncle’s last years of life — researching, rejecting, choosing, and finally rejecting nursing homes for my mother, settling instead for expensive in-home round-the-clock private duty nursing; hospice care in my stepsister’s home for my stepfather; an intensive care home for my bed-ridden uncle. One of the hardest things for me to do in my pastoral work is visit older people in nursing homes and assisted living facilities; those places give me the willies, especially when I’m there during a visit by someone’s grandchildren! Impending grandparenthood raises the specter of the nursing home . . . and that is not a vision I relish.

I love my children and I rejoice that my son and daughter-in-law are going to be parents. I think they’ll be very good at it. Is there a way they could do that that wouldn’t involve my being a grandparent?

I have been told about it before it occurs, so that when it does occur, I will be ready to accept it . . . I hope.

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

Jesus Is a Little Rough – From the Daily Office – April 28, 2014

April 28, 2014 / eric / 1 Comment

From the Gospel according to John:

Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – John 14:8-9a (NRSV) – April 28, 2014.)

Charles Edgar Funston, Jr. I think Jesus is being a little rough on Philip. Granted, Jesus has done everything possible during his ministry to make the Father known, to be transparent to those around him, to reveal as much of himself as he can. Still, it is possible to be with someone for years and still not know them.

True story from my own life . . . My parents married in 1940. In 1943, my only brother was born. I followed nine years later. Throughout our childhoods, much of which we spent with our parternal grandparents, it was generally believed in the family that my brother was the favored grandchild and, though there were two grandchildren born to my father’s only sibling between us, that I was the next favored.

My father died accidentally in 1958. At the time, my brother was living with my grandparents while attending a private high school in my parents’ hometown. After our father’s death, I began spending every summer with our grandparents. My brother and I spent a lot of time with them!

My grandfather died in 1977; my grandmother, in 1981. It was at her death that we learned that, because my grandfather had disapproved of my parents’ marriage in 1940, he and my grandmother had disinherited his son (my father), his daughter-in-law (my mother), and his grandchildren — the allegedly “favored grandchildren” — my brother and me.

It is possible to be with someone for years and still not know them. I loved my grandfather (his picture illustrates this reflection), but I didn’t know him.

So I understand Philip. And I think Jesus is being a little rough on him.

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

The Choice Is Ours – From the Daily Office – April 26, 2014

April 26, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Book of Exodus:

When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was nearer; for God thought, “If the people face war, they may change their minds and return to Egypt.” So God led the people by the roundabout way of the wilderness towards the Red Sea.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Exod. 13:17-18a (NRSV) – April 26, 2014.)

Fleshpot of Stew “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know,” was something my grandmother often said. Apparently she took after the ancient Israelites . . . but then don’t most people. We would rather stay in (or return to) a bad situation than face a possibly worse predicament. God know these people well — not too much farther down the road they will complain about their hunger and long for the pots of stew they enjoyed as slaves:

The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” (Exod 16:2-3)

Facing a bit of privation, they were ready to turn back; they would surely have done so if they faced war.

My problem with bible stories like this is . . . I don’t believe them. Oh, I believe the Hebrews left Egypt and took a long time to get where they were going. I just don’t believe that God micro-managed their trek like some cosmic travel agent, planning their route to avoid trouble (or, at least, warfare) along the way. I’m sure they believed God was doing so, but I don’t.

Stories like this, taken at face value, lead to a kind of God-has-a-plan-for-me personal spirituality that I find both incredible and off-putting. Not too long ago, I was watching an episode of Chopped on the Food Channel — I really like that show, by the way! — and one of the contestants was a “born-again Christian.” In each and every one of his short interview segments, his refrain was, “God did this for me” and “God planned for me to become a chef” and “God brought me here to win” and on and on and on.

As a witness for the Christian faith it was (at least to me) having an opposite effect. I had two thoughts. First, I wanted to get in his face and tell him to take personal responsibility (both positive and negative) for the events of his life and the decisions that had led him to where he was! God may have given him the talent, the skills, the strength, and the wisdom to get to that point in life, but God hadn’t made every little decision, God hadn’t road-mapped his existence for him.

And second . . . I started cheering for his opponents. I didn’t want the Christian guy to win! I dreaded seeing some sort of born-again Christian end-zone victory dance, a Tim Tiebow single-knee, fist-to-the-bowed-forehead genuflection in the middle of Chopped kitchen.

Sure enough, after the entree round, he was chopped. On the walk of shame down the back hallway of the studio, his comment was (predictably), “God brought me here . . . .” So now is God responsible for him losing? Is God to blame because he didn’t have enough onion in his fleshpot? Was it God who didn’t transform the basket ingredients sufficiently to impress the Chopped judges?

I don’t doubt for a minute that God was with the Hebrews in the desert. I don’t doubt for a minute that God was with the Chopped contestant. I don’t doubt for a minute that God is with me in the trials, tribulations, victories, and happy moments of my own life.

But I just don’t believe that God is a micro-managing travel agent planning every step any of us take. I just don’t. “God made me do it,” is no better a theology or personal spirituality than Flip Wilson’s “The devil made me do it.” Both are an abdication of personal responsibility.

If we choose to go the long way around, the choice is ours. If we choose the lean pickings of the desert over the full stewpots of Egypt, the choice is ours. If we choose to become chefs and compete in the Chopped kitchen, the choice is ours. If we choose the devil we know over the devil we don’t know, the choice is ours.

The choice is ours. Not God’s.

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

Chesed – From the Daily Office – April 25, 2014

April 25, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalms:

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
O give thanks to the God of gods,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.
O give thanks to the Lord of lords,
for his steadfast love endures for ever.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 136:1-3 (NRSV) – April 25, 2014.)

Chesed Psalm 136 is twenty-six verses long. The second half of every single verse is the same: “For [God’s] steadfast love endures for ever.”

In The Book of Common Prayer version this refrain is translated, “For [God’s] mercy endures forever.”

“Mercy” is the pertinent term in the Authorized Version, as well, while in the New American Standard, the word is “lovingkindness.”

The New International Version renders it “love” and the Complete Jewish translation uses “grace.”

They’re all good words . . . and not one of them fully and completely captures the meaning of the original Hebrew word chesed.

It seems to me that what is lacking in all of the translations is recognition of the implicit qualities of unconditionality, loyalty, and devotedness, and the explicit quality of covenant.

Chesed, additionally, conveys a sense of priority. God’s chesed is prior to all human response and in no way depends upon any human response; nonetheless, God binds Godself in chesed in covenant with humankind offering a loyalty and devotion humankind is incapable of reciprocating.

Perhaps this is why our translations of chesed (and even the word chesed itself) are inadequate. Human language cannot encompass the unconditional and endless self-giving of God. And, perhaps, this is what Psalm 136 must repeat, over and over again, that God’s steadfast love, mercy, lovingkindness, grace, chesed is eternal.

We must constantly remind ourselves of that which is fundamentally beyond our comprehension. We cannot comprehend it; we cannot offer any adequate response. We can only accept it and be grateful. Repeatedly.

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

Flesh and Blood – From the Daily Office – April 24, 2014

April 24, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the First Letter to the Corinthians:

What I am saying, brothers and sisters, is this: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – 1 Corinthians 15:50 (NRSV) – April 24, 2014.)

I think I know what Paul is trying to say here, but I don’t like the way he’s saying it. I mean, I really have a theological issue with the assertion that “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God.” I think the statement is just plain wrong. It states a dualism that relegates the material, specifically the human body, to realm of the damned, the unclean, the unworthy. In light of a creation story in which the Creator “saw everything that he had made [including that human flesh and blood], and indeed, it was very good,” I cannot accept the condemnation of our material being.

We have in our scriptural tradition an understanding that there have been human beings bodily “ascended” into the spiritual realms. “Elijah, because of great zeal for the law, was taken up into heaven,” says the First Book of Maccabees (1 Mac 2:58), and that is what Second Book of Kings describes: “Elijah ascended in a whirlwind into heaven.” Elisha watched it happen and kept staring up until he could no longer see his master. (2 Kg 2:11-12) And then there is Enoch who “walked with God; then he was no more, because God took him,” (Gen 5:24) a statement which has always been understood to mean that he was taken, flesh and blood, into God’s eternal Presence.

Of even greater significance is the Ascension of Christ! As the Apostles stood “watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight,” and then a couple of angels assured them that he had “been taken up from you into heaven.” (Acts 1:9,11) This was Jesus in the same body that had been executed! That body still bore the wounds of crucifixion; he had invited Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.” (Jn 20:27) That flesh-and-blood body which ascended had sat at table with his friends; after his Resurrection, that same flesh-and-blood body had eaten a piece of honey and shared some grilled fish. Paul goes on and on about earthly bodies and heavenly bodies, physical bodies and spiritual bodies, perishable bodies and imperishable bodies . . . but Jesus lived, died, rose, and ascended in one and same body!

I’m rather fond of the body I’ve lived in. It’s fat and out of shape and, truth be told, I wish it were better looking! But I’ve done a lot of stuff with this body and, like Henry Higgins with regard to Eliza Dolittle’s face, I’ve grown accustomed to it. It has been useful — it’s climbed holy mountains and visited sacred places; it’s lifted babies from their cribs and cuddled them; it’s hugged my wife and children; it’s helped old people into and out of bed; it’s held the hands of dying parents; it’s fed the hungry and built shelters for the homeless; it’s stood at the altar of God and ministered the Flesh and Blood of Christ. This flesh and blood has done some holy things. If I’m going to be gifted with life eternal, I’ll be happy to do so in this flesh and blood that has served me well, and with which I have done my best to serve God and God’s people.

I think I know what Paul was trying to say, but I wish he’d found a different way to say it because I think what he said is just wrong. Flesh and blood can inherit the kingdom of God. Indeed, I believe that flesh and blood have already inherited the kingdom of God. Here and now.

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

Religious Leadership – From the Daily Office – April 23, 2014

April 23, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel according to Matthew:

After the priests had assembled with the elders, they devised a plan to give a large sum of money to the soldiers, telling them, “You must say, ‘His disciples came by night and stole him away while we were asleep.’ If this comes to the governor’s ears, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.” So they took the money and did as they were directed.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 28:12-15 (NRSV) – April 23, 2014.)

Bribe Silhouette Twice in Easter week this story of the Jewish Temple authorities bribing the Roman soldiers to get them to say the followers of Jesus had stolen Jesus’ body is found in the lectionary. It is here in the Prayer Book’s Daily Office readings today; on Monday, it was the Eucharistic lectionary’s gospel lesson.

Surprisingly, it is not a very well known part of the Easter story — or perhaps it’s not so surprising since in none of the three-year cycle of Sunday readings does it occur, and for most people their familiarity with the biblical text starts and stops with what they hear in church.

In any event, it came up on Monday and, as a result, it was something our vestry wrestled with during the time of our regular meeting when we work on spiritual formation.

So . . . thinking about it since Monday evening, I find myself sympathizing with the priests. They have to have been beside themselves with worry. They could just see this whole situation blowing up. Although they didn’t know that something like it would eventually happen 40 years or so later anyway, but they knew that if this story of a risen messiah gained too much credence the people might revolt, the Romans would take action, and their reasonably stable religious institution would be endangered. What they were doing was taking leadership action to prevent a disaster. It wasn’t the best action they could have taken; it certainly had some rather negative moral and ethical implications. But what leadership action is ever unmixed? What leadership action is ever (as one of my law school professors was fond of saying) “pure as the driven slush”? Indeed, what human action is ever thus?

Putting myself into their shoes, what would I have done? I’d like to think that I would have recognized the holiness of what had happened. I’d like to think that I would have realized that, had I not done so earlier, that Jesus was the Anointed One. I’d like to think that I’d have gotten it right. But I suspect I would have agreed with the other priests and elders, would have tried to contain the situation, and would have bribed the soldiers to keep things quiet. I suspect I would have tried to maintain the status quo.

That’s what religious leadership tends to do.

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

Category: Christianity (Page 55 of 84)

Magic Hands – From the Daily Office – May 3, 2014

Measurement Is Not Control – From the Daily Office – May 2, 2014

Wilderness – From the Daily Office – May 1, 2014

Hyperbole – From the Daily Office – April 30, 2014

Getting Older – From the Daily Office – April 29, 2014

Jesus Is a Little Rough – From the Daily Office – April 28, 2014

The Choice Is Ours – From the Daily Office – April 26, 2014

Chesed – From the Daily Office – April 25, 2014

Flesh and Blood – From the Daily Office – April 24, 2014

Religious Leadership – From the Daily Office – April 23, 2014

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