That Which We Have Heard & Known

Occasional thoughts of an Anglican Episcopal priest

Category: Scripture (Page 27 of 43)

That’s Not How It Works! – Sermon for Pentecost 18 (Proper 21B) – 27 September 2015

September 26, 2015 / / 2 Comments

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A sermon offered on Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 21B, Track 1, RCL), September 27, 2015, to the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(The lessons for the day are Esther 7:1-6,9-10;9:20-22, Psalm 124, James 5:13-20, and Mark 9:38-50. These lessons may be found at The Lectionary Page.)

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BeatriceIf you’re like me, you usually ignore television commercials; like my wife, you may even mute the sound on your TV when they come on. But every once in a while there will be one that is just so good you have to give it credit, you watch it when it comes on because it’s just a really good piece of little film making.

One such little story that I think is brilliant is a commercial for Esurance entitled Beatrice in which an older lady, standing in front of her living room wall which is plastered with photographs of her vacation, she says, “Instead of mailing everyone copies of my vacation photos, I’m saving a ton of time by posting them to my wall.” She goes on to extol her quick on-line insurance and when her friend, who has a very puzzled and concerned look on her face, responds that she’s saved more, Beatrice says to her, “I ‘unfriend’ you.” And the friend replies, “That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

That, I suggest to you, is Jesus’ message to his misguided disciples when they “saw someone casting out demons in your name, and . . . tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” It’s like they are saying, “Hey, Jesus! We saw this guy doing this . . . so we ‘unfriended’ him!”

The disciples are quite pleased with themselves. Like later generations of church members, their aim is to preserve the purity and orthodoxy of the Jesus’ movement by silencing the ministry of someone they consider an outsider, by delegitimizing someone who is not like them, by cutting off the other. They are surprised when Jesus rebukes them for their narrow-mindedness and limited understanding of Jesus’ mission

“That’s not how it works,” says Jesus, “That’s not how any of this works. Whoever is not against us is for us.” That is a radical statement of hospitality and inclusion.

Jesus then launches into these hyperbolic instructions to remove body parts. I used to believe that Jesus in this, as in other passages, was making use of a rabbinic teaching technique which scholars have named “Semitic hyperbole.” After all, Jesus was a native speaker of Aramaic (although his words have been transmitted to us in the koiné Greek of the New Testament) so we can assume that Jesus said this originally in Aramaic in which hyperbole was an accepted way of making a point. Speakers of Semitic languages (Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic) use hyperbole so often and in such grossly exaggerated forms that to an English speaker it almost seems to border on lying.

By exaggerating something beyond the bounds of rationality, speakers of these languages catch our attention, stating truths in a “bigger than life” way and waking us up to the reality of life, to the reality of our own lives. G. K. Chesterton noted that Jesus was a master of the hyperbole: “Christ had even a literary style of his own . . . The diction used by Christ is quite curiously gigantesque; it is full of camels leaping through needles and mountains hurled into the sea.” (Orthodoxy, John Lane: New York, 1908, pp 271-72)

However, hyperbolic though this language is, I don’t think Jesus is actually using hyperbole as a teaching tool in this case. I think he’s just being sarcastic. I think he’s saying, “Go ahead! Cut off your nose to spite your face! Go ahead! You’ll see how pointlessly self-defeating your behavior is. You will only hurt yourself in the effort to correct or punish someone else.”

Because . . . that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works!

It is not by cutting off hands or feet, or by plucking out eyes that an individual is healed or saved; similarly, it is not by cutting off another or by stopping another’s ministry that the community of faith is grown. “Whoever is not against us is for us.” Healing and salvation happen through relationship, through radical hospitality and radical inclusion.

James, in our epistle lesson today, writes: “My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” Salvation is not accomplished by hacking away; salvation is accomplished by grafting on, by relationship, by hospitality, and by inclusion.

“The prayer of faith will save the sick,” writes James, “The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective.” The quality of our prayer lives influences others; it creates relationships and opens pathways for divine energy. We achieve well-being for ourselves and for others by reaching out and grafting on, not by cutting away. No one who does a deed of power in Jesus’ name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of him or of his church, and anyone who promotes abundant life is on God’s side, whether it be by liturgical laying on of hands such as we will offer here today, or by reiki massage, or social action, or Zen meditation, or chemotherapy, or Tai Chi, or yoga, or whatever . . . even by something as simple as offering a cup of cool water to thirsty child. God is present and moving in all things, in all healthful, health-giving, hospitable, and inclusive relationships.

There is, I believe, a reason that our lectionary links James’ message of healing in relationship with today’s gospel story of radical inclusion, and that reason lies in the often overlooked relationship between the words “hospital” and “hospitality.” The linguistic connection between these words is no accident. As early as the 4th Century, it was common for Christian congregations to have “houses of lodging for strangers.” Later, medieval monasteries and convents carried on this tradition, and it was common for a member of the community to serve as “hospitaler,” the one who extended hospitality to strangers. Sometimes this meant caring for the travelers’ injuries and ailments. Thus, these “houses for the lodging of strangers,” these “hospitals,” became the first infirmaries where the other was welcomed and healed in Jesus’ name.

This mission of hospitality is not simply a sideline of the Christian mission, an add-on or plug-in, if you will, but rather the heart of it. As David Atkinson and his co-authors write in the New Dictionary of Christian Ethics & Pastoral Theology:

[C]are for the stranger goes hand in hand with preaching the gospel. ~ The Bible’s insistence that the Lord’s people should be hospitable highlights several vital, lasting theological and ethical principles. One is stewardship: showing hospitality is simply good caretaking, distributing the Master’s resources where they are most needed. Another is the imitation of God: being hospitable is being like God, who treated his people so generously when they were strangers in Egypt. And a third is grace: as God lavishes his love on those who deserve none of it, so Christians must provide hospitality for those who cannot earn or repay their generosity. (Atkinson, David, J., et al., New Dictionary of Christian Ethics & Pastoral Theology, Inter-Varsity Press, 1995, p 517)

“Hey, Jesus! We saw a guy healing in your name, but he wasn’t one of us and he wasn’t doing it our way, so we ‘unfriended’ him!”

“That’s not how it works! That’s not how any of this works! Whoever is not against us is for us!”

Jesus ends the conversation, and Mark ends the entire episode, with an obscure and confusing metaphor about salt. “Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.”

morton-saltThe Bible is full of metaphors which can be lost on modern American Christians, and this is one of them. We buy our salt (sodium chloride) in neat blue boxes from the supermarket; it’s purified, though it may be mixed with a small amount of an additive to make it run smoothly and flow freely. It may have a bit of granulated sugar added to it because pure salt is too salty for modern tastes! And it may have iodine added to it as a protection against goiter and other iodine deficiency issues; sea salt naturally contained iodine, but highly processed and refined salt does not.

This modern “pure” salt is incredibly stable and does not lose its saltiness. But salt which is mined from deposits such as one might have found in First Century Palestine is not pure. It is an amalgam of sodium chloride with other salts and minerals. If this mixture becomes wet, the sodium chloride can dissolve and leech away. The remaining substance looks the same but the salty flavor is lost and it cannot be brought back.

Followers of Jesus are called to be salty and, like that First Century salt, people are amalgams; we are not pure in any way. And we certainly can lose our “saltiness” as the “dampness” of life dilutes and leeches it away, or if (as Jesus has sarcastically suggested) we start cutting away bits and pieces of our lives.

What is the “saltiness” that we are meant to retain? What is the human “saltiness” that Jesus is concerned cannot be restored? Jesus words are often taken to be spiritual and lofty and, since salt was a required part of the grain and incense offerings in the Temple, this “salt” metaphor is often understood in that way.

However, another definition of “salty” is “down-to-earth,” and a third is “coarse” in the sense of colorful, spicy, racy, risqué, naughty, vulgar, or even rude. I don’t really know if “salt” had those connotations in Jesus’ time, but I do know that salt was considered symbolic of friendship, loyalty, and hospitality, all of which Jesus valued.

Time and time again the Gospels remind us that Jesus was a down-to-earth and hospitable sort of guy. He want to dinner parties and wedding receptions, and had a good time. He told jokes, most of which we don’t get because we’ve lost the cultural references (like the impure salt metaphor). He was condemned by the religious people for associating with sinners and was publicly criticized as a “winebibber,” the quaint King James English term for “drunkard.”

This all suggests to me that the “saltiness” that Jesus here speaks of is not some lofty, holy preservative of morality; it’s that down-to-earth hospitable conviviality that builds community and makes life fun. It might be what the French call “joie de vivre.”

There’s a series of advertisements for Dos Equis beer in which the corporate spokesman, described in the ads as “the Most Interesting Man in the World.” He’s not quite as entertaining as Beatrice and her “wall,” but he does memorably advise consumers, “Stay thirsty, my friends.”

I think Jesus is more entertaining than Beatrice and more interesting that the beer man and, in this gospel story, I see him looking into the camera, perhaps thinking of the parties and weddings he has attended and of the sinners he has befriended, of the hospitality and inclusiveness he is trying to teach his disciples, and saying, “Stay salty, my friends.”

Because that’s how it works! That’s how all of it works! Be hospitable, stay in relationship, reach out, include the stranger, do not cut off things or people. “Whoever is not against us is for us! . . . Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.” Amen.

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Note: This sermon includes a somewhat edited version of a previously published Daily Office meditation.

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

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered! – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 25, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered!

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Friday in the week of Proper 20, Year 1 (Pentecost 17, 2015)

Matthew 6:9-13 ~ Jesus said, “Pray then in this way:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And do not bring us to the time of trial,
but rescue us from the evil one.”

Today the Lord’s Prayer instruction from Matthew’s Gospel is paired in the Daily Office readings with the story of the death of Jezebel (with dogs eating her corpse) in the Second Book of Kings, and with Paul’s advice to the Corinthians about sex and marriage. It’s been three hours since I said the Office and read those lessons; I’ve had several cups of coffee and a high-fiber-high-protein breakfast. Despite that nourishment and caffeine, which should have kickstarted my brain, I confess to befuddlement. I don’t get the connection, any connection!

So that’s the take away today, not from the lessons themselves but from the Lectionary and its lack of connection between the readings that come up on the rota. In the Sunday Lectionary, one can generally find a linkage between at least two of the four readings (For non-Lectionary folk: the Eucharistic Lectionary for Sunday celebrations nearly always has four selections from Scripture – a lesson from the Old Testament, a Psalm, a lesson from the Epistles, and a lesson from one of the Gospels. Frequently, there is a thematic connection between the Old Testament readings and the Gospels), but not always. In the Daily Office Lectionary, thematic connections are even less common.

As a preacher I strive to find those connections when drafting my homilies for Sundays, and that influences my meditations on the Daily Office readings. Out of habit I try to find the linkages, the thematic relationships, the common message . . . and when it’s not there, I get bewitched, bothered, and bewildered. I become a simpering, whimpering child again . . . I want the lessons to make sense, together, not individually, and I’m angry with the Lectionary and whatever group of editors put it together!

Especially when I feel like I should be getting a good jolt of religion and spirituality with the Our Father but, instead, get Jezebel’s bloody death and Paul’s going on about people “aflame with passion.” I’m vexed again, perplexed again, and (frankly) oversexed again! Lead us not into temptation . . . .

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered!

Play Acting? – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 24, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Play Acting?

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Thursday in the week of Proper 20, Year 1 (Pentecost 17, 2015)

Matthew 6:1 ~ Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

Jesus said this and then launched into a rant about the practices of “the hypocrites.” In modern English, this word means someone who says one thing but does another, or someone who adopts inconsistent positions. For example, a lot of people in the news media and are criticizing Pope Francis for taking “political” positions apropos of climate change and other issues; he should stick to “religion,” they say. These very same people just a couple of weeks ago were championing Kim Davis, the Kentucky county clerk, who politicized her religious beliefs through her very public refusal to issue marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples. Clearly such people are hypocrites in this modern sense.

But . . . they are, then so must I be. I condemned Davis for her words and actions but defend Francis for his. I can salve my conscience in this regard by pointing out that Davis was refusing to do what I believe is her public sector job while Francis is doing what I believe to be his. Her job as a civil servant in a secular state does not entail (in fact, by definition, precludes) the application of religious belief to political issues, while that is the very essence of at least part of the pope (and every clergy person’s) job as a religious leader. Nonetheless, I have at least a twinge of a sense, scintilla of self-perception that there is a bit of hypocrisy in my positions about these two persons.

In classical Greek and, I suspect, in the koiné Greek of Jesus’ day, hypokrités, meant something different, although Jesus can be understood to be using the word in the modern sense. The original Greek means a stage actor, one who pretends to be what he or she is not. In other words, Jesus was accusing “the hypocrites” (most likely members of the Pharisaic party) of play acting at religion.

So, are the critics of Francis and champions of Davis just play acting at politics or religion? Certainly one of the news media outlets voicing the loudest criticism of the pope must be; in fact, it has denied being a news channel despite its name – it claims to be an entertainment channel (when it suits its purposes to do so). In any event, that is a question that they must answer.

And so must I. Am I just play acting?

Favorite Bible Verse? Not Likely – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 19, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Favorite Bible Verse? Not Likely

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Saturday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

1 Corinthians 4:7 ~ What do you have that you did not receive? And if you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?

“I built this.”
“I earned this.”
“I am a self-made man/woman.”

These are the self-affirmations of the American dream. Paul challenges them, and that mythology, with this simple question: “What do you have that you did not receive?” I can claim to have built or earned something but, in the final analysis, whatever I have built or earned came as a result of the skills, talents, and resources that I received somewhere along the line in my life, and (more importantly) with the investment of the skills, talents, and resources of many others.

Paul’s point (I think) is the same one he makes privately to the young bishop Timothy: “We brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it.” (1 Tim 6:7) Coming into this world naked and unprepared, suckling infants unable to build, earn, or self-construct, we start only with that which we a given by others: parents, family, community, and God. At core, everything we end up with, even that which we claim to have built or earned (including ourselves), comes from those gifts. Why, then, do we boast as if anything were not a gift?

Political candidates are being asked to quote their favorite bible verses. Wouldn’t it be nice to hear one mention this question? Not very likely, though.

Laying Fractured on the Floor – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 18, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Laying Fractured on the Floor

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Friday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

2 Kings 1:2 ~ Ahaziah had fallen through the lattice in his upper chamber in Samaria, and lay injured; so he sent messengers, telling them, “Go, inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, whether I shall recover from this injury.”

I don’t know what lattice the Anglican Communion has fallen through, but it sure looks like it may suffer the same fate as Ahaziah. The Archbishop of Canterbury, traditional “first among equals” head of the Communion, has invited the other 37 Primates of the Communion to meet with him to discuss some sort of restructuring of our common life in a way that would allow the differing provinces to be in communion with Canterbury although not with each other. (He has also invited the “archbishop” of the break-away “Anglican Church of North America” to attend.)

The conservative (that’s a loaded word, I know) Primates of the “Global South” (mostly African) provinces which several years ago formed something called GAFCON (originally an acronym for “Global Anglican Futures Conference”) have rebuffed the invitation because they refuse to sit at the same conference table (or the same Communion Table) with The Episcopal Church or the Anglican Church of Canada.

Maybe I do know what lattice the Anglican Communion has fallen through . . . it is the open-weave of cultural diversity. So long as the Communion was built with the relative solidity of English colonialism, all was well. When all of its provinces (other than a few rebellious folks like the Scottish and American Episcopalians) were “The Church of England in [fill in the blank],” all was well. When its provinces started to become independent and autocephalic (as their host colonies became independent nations) but still looked to England (and sometimes America) for guidance (and financial assistance), all was well.

But when those newly independent churches reached adolescence and early adulthood and began shrugging off the paternal arm of the English and American establishments, when the cultures of the former colonies reasserted themselves and the local leadership lost the thin gloss of British gentility, when the young churches began to flex their ecclesiastical muscle, fractures and gaps began to appear. The plaster of English churchmanship began to fall away from the apparently solid wall of Anglicanism leaving behind a lattice-work of cultural diversity and diversity’s evil twin, disparity.

The Communion fell through that fractured, lattice-work wall and, like a soft boiled potato pushed through a ricer, fractured itself. Laying injured like Ahazia, it called out to its gods, but not with a unified voice; the parts of the fractured body called out in many voices to many gods. Some parts called out to “inclusivity” and “toleration”. Some parts called out to “doctrinal purity”. Some parts called out to “covenant” and “structure”. All were valid “Anglican” appeals, but each seems not to have heard the Anglicanism in the others’ cries.

This remains the state of the Communion despite the Archbishop’s invitation to conversation. Like Ahaziah in his chamber, the Communion lays crippled on the floor still crying out to its various gods. This morning’s reading ends with Ahaziah’s death and his kingdom passing to his brother “because Ahaziah had no son.” Anglicanism, however, has many children and they seem hell-bent on continuing the fractious discord of diversity and disparity.

On the other hand, however, is the promise of the God to whom all the parties claim to call yet none seems clearly to have addressed, the God Incarnate who promised us that people (even members of our own family, of our own Communion) would “revile [us] and persecute [us] and utter all kinds of evil against [us],” but that on the other side of that would be a reward (Mt 5:11-12), something very like resurrection, I suspect. So, he said, stay salty and keep shining, even as we lay fractured on the floor.

Rambling and Disjointed in the Spirit – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 17, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Rambling and Disjointed in the Spirit

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Thursday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

1 Corinthians 2:14 ~ Those who are unspiritual do not receive the gifts of God’s Spirit, for they are foolishness to them, and they are unable to understand them because they are discerned spiritually.

Wait a minute, Paul, aren’t you setting up a Catch-22 here? I remember as a young adult seeking a job being told that I could not be hired because I had no experience, but I couldn’t get experience if I wasn’t hired. Now, Paul, you’re telling us that we can’t be spiritual unless we’re already spiritual; isn’t that what you’re saying?

A few years ago several of the parishes in my diocese took part in a program which envisioned a congregation as a barrel made up of many staves. The “staves” were characteristics possessed by the church and its programs: inviting small groups, exciting worship, visionary leadership, vibrant spirituality, and so forth. The premise was that a congregation could grow only to the extent allowed by shortest stave and there was a diagnostic process for determining the parish’s shortest stave. Nearly every Episcopal congregation tested came up with the same short stave: vibrant spirituality. Why? I suggested that the issue was not in the congregations but in the testing instrument. The language of the survey was that of European evangelicalism (the program was designed by a German engineer turned church leader), a language not “spoken” by North American Anglicans. It wasn’t that Episcopalians weren’t spiritual; rather, the problem was that they didn’t describe their spirituality in a way compatible with the testing instrument.

That program was undertaken at about the same time that the studiers of religious phenomena began to hear (and publicize and thus encourage) the phrase “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR). Perhaps Paul’s phrase “those who are unspiritual” is his way of referring to the non-religious; it may be, because I don’t think Paul would even consider separating “spiritual” from “religious” in the way that is done today. I’m fairly certain that, for Paul, religion and spirituality are the same thing.

But they are not to modern Americans. A member of my extended family once told me that she had “no spiritual impulse.” This same family member then was asked to read a lesson another family member’s funeral and, when she did, it was quite clear that she was, in fact, deeply spiritual; she was not, however, religious. I know plenty of people like my family member, people who are not religious (in the sense that they belong to no particular church or faith community). However, I have begun to wonder if there is anyone who is not spiritual in some way. Is there any human being who does not have a spirituality? Is there, in a word, anyone who is “unspiritual” (whatever Paul may have meant by that word)?

My sense is (and I know of no way to test this) is that there is not. Everyone, I think, has a spirituality of some sort. It may not be a religious spirituality; it may not even be recognized (by that person, such as my family member) as a spirituality. However, if as we religious people believe, every human has a spirit, then every person must have a spirituality. There are no “unspiritual” people and, thus, no Catch-22 in Paul’s formulation. But, then, what is Paul saying? Is he limiting the gifts of the Spirit to the religious? If so, I think he’s wrong. Jesus didn’t limit his gifts to the religious (in fact, he didn’t seem to like the religious all that much). So I don’t believe the Spirit will (or does) either.

I know this is sort of rambling and disjointed. That’s my spiritual gift for today, to be rambling and disjointed in the Spirit!

More Prophets, Fewer Fools – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 16, 2015 / / 0 Comments

More prophets, fewer fools.

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Wednesday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

1 Kings 22:8a ~ The king of Israel said to Jehoshaphat, “There is still one other by whom we may inquire of the Lord, Micaiah son of Imlah; but I hate him, for he never prophesies anything favorable about me, but only disaster.”

Ahab was unhappy that the prophet Micaiah would not, like the other prophets, play his Yes-Man. He did not like being contradicted. Who does? Who likes to have his plans criticized or his closely held beliefs mocked and held up to scorn?

Medieval and Renaissance English monarchs had jesters or “licensed fools” whose job was not precisely that of the prophets, but whose function was both to amuse and criticize the king or queen and his or her ministers with subtle mockery. Sometimes the mockery has too subtle; Queen Elizabeth I is said to have disciplined her jester for being insufficiently severe. Sometimes it was not subtle enough; Charles I threw his jester out of court for insulting too many influential people.

The office of jester disappeared with the English civil war. Apparently the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell did not have much of a sense of humor; he did not suffer fools gladly. Politics has been the poorer ever since.

Which brings us to the present day, which has seen a rebirth of the office of fool or jester, but with a not-so-subtle twist – the office of supreme executive and the office of fool seem to be merging into one, or at least the current crop of candidates so suggests.

Politics appears as poor as ever. We could do with more prophets and fewer fools.

Where Is the One Who Is Wise? – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 15, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Where is the one who is wise?

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Tuesday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

1 Corinthians 1:20-25 ~ Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling-block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

Is it possible that our current American era, in which ignorance is extolled and foolishness seems to run rampant, results at least in part from a “biblical literalism” and belief in scriptural “inerrancy” which leads to a misreading and misunderstanding of passages such as this? Thirty-five years ago, Isaac Asimov wrote in Newsweek magazine, “There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there always has been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that ‘my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.'”

Recently on the internet (on Facebook and other forms of social media) an advertisement for a “Bible Believers” church has been making the rounds; it asks if the reader is tired of preachers using “Greek translations” and promises exclusive use of the “King James Version.” Such things do make one wonder, “Where is the one who is wise?”

But churches alone are not responsible for the “cult of ignorance” seen by Asimov. American educational institutions and our business enterprises must also accept responsibility. In an effort to create a workforce of specialists, prepared for specific careers meeting the needs of corporate America, our colleges and other schools seem to have abandoned broad-based curricula.

When I was an undergraduate in the decade before Asimov diagnosed that “strain of anti-intellectualism,” my college laid out a program of “general education requirements,” a core curriculum which every student had to pursue before specializing in a major. My first term (we were on the quarter system) my class schedule included calculus, physics, a course called “The Humanities” (a series over six terms which included the literature, history, art, philosophy, and so forth of specific time periods; the first, entitled “The Jews and the Greeks,” covered classical antiquity), an art course, a language course, and a class in developing study habits. For the next two years my course schedule was pretty much determined by this program of core requirements; there were very few electives and there was no emphasis on specialization. This was a broad-spectrum, “Renaissance” education.

Today, as an old curmudgeon parish priest, I talk with the young adults from my congregation and find that they are being asked to make life career decisions as high school sophomores and juniors, to decide at age 16 or 17 what they will do for the rest of their lives. Their guidance counselors then funnel them into programs designed to prepare them for specific colleges which will give them those career skills, and only those. I know recent college graduates whose education is so narrow and so limited that they are truly ignorant outside of their major. For example, I know a young person who recently graduated with a bachelor’s degree in business who took no biology course during college, who read not a single play by Shakespeare, and whose only exposure to the French Revolution was the music of Les Mis . . . .

How have we come to this point? How have we arrived in world where ignorance and foolishness, not the foolishness of God but the intractable folly of humankind, are order of the day? Have biblical literalism, a belief in scriptural inerrancy, and a system of “higher education” catering to the needs of corporate business conspired to “dumb down” America?

This is sort of thing is not, of course, what Paul was addressing when he wrote to the church in Corinth, but it’s what is on my mind this morning as I read both his epistle and a newspaper report of yet another politician answering a question with the opening line, “Well, I’m not a scientist, but . . . .”

“Where is the one who is wise?”

Vineyards and Soccer Fields – From the Daily Office Lectionary

September 14, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Vineyards and Soccer Fields

From the Daily Office Lectionary for Monday in the week of Proper 19, Year 1 (Pentecost 16, 2015)

1 Kings 21:1-3 ~ Naboth the Jezreelite had a vineyard in Jezreel, beside the palace of King Ahab of Samaria. And Ahab said to Naboth, “Give me your vineyard, so that I may have it for a vegetable garden, because it is near my house; I will give you a better vineyard for it; or, if it seems good to you, I will give you its value in money.” But Naboth said to Ahab, “The Lord forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance.”

As the story of Ahab, Naboth, and the vineyard continues, Ahab pouts about Naboth’s refusal, so Jezebel (Ahab’s wife) contrives away to steal the land. Naboth is framed for a religious infraction and then executed by stoning; as the land ends up without an owner, Ahab takes possession of the vineyard. The prophet Elijah, however, condemns the royal conspiracy and Ahab repents. Eventually, the Lord decrees: “Because he has humbled himself before me, I will not bring the disaster in his days; but in his son’s days I will bring the disaster on his house.” (1 Kg 21:29)

Ahab and Jezebel were not the first rulers to covet the lands of another. That is a continuing pattern of human behavior. Consider this little reported news item from last week: “[Israeli] bulldozers began demolishing Christian-owned lands in the beautiful Cremisan Valley in August to make way for a massive three-story wall that will separate a historic monastery and its monks from the convent, school, and Palestinian people they serve. The monastery and fertile convent fields will be annexed to Israel, which has already taken more than 70% of Bethlehem’s farmland. Fifty-eight Christian families will lose their orchards, farms and livelihoods.” (Independent Catholic News, 11 Sept 2015)

As part of the Israeli confiscation of lands, the building of a soccer field for the children of the Palestinian village of Wadi Foquin (a project being funded by the United Methodist Church) was ordered to stop. In what seems more a biblical metaphor than the official act of a modern nation-state, the halt-construction order was placed under a rock on the field. (See photo here) I wonder if it read, “Give me your soccer field, so that I may have it for a security wall, because it is near my house.” If not, perhaps it should have: the Israeli confiscation of Palestinian land is no more legitimate than Ahab’s and Jezebel’s taking possession of Naboth’s vineyard.

No, Ahab and Jezebel were not the first rulers to covet the lands of another, nor were they the last.

More Than Much Fine Gold: Sermon for Pentecost 16, Proper 19B – 13 September 2015

September 12, 2015 / / 0 Comments

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A sermon offered on Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19B, Track 1, RCL), September 13, 2015, to the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(The lessons for the day are Proverbs 1:20-33, Psalm 19, James 3:1-12, and Mark 8:27-38. These lessons may be found at The Lectionary Page.)

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GoldSo here’s a thing that happened this week . . . . We prepared the bulletins for today; both the church secretary and I reviewed them and proof-read them and only after they’d been copied and folded that I saw something out of order with today’s Psalm (as printed in the bulletin). It’s Verse 10….

There’s nothing really wrong with it, but the verse number, you see, is larger than the numbers of all the other verses. We set the type size for the verse numbers at 10 pt, but that one verse number didn’t get set that way . . . it’s 14 pt; stands out like a sore thumb, calls attention to the verse: “More to be desired are they [the statutes and judgments of God] than gold, more than much fine gold . . . . ” I took that as a sign that I should talk about gold this morning, that I should talk about money, and that seemed like a good idea because next week you will be receiving the annual pledge campaign flier.

On the other hand, I’d rather talk about today’s gospel in which Jesus asks his closest companions, “Who do people say that I am?” to which they give a variety of answers, but then he really puts them on the spot with his follow-up question: “But who do you say that I am?” Peter, of course, comes up with a correct answer, but this is a question which is never completely answered, is it?

It’s funny, but when I read this particular story I can’t help thinking of The Logical Song by the rock group Supertramp. The refrain of the song goes:

There are times when all the world’s asleep,
The questions run so deep
For such a simple man.
Won’t you please, please tell me what you’ve learned
I know it sounds absurd
Please tell me who I am.

Now I know that the pleading, lost, confused, and rebellious attitude of the singer of the song is not the attitude of Jesus in his conversation with the disciples, but the lyric is right that this is a question that runs deep, as absurd as it may sound. Jesus asks us this question on a regular basis: “Tell me what you’ve learned. Tell me who I am to you.”

Jesus first asks the twelve, “What have you learned? What’s public saying about me?” But he doesn’t stop with asking about public opinion. He asks them for a personal position: “Who do you say that I am?”

We live in a pluralistic society; we live in a time in which there are many religious choices, and we have much to learn from the many others, different sorts of Christians as well as those of other faiths and those of none, all the variety of persons among whom we live and with whom we interact. In this pluralistic milieu we also have much to share with these others and we need to be able to give an account of our own religious choice. We have chosen to follow Christ. We have chosen to follow Christ in a particular way. Why? Who is Jesus to us?

Paul, in the letter to the Ephesians, insists that he is the model of our spiritual maturity, the gauge (if you will) of our spiritual development: it is our calling, Paul insists, to “come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.” (Eph 4:13) Mark’s way of making this same point is to quote Jesus as saying to us, as he said to Peter and the other disciples, “Deny [your]selves and take up [your] cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

Jesus’ question is really not about his identity, at all. It’s really about ours. When each of us answers his question, what we respond says more about our self than it can ever say about Jesus. Who are we becoming as we follow him, as we come “to the measure of the full stature of Christ,” as we live into his identity that resides within us? “Who do you say that I am?” is a question about our identities and our priorities.

It is often said if you want to know your real priorities, look at two things: your appointment book and your checkbook. These days you might look at your Google calendar and your online bank account statement, or the calendar app on your smartphone and your credit card statement. Whatever. The point is that your priorities are always going to be reflected in the way you spend your resources: your time, your talents and abilities, your money, your energy. Jesus said it plainly: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Lk 12:34). Where your gold is, there are your priorities.

Jesus says, “These are the priorities: Deny yourself and take up the cross and follow me.”

A theology of the cross or a theology of self-denial does not mean a contrived humility or a self-sacrificing martyrdom; we do not follow Jesus, we do not take up our cross, we do not grow into the full stature of Christ by demeaning ourselves. A true theology of the cross, a true denial of self means that we are called to selflessness, to an unselfishness in which we do the very best we can with the treasure, the talents, the abilities, and the energy God gives us. To “deny oneself” and take up one’s cross means to keep one’s priorities in harmony with what Jesus told us in the two “great commandments” — love God and love your neighbor (Mk 12:28-31).

The commandment[s] of the Lord [are] clear
and give light to the eyes.
The judgments of the Lord are true
and righteous altogether.
More to be desired are they than gold,
more than much fine gold . . . .

So, I guess I ended up talking about money after all, and that probably is a good idea because this next week you will be receiving your annual pledge card for 2016.

Late at night, when all the world’s asleep,
And the questions run so deep
When you fill out next year’s card.
Won’t you please, please tell us what you’ve learned
I know it sounds absurd
Tell Jesus who he is; tell him who you are.

Amen.

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

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