From the Gospel of Luke:
They said, “If you are the Messiah, tell us.” He replied, “If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I question you, you will not answer.”
(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 22:67-68 (NRSV) – July 2, 2013.)
In the assembly of the elders of the people, the chief priests and the scribes, Jesus is asked, “Are you the Messiah?” and in response he gives vent to some very real human frustration.
I recently read an article about frustration as a plot element in writing fiction. The author suggested that frustration is, in fact, the most important emotion in fiction because nothing happens in a novel or short story unless the plans, wishes, or desires of the protagonist are frustrated. If Ahab had killed the white whale on his first attempt, Moby Dick would have been a very short tale, indeed. The author of the article pointed out, however, that frustration “is seldom a ‘pure’ emotion. It can come mixed with many others: anger (‘How dare they!’), hurt (‘Why won’t they help me?’), fear (‘I’ll never get what I want’), self-blame (‘I’m not good enough to succeed’), resignation (‘Can’t win ‘em all’), or bitterness (‘Life sucks’).”
One of my favorite episodes of The West Wing was about a submarine crisis off the coast of North Korea. The White House staff brought in an expert on submarine warfare to advise President Bartlett; Hal Holbrook played the character with droll dullness, droning on and on about difference experiences. In one scene, the expert and Leo McGarry were sitting on the sofas in the Oval Office talking; Leo was listening, the expert droning on. From off camera came the sound of a rhythmic thump – thump – thump. The camera pulled back to reveal the President banging his head on his desk . . . . I’m not sure what the President’s frustration might have been mixed with, but clearly that is not the best way to handle frustration!
With what, we might ask, is Jesus’ frustration mixed? I think the answer must be, “Faith.” Jesus is convinced that whatever happens, his God is with him. The night before this questioning, all the other emotions with which this frustration might have been mixed were sweated out in Garden of Gethsemane, leaving only faith: “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42) To be true to his mission (whatever we might now believe or understand it to be), to be true to his God, Jesus could not allow any other emotion to taint his frustration.
In any given situation, with what are our frustrations mixed? Too often they are like that article author described, mixed with emotions that result in negative or self-defeating outcomes. Our task is to spend some Gethsemane-time, sweating out those impurities, leaving only faith.
I think frustration mixed with faith might best be named “resolve,” which the dictionary defines as “firmness of purpose.” That certainly describes Jesus in the assembly of the elders (and throughout the Passion).
In an address at the University of Maine in October 1963, President John F. Kennedy exhorted his listeners: “Let us resolve to be masters, not the victims, of our history, controlling our own destiny without giving way to blind suspicions and emotions.” The example of Jesus suggests that, in some ways, we may still be “victims” no matter what we resolve and no matter how strong our faith may be. But our Lord’s example and the Christian faith also demonstrate that “victimization” to those who stand firm in their mission is a temporary state; on the other side one finds resurrection and redemption.
Frustration is a very real and very human situation. What we choose to mix with our frustrations is the determiner of outcome; followers of Jesus mix faith with frustration.
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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
This is the first appearance in the Christian story of the man who will become the early church’s greatest evangelist and the author of most of the New Testament. We are told that as he witnessed the martyrdom of the first deacon, “Saul approved of their killing him.” (Acts 8:1)
This advice not to worry about his donkeys is given by Samuel to Saul when Saul arrives at Ramah. It seems oddly out of place. Saul has been sent by God to Samuel, and God has informed Samuel that the man he will have sent to him is to be king over Israel. So Saul has had his cook set aside a special portion of meat and otherwise prepared to meet and anoint the man who would one day rule the country. Samuel comes to the town where he expects to find the man of God, and this statement is part of their first conversation:
The Pharisee Gamaliel gave sound advice to the Sanhedrin: “Leave them alone. If their movement is of God, you will not be able to stop it.” It’s advice the church, which benefited from it, has often failed to heed. We ought to follow it more often than we do . . . but there is that other rule the church more frequently follows: “Any change, at any time, for any reason, is to be deplored.” (Often attributed to an otherwise unidentified Victorian-era “Duke of Cambridge.”)
“Festal shout” . . . the Hebrew is teruwah, a technical term for a liturgical response. (The root word is ruwa which is a verb meaning “to shout an alarm.”) It was probably something along the lines of “Hallelujah!” although it was probably not that particular Hebrew exclamation.
Today is the 22nd anniversary of my ordination as a priest in the Episcopal Church. It is also the 20th anniversary of the death of my older (and only) sibling, Rick.
Yesterday, the news services and Facebook were buzzing with the news of the death of James Gandolfini. Mr. Gandolfini, who was famous for playing the role of Tony Soprano in an HBO series The Sopranos, suffered a heart attack at the age of 51. The day before, there was a similar (though smaller) buzz about the death of investigative journalist Michael Hastings, aged 33, in an automobile accident.
“. . . the duties of the priests to the people . . . ”
Today’s reading from Luke’s history of the early church details the method by which the eleven remaining apostles chose someone to replace Judas. It was a simple method: (a) identify the candidates; (b) pray; (c) take your chances. They drew lots, but they might have thrown dice, cut a deck of cards, flipped a coin, or done any number of other things that would have randomized the outcome.
Wow!

