It's about the starting place

The last post did not mean that I am allowed to become passive, or turn a blind eye to injustice and need. That is clear throughout the law, the prophets, the gospels, and the rest of the Bible:

Don't take away justice for the stranger or the orphan, or take a widow's cloak as collateral. Remember your own slavery in Egypt? Remember how God rescued you? That's why I'm giving this command.

paraphrased from Deuteronomy 24:17-18

Man, he showed you what's good and necessary: act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with your God.

paraphrased from Micah 6:8

Here's your misery, you theologians and legalists–hypocrites! You'll donate a tenth of your spice rack, but completely ignore what the law says about important things: justice, mercy, and faith. You should have done these things, without ignoring the others.

paraphrased from Matthew 23:23

If your brother or sister lacks clothing or food, and you just wish them well (without actually doing anything to help), what good is that? So "faith" that doesn't involve action is just dead.

paraphrased from James 2:15-17

There's no shortage of people who will point out how much better the world would be if they were could only fix someone else. And there are certainly injustices and needs that must be pointed out and addressed vigorously. But if I allow vigor to become bitterness, and become contemptuous of the people I hold responsible, I am at grave risk of becoming contemptible myself.

I must begin to deal with circumstances by first dealing with myself.

And in practice, I have to deal with the next five minutes, not the state of the entire planet. How do I regard the co-worker that cuts me off in a meeting or the driver who cuts me off in traffic? How about the brother or sister who makes the same mistakes again (and again)? What about the person who interrupts my agenda, who gets credit for my suggestion, or who doesn't do something I was expecting?

There are times when I may need to respond to the circumstance or behavior, but I am not allowed to write off the other person as hopeless or worthless. I am a work in process, and have received the grace that allows me to continue to grow, to produce the fruit that has not yet appeared in me. That calls me to extend the same grace to those around me, minute by minute.

Always.

The Wheat and the Zizania

Our congregation's readings for this week included the parable in Matthew 13:24-30. (The interlinear presentation of this text makes it easier to find the word we'll be thinking about.)

Sermons and discussions that I've heard almost always focus on the last half of the last verse, emphasizing the final judgment. The explanation Jesus privately gave his disciples (verses 37-43) certainly deals with that. But reading it again this morning, I wonder if we've overlooked a couple of points that come before the harvest.

What are the "weeds" that the enemy sowed and the field hands wanted to pull up?


The original word, which might be written in English as "zizania", was translated as "tares" by the King James committee, but appears as "weeds" in many modern translations. After all, most of us in twenty-first-century America have little experience with the details of wheat production. But essentially all sources I checked identify zizania with darnel, a plant with some interesting properties that just might contribute to our understanding of this parable.

Early in its life, darnel resembles wheat very closely. However, the ear develops in a way that is different from true wheat. This reminds me of the description of "wolves in sheep's clothing" in Matthew 7:15-20, where Jesus says we can identify them by their fruit. The visual appearance of the ears made it clear which stalks where true wheat and which were darnel.

There's one more point: darnel grain is toxic when eaten by itself or mixed with wheat. Some sources blame a fungus in the darnel for the toxicity, rather than the grain itself; even if that's the case, I suspect that was a moot distinction in the first century.

The combination of zizania and wolves leads me to understand this in terms of hypocrisy, whose toxic effects are a major problem in contemporary America. Anyone–televangelists, politicians, or everyday people–who pulls a sheep-skin of talk about faith and morality over a self-serving agenda is mixing poison with the good news. And the toxicity is enthusiastically pointed out by those who oppose the good news itself.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could somehow make all of that controversy go away? But that brings me to the other point hidden in this parable.

Why don't the hands dig out the zizania?

As soon as the infestation became apparent, the workers asked the land-owner whether they should go immediately to pull the zizania out of the field.

"Don't do that," he replied, "because you risk pulling up the wheat as well."

The roots are entangled below the ground, in ways that are not visible from surface appearances.

I began thinking about this in terms of the book of Job. I should be humble before demanding what I think of as justice; there's more going on than I understand. We shape the world by the choices we make, and so does everyone around us. In the language of my day job, that process is interactive and in real time. And, still in terms of my work experience, people who try to take aggressive action based on an overly-simplistic view of a complex situation often do more harm than good.

But then I notice that the workers who ask about going right now to pull up the zizania are not the same as the harvesters/reapers who will be given the responsibility of clearing the ripened plants before bringing in the good grain. We who serve are not the agents of final judgment.

I need to be careful about the seeds I ingest and allow to take root in me. And–to shift the metaphor slightly–I need to be very careful about the fruit I produce. My words, example, and leadership need to be true wheat, and encourage true wheat-ness in everyone whom I can influence. I certainly should not condone hypocrisy in others, and I cannot tolerate it in myself, but my job is to serve today. I have no authority to run wildly through the field, yanking up every plant that doesn't meet with my approval.

I need to do my job, and let the harvesters do theirs.

Communion thoughts at Thanksgiving

No one knows exactly where or when he was born. Many of the details of his life have been obscured by time. The few stories that remain are reported differently by various authors. But by all accounts, his actions were significant.

Tisquantum was born in the late 1500s in what we now call New England. A man who intended to sell him and several other companions into slavery kidnapped him and took him to Europe. There Tisquantum was rescued from that fate, learned the English language, and eventually made his way back to this continent. Upon his return, he found that disease—likely tuberculosis, smallpox, or both—brought by European explorers and traders had destroyed his entire village. Leaving the empty homes and fields behind, he took up residence with others of his Pokanoket nation.

When the Mayflower arrived in November of 1620, it carried just over a hundred Pilgrims who were ill prepared and ill equipped to survive the harsh winter. Many continued to live on the ship through the fall and into the winter, commuting to land to construct homes and other buildings. Close to half of the group died in the following months.

During their final move ashore in March, a man named Samoset, who had learned a few words of English during earlier trade contact, surprised the survivors by walking into their community and greeting them in English. Samoset introduced them to Tisquantum, who quite possibly saved the lives of the remaining Pilgrims. He taught them desperately needed lessons about life in the new world, about local foods and medicinal plants, and served as an intermediary in establishing trade relationships.

By the fall of 1621, the survivors had accumulated the food and skills required to survive the coming winter, and held a feast to celebrate, inviting Tisquantum and his family to attend. Apparently they didn’t realize the meaning of “family” to the Pokanoket people, and were overwhelmed at the arrival of a group of guests that far outnumbered the hosts. Fortunately, their Pokanoket guests had the skills and resources to supplement the food provided by the Pilgrims, and by some accounts even provided most of the feast.

Histories of our country’s Thanksgiving holiday usually appeal to this feast as inspiration. Tisquantum is often called by the shorter name, “Squanto”.

These fragments are only a small part of a larger story with many sad moments. As a man between two worlds, Tisquantum was regarded with mistrust by both sides, and eventually died under suspicious circumstances. Not many years after the feast of 1621, hostilities and violence resumed between the two groups, and the rest, as the saying goes, is history.


But for one beautiful moment, there were peace and unity and giving and eating together. It is sad that the spirit of that moment was ignored so often in following years.

The Thanksgiving season has come again. Feasting, giving food, and giving thanks are again the order of the day. But there are other connections between the events just described and the table before us in this time of worship.

Jesus arrived at his time of service through humility; “emptying himself, he took the form of a servant.” Jesus brought desperately needed lessons on how to live, but was repaid first with suspicion, and finally with rejection, by the ones he served. He lives as the intermediary who reconciled us to the Father.

It is pointless to speculate what Tisquantum would have done if he could have foreseen the consequences of saving the lives of the Pilgrims. Unlike Tisquantum, Jesus knew what would happen, and still he willingly came, willingly taught and served, and even willingly died, to rescue us from sin and death. And when we stumble and fall flat on our faces, this table still stands as a witness to what he did. None of us is worthy of that gift, of this feast. But in this beautiful moment we are invited to peace and unity and giving and eating together.


As in the feast of 1621, we may imagine ourselves as hosts inviting Jesus and his family into our midst. But we find that our meager provisions, this little bit of bread, these few drops of the blood of the grape, and even we ourselves, are completely inadequate. And yet our gracious guest becomes the host, providing all that we need to make this a joyful and bountiful feast.

Communion Thoughts on the Parable of the Mustard Seed

Written for May 3, 2009

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God’s work always seems to start small.

Creation begins with two words in Hebrew, “Be, light!” And if you study physics, you learn to think of light as being made up of photons, the tiniest of all particles, so small that they have no mass at all.

When Samuel told Saul that all Israel would look to him, Saul replied:

"But am I not a Benjamite, from the smallest tribe of Israel, and is not my clan the least of all the clans of the tribe of Benjamin?" — 1 Samuel 9:21

Despite Saul’s belittling description of himself and his family, God made him king of Israel.

Later, tragically, Saul lost himself to disobedience and madness, and relentlessly pursued a fugitive sheepherder turned homeless guerilla. The target of Saul’s persecution described himself this way:

"Against whom has the king of Israel come out? Whom are you pursuing? A dead dog? A flea?” — 1 Samuel 24:14

But David the flea went on to become David the definitive King of Israel.

When Elijah asked a widow from Zarephath for a piece of bread:

"As surely as the LORD your God lives," she replied, "I don't have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die."

Elijah said to her, "Don't be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: 'The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD gives rain on the land.' " — 1 Kings 17:12-14

Isaiah comforted a forlorn and oppressed people with these words:

Then will all your people be righteous
and they will possess the land forever.
They are the shoot I have planted,
the work of my hands,
for the display of my splendor.

The least of you will become a thousand,
the smallest a mighty nation..." — Isaiah 60:21-22

When the time came for God to show Himself to the world, He reached down to this planet that is so big to us, but so tiny to Him, and planted a baby.

Jesus described his relationship to God’s unfolding revelation this way:

"... until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished.” — Matthew 5:17-18

And Cameron’s sermon for today considers one of the smallest of parables:

"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all your seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and perch in its branches." — Matthew 13:31-32, with a parallel in Mark 4:30-32

After the crucifixion, Jesus’ lonely body was planted in the earth in a borrowed grave; but what sprouted from that small tomb changed the world.

And when the pressures and temptations and stresses of this world seem to grow large to me, I need to plant my little bit of faith beneath His feet, and let Him nurture it beyond my ability to achieve or even imagine.

What we consume at this table, the little bit of unleavened bread, the few drops of the blood of the grape, offer almost no nourishment to our bodies, but they connect our souls to a feast that nourishes us for eternity.

Let us plant our thoughts in Calvary, our minds in His word, our hearts and lives in his infinite merciful kindness, and trust him to provide the harvest.

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Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

The "NIV" and "New International Version" trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.

David vs Saul

Reading through the Bible again, I'm in 1st Samuel, where David's attitude and behavior toward Saul in chapters 24 and 26 challenge my ideas of justice and self-preservation. David takes Deuteronomy 32:35 and turns the knob all the way to 11. Romans 12:19 (along with the entire paragraph containing it) applies that in way that is familiar to most Christians. However, Hebrews 10:30 (in context of the whole chapter) forces me to accept that it's not always about somebody else!

That passage requires me to take a sober look at myself, but also reminds me to take comfort from the intervening story in 1st Samuel 25, which describes David's response to the insult by Nabal. David totally overreacts, but Abigail's intervention keeps him from completing his own intended revenge. I am humbled by how quickly David acknowledges his own bad intentions and gives them up.

I am thankful to God for this reminder of how He can build great things out of flawed materials.

A Prayer for the New Year

At the beginning of 2009.

O Lord,

 

We know that for You a day is as a thousand years.

 

But we are weak and small and limited

and we divide and mark our times

to help us order our steps

and to help us remember.

 

Help us to regard each new year,

month,

week,

and day

as a time of renewal,

and repair,

and reconciliation.

 

Help us to remember

that seasons

are important to life and growth.

Help us to understand

that pain

is not the same as harm.

 

Help us to seek

long-term healing

over short-term comfort.

 

Help us to pray

not to receive what we desire,

but to grow closer to–and more like–You,

and ultimately so that You Yourself

will be our desire.

 

Help us to take

our clay pots,

and torches,

and trumpets,

and declare that we are for You.

 

In the Name of the One

who renews,

and repairs,

and reconciles us,

 

amen.

Boaz the Redeemer

The following communion thoughts were written for a worship service in mid-December of 2008.

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The account of Ruth is a beautiful story of loyalty and love – a daughter-in-law so devoted and faithful to Naomi that she would not abandon her after the legal connection between them had been broken by death. But understanding the book more fully requires a bit of background.

After the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lot and his daughters settled in a cave in the mountains beyond Zoar, where Lot's oldest daughter had a son by her own father. She named him Moab, which sounds like the Hebrew phrase “from father”; his descendants became the Moabite people.

After the exodus from Egypt, the Moabite king Balak tried to have Balaam curse the Israelites, but Balaam was unable to do so. However, the Israelites soon after succumbed to the temptation of immorality with the people of that land, and severe consequences followed. That was the background of the instruction in Deuteronomy 23:

No Ammonite or Moabite or any of his descendants may enter the assembly of the LORD, even down to the tenth generation. For they did not come to meet you with bread and water on your way when you came out of Egypt, and they hired Balaam son of Beor from Pethor in Aram Naharaim to pronounce a curse on you.

And that is the context in which we learn that a Moabite widow refuses to abandon her Israelite mother-in-law to poverty–or even starvation–after the death of the men of their family.

Later in the scroll of Ruth, we read that Boaz meets with another relative among the men at the town gate to negotiate a real-estate deal. Naomi must sell a piece of land that belonged to her late husband, and the other relative has first right of refusal. After the other man expresses interest, Boaz reminds him that when he acquires the property from Naomi, and from Ruth the Moabite, he acquires an obligation to Ruth. At this point the other man steps aside, clearing the way for Boaz to purchase the property, to marry Ruth, and (unknown to any of them at that time) to become the great-grandfather of David, the definitive king of Israel.

But why talk about Ruth and Boaz this morning, at this table?

Ruth and Boaz first meet when she goes to glean in his fields, hoping to find enough scraps of leftover grain to feed herself and Naomi. Boaz ensures that she is well-treated and gives her far more than scraps and leftovers. As Ruth tells Naomi of the day's events, Naomi recognizes Boaz as a go'el, the term used in Leviticus 25 to describe the role Boaz later fulfills in the city gate.

That Hebrew word is used throughout the Psalms and Isaiah, and in Job 19:25, when Job says:

I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth.

A go'el is a redeemer, one who defends the helpless, who buys back that which was lost or forfeited.

In Isaiah 16 we find the concept, if not the word, when Isaiah writes:

“Hide the fugitives, do not betray the refugees. Let the Moabite fugitives stay with you; be their shelter from the destroyer.”
The oppressor will come to an end, and destruction will cease; the aggressor will vanish from the land. In love a throne will be established; in faithfulness a man will sit on it—one from the house of David—one who in judging seeks justice and speeds the cause of righteousness.

Reading this book at the spiritual level, you and I are Ruth, in abject poverty, outcasts, foreigners, with no inheritance. And yet we have a redeemer who cared for us, who gave us more than we deserved. The Son of David died for us to make us a royal priesthood, to give us an inheritance that can never spoil nor fade; he returned from death as proof of the life he gave that can never be destroyed.

The account of Jesus is a beautiful story of loyalty and love – a God so devoted and faithful to His children that He would not abandon them after the moral connection between them had been broken by sin.

And the hometown in which these events took place?

It's Bethlehem.