Let us pray. God of Resurrection Glory: You gave Peter the power to raise up Dorcas from the dead. Raise us up, we pray, from the things that hold us back and weigh us down. That we might raise each other up. And may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Holy One, my help and my comforter.
In today’s reading from the Book of Acts, we encounter someone who is very special. So special, in fact, that she is the only person in the entire New Testament that bears the title mathetria, the Greek word for “female disciple.” She served her community tirelessly and was known for her numerous good deeds that included giving to the poor and sewing clothes and blankets for widows. She was a seamstress; but not just a seamstress. She was the very thread that held her community together. And though we do not know for certain if she had children of her own, she was a mother; she was a mother of the church.
Her name in Aramaic is Tsabiyah. In Greek, it’s Tabita. In English, Tabitha. Tsabiyah is the Aramaic word for gazelle. And the Greek word for gazelle is Dorcas. So, she is also sometimes called Dorcas.
This woman, this female disciple of many names, this mother of the church, was so essential, so central, to the community she served that she could not die. Death, though a physical reality, was simply not on the table for her community. Some of us have these people in our lives, right? You know, the kind of people who are the very thread of our lives, holding together the people, the memories, and the traditions that form us and bring us comfort? Without them … none of that would exist.
But when Dorcas did die, a physical and biological inevitability, her people grieved her loss deeply. In fact, their grief was so immense that the Apostle Peter, the rock on whom the church was built, was summoned, made the 14-mile trek from Lydda to the port-city of Joppa. And, by the power of the Holy Spirit, Peter raised Dorcas from the dead.
8 days ago, the church lost another female disciple, who was also very special, whose early death was inconceivable to those whose lives she touched and transformed. I’m speaking of course of Rachel Held Evans; whose Twitter feed was the thread that held together those who were seeking, struggling, and recovering in a new kind of digital, twenty-first century church.
What does resurrection mean for us three weeks after Easter Sunday? What does resurrection mean for the church, nearly two thousand years after the discovery of the empty tomb by those tenacious women? It’s fine and good for God to raise Dorcas from the dead, but what about Rachel Held Evans? Why hasn’t God raised her from the dead? I do believe the church still needs her. I know her children, her husband, her family, and her friends need her still.
Let’s travel back together now into the story of Dorcas. After clearing all the widows from the room, Peter prays fervently over Dorcas and simply says to her two words: “Get up!” It’s a pretty bold thing to say to a dead body, don’t you think? And honestly, there must have been a reason Peter cleared the room beforehand. I can only imagine how scary and creepy it would be to see a dead body all the sudden begin to stir – fingers and toes wiggling – and come back to life.
Now, a few verses earlier in the scripture before this scene unfolds, Peter is in a town called Lydda to heal a man named Aeneas. We are told that Aeneas was paralyzed and, as a result, had been bedridden for 8 years. Curiously, Peter says the same thing to Aeneas that he says to Dorcas. Those two familiar words. What are they? “Get up!” (I’m just making sure y’all are still paying attention.)
Noticing this striking similarity across both passages, I began to do some research. I started by reading the text in its original Greek. The Greek word for “Get up!” is anistemi, which actually appears a total of 44 times in the Book of Acts, more than any other book or letter of the New Testament. Anistemi is the verb form of anastasis. Anistemi or “Get up!” is resurrection as a verb. Anastasis is resurrection as a noun.
I believe all this emphasis on “Get up!,” 44 mentions of it, in fact, provides us with some insight into the work, focus, and mission of the early church as portrayed in the Book of Acts: resurrection as a verb, not just as a noun.
I wonder if our focus on resurrection as a noun – that is, as an event, a triumph over death, a victory over empire, a future-oriented, hope-driving promise – has turned our focus away from living into an embodied, holistic, powerful understanding of resurrection as a verb in the here and now. Not as something we do on our own, but as something that God does through us for the sake of others and for the sake of the world.
What if we actually lived resurrection, instead of just believing it?
The resurrection of Christ is indeed good news and we must celebrate it every chance we get, reminding each other that there is life beyond death. That evil, no matter how great, never has the last word. And that God is bigger and more mysterious than human understanding. And any time we put God in a box, God will break out of it – just as God broke out from the tomb on that fateful Sunday morning that forever changed the world.
But, at the same time, we must ask ourselves, how are we being, what are we doing, and what are we saying that calls the people in our lives out of spiritual death, darkness, and despair, and delivers them into new life, new hope, new faith, new love, new beauty, new peace, and new joy now? Do our words encourage, or do our words defeat? Do our actions heal or do our actions kill? Do we exist to lift others up or do we exist to tear others down? As the German philosopher Martin Buber has asked, do we encounter and relate to the subjects of our lives as an “it” or as a “thou?”
I’m going to share a story to help illustrate the point I’m making. It’s the most powerful experience in recent years that I have had of anistemi, resurrection as a verb.
The day had been difficult. I was carrying the grief of losing a close friend, work had been full of stress, and I was feeling overwhelmed by my first semester in seminary. While taking the Metro home from work, I pondered how heavy my life had become. Feeling especially constricted and increasingly impatient on my rush-hour commute – y’all know the feeling – I got off the Metro for some fresh air and walked the rest of the way home. I felt invisible and alone as I made my way up Connecticut Avenue toward Dupont Circle. My anxiety must have been written all over my face because as I continued on my walk, a man sitting on the sidewalk looked up at me and said, “Hey, where’s your smile?”
Friends, I was seen.
Immediately, the weight of my day began to melt. I thanked the man and quickly turned away, tears welling up in my eyes. After a couple blocks, I made it to Dupont Circle, sat on a bench, and wept. The man I had just encountered was a ray of light in my life; his simple question, of where’s my smile, had healed me in that moment. That’s anistemi (ah-NES-tay-me), resurrection as a verb.
Siblings in Christ, the Holy Spirit is pulsing God’s grace through the universe. If we submit the beat of our hearts to the pulse of the Spirit, we allow the grace of God to take root in our soul, and nurture every fiber of our being. God has called us to channel Her grace through the actions of our lives, in the same way that Peter channeled God’s grace in a way that brought life to Dorcas where there was death and healing to Aeneas where it was needed.
I love you. Resurrection as a verb.
I see you, not with my eyes … but with my soul. Resurrection as a verb.
I journey with you. Resurrection as a verb.
I create beauty with you. Resurrection as a verb.
I build peace with you. Resurrection as a verb.
I grow a garden with you. Resurrection as a verb.
I am sorry. Resurrection as a verb.
I am with you. Resurrection as a verb.
I listen to you. I hear you, not with my ears … but with my heart. Resurrection as a verb.
I laugh with you. Resurrection as a verb.
The church does not do the world a favor when it just sits idly by, remembering the past, and waiting in joyful hope for the resurrection that is promised to come. Friends, you already know that we are in troubled times and the witness of the church is becoming fraught and politicized into right versus left. With another presidential election on the horizon that is sure to stoke hate and fear, we need a certain timeless wisdom for the living of these days. That timeless wisdom lives on in our sacred scripture. From time to time, it is helpful to look back to the early church, to those closest to the resurrection event – they were no stranger to political turmoil themselves, and learn from the stories of their lives what it means to be faithful disciples in the ways that only today we can uniquely be.
Losing those we love to death is one the hardest experiences of being human. Dorcas did eventually die again. And were God to raise Rachel Held Evans or even Jean Vanier, they would die again, too. But that fledging church in the Book of Acts, those parents of the church like Dorcas and Peter, who bravely sowed the seeds of faith that bear fruit even to this day, are telling us something. They are telling us something and it is very important.
The church is at its best when it is lost in the work of getting others up, not in an ableist way, but by elevating and empowering those it witnesses to on the path of justice and equity; to know themselves as God’s beloved and as worthy of the calling they have received, and to be with them in the ups and downs and beliefs and doubts of life. The church is at its best when it is busy healing and giving new life, not when it is lost in the work of judgment, shaming, and proof-texting to create a certain certainty that is inimical to faith.
I am a certified candidate for ordination in The United Methodist Church, but because I am also living into God’s call on my life to love another man, my path to ordination in The United Methodist Church may soon come to an end — if groups cannot discern a new expression of Methodism that will create space for me and others like me to live and love as God has created us. And as this sermon ends (and I promise it is soon coming to an end), it is not lost on me that because of this church, now I’m speaking of Hyattsville Mennonite, and because of your pastor’s invitation and support, I got up and preached to you, today. That’s resurrection as a verb.
Siblings in Christ, go forth, breathe in the Spirit, and trust that the Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you now. Go forth and resurrect. Amen.
This reflection was first published in The Wesley Journal,Volume 67, Issue 2.
The miraculous event of the incarnation, which is celebrated each year at Christmas, pierces through the darkness of the world with the radiance of its truth. It would do followers of Jesus Christ well to imagine the nativity scene unfolding before us and watch for ourselves the fullest revelation of what it means to be human and divine become embodied again through the birth of Christ. The nativity should not be regarded merely as some distant, historical moment, nor should it be reduced in a seasonal way to something that is put on display as “authentic” Christmas décor. Instead, the nativity can and should come alive in our hearts and minds each time we reimagine it on any day of the year. This is vitally important; the incarnation matters for Christian witness and discipleship. Followers of Christ must take the incarnation seriously for the living of these days.
The words from the Christmas hymn, “O Holy Night,” offer moral insight into the incarnation: “Truly he taught us to love one another; his law is love and his gospel is peace. Chains shall he break for the slave is our brother; and in his name all oppression shall cease!” Christ in all his saving glory came to fill the world with an everlasting light so vibrant that even the deepest darkness cannot overcome. As we make our journey through the liturgical season of Advent, the daylight grows shorter by the minute because the sun sets earlier each day. Meanwhile, the powers and principalities continue to thrive off the proliferation of ubiquitous evil. In the midst of all the horrors, despairs, and setbacks we must endure, the distance from the nativity can feel discouraging as we deeply yearn for Christ to come again and make all things new. However, we are not called to idly stand by and wait for Christ’s return. God’s righteousness and justice cannot delay. We are called to act now and transform the world for the greater glory of God, by grace through faith. Christ calls us to a new and different way of being in the world today, not tomorrow.
The God who loves humanity so deeply that God became enfleshed in order to enter into solidarity with human experience and suffering for the salvation of the world also teaches us how to be human in the most human way. We need only look to Christ for illumination. I dream of a day when every human is humane like Christ.
The incarnation invites us to become our fullest selves, in the way that God intended for creation from the very moment when God began to create out of love, for love, with love, and in love. If we do anything this Christmas, I pray it is we recommit ourselves to being the most humane we can with one another. If we need light to fill the darkness and hope for the journey when weary times set in, let us revisit the nativity scene in our imaginations. Only then when the truth of the incarnation comes alive for us in our hearts and minds will Charles Wesley’s words ring true: “Come, thou long-expected Jesus! Born to set thy people free. From our fears and sins, release us. Let us find our rest in Thee.”
This is the text from a sermon I delivered on August 21, 2016 to members of my home church, Zion United Methodist Church, where I was baptized and confirmed. The collage above is of my church and I’m standing with my two former pastors, the Rev. Jennifer Bailey (who confirmed me) and Pastor Rodney Fightmaster, who blessed me before moving away in 2007.
We all know the fabled adage from our childhood: “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” But to the child who has been bullied, the couple whose marriage is falling apart, the friend whose trust has been betrayed, words can and do hurt. In fact, words can cause lasting damage. A person may never fully heal from the wounds inflicted by some words spoken or shouted at them in the course of their lifetime, no matter how many years may pass.
It’s true, words can be destructive, but they can also lift us up when we are down, inspire us when we need that little boost to realize our full potential, heal us when we are broken, comfort us when we are lonely, sad, or afraid, and even make us laugh or smile, when we least expect them to. Words and the emotions they elicit are powerful.
Today’s reading from the Old Testament comes from the book of Jeremiah, a book that bears the name of one of Israel’s major prophets. The prophets served a vital purpose for their time. Prophets were called to be God’s literal mouthpiece, to nip at the heels of power by reminding Israel’s often fallen and wayward kings that God’s authority – not theirs – is everlasting and supreme, and to speak unpopular and even abrasive words to their fellow Israelites in order to inspire them to turn away from idolatry and other sinful behaviors.
We know that Jeremiah prophesied for approximately 45 years, beginning in the thirteenth year of King Josiah’s reign, around 627 BCE, and ending four years into the Babylonian Exile (a period of immense political suffering and persecution that stretched for nearly 70 years) around 582 BCE. In today’s reading, God says to Jeremiah that the mission of his prophecy will be “[t]o uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant.” As with the other prophets like Isaiah, Jonah, Micah, and Zephaniah (to name a few of my personal favorites), Jeremiah was called by God to be a “divine agitator,” to beckon his people to turn away from sin and to embrace a renewed life of holiness founded on God’s covenant.
At the heart of God’s covenant was and is love. My sisters and brothers, if we know anything at all about God is it quite simply that God is love. At the heart of God’s promise to Abraham to make God’s descendants as numerous as the stars was love. God’s assurance to Noah to never again destroy creation was sealed in the sky with a rainbow, serving as a reminder to us that God’s love is always enduring and never failing. It was a blazing fire of passionate love that consumed the burning bush, which called out to Moses to set God’s beloved people free from Pharaoh’s oppressive rule in Egypt. Love parted the bitter waters of the Red Sea so the Israelites could walk to freedom on dry ground. Love rained down as manna from the heavens, which nourished God’s people while they wandered through the desert for forty miserable years. Love led the Israelites to the Promised Land as a pillar of clouds by day and a pillar of fire by night. It is with love that God says to each and every one of us today, just as God said to Jeremiah, “[b]efore I formed you in the womb, I knew you.” And it is love that liberates us from a life of sin and death if only, by grace, we bow at the foot of the cross, surrender our hearts and our minds and say “yes” to Jesus’ promise of eternal life.
Church, let us never forget what lies at the core of our faith: God’s love, which is available to all, sets us free! Where there is God, there is freedom for everyone; justice reins, mercy and compassion are unending, and grace is everywhere healing, renewing, transforming, perfecting, and sanctifying! In God, there is no fear, no hate, no division, no loneliness. God is always on the line, if only we take the time to listen to that still, soft whisper that wants to have an ever-closer relationship with each and every one of us. And being in relationship with God, learning from Jesus, and following the direction of the Holy Spirit changes us.
In his book The Evidence for God, Paul Moser, a philosopher of religion and former professor of mine who teaches at Loyola University Chicago, states that human beings – those of us here gathered today at Zion Church – that we are the greatest proof for God’s existence. Imagine this for a moment. God is a morally perfect being worthy of worship. Jesus, the fullest revelation of what it means to be both human and divine, shows us a unique way of living in the world. And when we follow Jesus’ teaching by loving our enemies and those who persecute us, turning the other cheek, practicing humility, and following all the other really countercultural teachings that are hard and often irrational to do, we begin to attain what our beloved father of the Methodist movement, John Wesley, called “Christian Perfection.” It’s the idea that even though we will never be perfect as Jesus Christ is perfect, we should not cease trying.
And when we do good deeds for want of nothing, Paul Moser states that we become the very evidence for God’s existence. In other words, God uses us, brothers and sisters, to make God’s presence known and felt by the world! And that means that God is on the line calling each and everyone one of us to lead an extraordinary life in ordinary ways.
Pastor Rod, a man of God who I admire so much and who has done a fine job shepherding this church for over a decade now, has told me that this church has been blessed with a spiritual awakening and a call to discipleship. Awakening and discipleship: this is what church is supposed to be! A church is not a building, open only for but a few hours on Sundays. We are missing the point if we think that what happens here on Sunday is what makes us a church. What makes this church is you, the people. And we will be known as a church by what we say, what we do, and how we treat everyone we encounter outside these walls every day of the week. It was the people in this church who nurtured my calling to ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church at a young age. The support and blessing I received as a youth from people like Corky and Bob Tarr, Pat Reincke, Ruth and Bud Weber, Robyn Hughes, Sandy and Ron Henkel, Elnora and Norville Humphrey, Dick and Nadine Kitz, Martha Seymour, Marty Kraus, Charlie Caudill, Patty Prowse, Ruth Holt, and so many others made a lasting impact on my life. The seed was planted here at Zion Church and it has been growing ever since. And I ask for your continued prayers and support as I begin this journey to ordination.
How we live our lives begins with the words we speak to others. Words that affirm or words that deny. Words that lift up lives or words that tear them down. Words that destroy injustice or words that perpetuate hate. Remember what God said to Jeremiah about the power of words: words can uproot, tear down, destroy, overthrow, build, and plant. The people we choose to be, how we act in the world, and how we treat others puts God on the line every single day. How we love and live outside these walls will have a lasting impact on people’s understanding of God, this church, and religion altogether.
Far too often, churches have been consumed with fear, have atrophied for lack of spiritual imagination, and been restricted by adherence to a rigid moral legalism that constricts the vital, beating pulse of the Holy Spirit. In today’s reading from the Gospel of Luke, we see, once again, that the Pharisees are rigid, moral legalists to their own detriment. They accuse Jesus of breaking a law that banned Jews from working on the Sabbath, when he heals a woman. In their narrow imagination, they see Jesus’ act of healing to be a violation of the law because he is technically working on a day of rest and worship. But Jesus snaps at these Pharisees and calls them hypocrites, stating that even they mindlessly break the law when they give water to hydrate their animals on the Sabbath. The lesson here is that we must extend radical hospitality, compassion, mercy, and love to those we may not agree with, to those who may not look, sound, smell, or act like us, that we must open our hearts, minds, and doors and be bold enough to do the right thing, even if it pushes us to our limit and makes us uncomfortable in the process.
Jesus gives us a new morality: it is better the break the law and even be wrong, but be motivated by love … than to follow the law and be right, but be motivated by fear. With an awakened spiritual imagination, mercy, compassion, and love triumph over fear and no law can stand in the way of God’s love. This is perhaps best-illustrated three chapters earlier in the Parable of the Good Samaritan. We should not hold adherence to an earthly law in higher esteem than fulfilling our duties to the most supreme law of them all: to love the Lord our God with all our heart, mind, and soul, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Now, of course, this is easier said than done.
For many years, even when I was faithfully worshiping in these pews here at Zion Church, I’ve had the ambitious goal to read the entire Bible from beginning to end. And it was a deeply pious Southern Baptist woman from the mountains of East Tennessee who gave me this goal at very early age. Every summer, as I would make my annual pilgrimage with my Momma to her hometown of Kingsport, Tennessee, the first place we would often visit would be my great Aunt Janie-bell and her sister, Eloise’s, house. And as soon as we got to their home, I’d walk past her bedroom and marvel at her well-worn King James Version Bible, which was always open on her bedside table.
Jane Mitchell may not have the expensive education I’ve been blessed to receive, but she knows more about God’s Word than I’ll ever know. This woman has such respect for the scriptures that she reads them every day. As a kid, I so deeply admired her for having read the Bible by herself and I decided this year would be the year I’d do it, too. So, I made but one New Year’s resolution this year: read the Holy Bible from beginning to end in 2016. And, friends, what a journey it has been; my faith has been renewed and strengthened.
But reading the Bible can be intimidating and, as much as I hate to say it, there are some rough patches that are pretty boring. And it can get discouraging and frustrating. Which is why I recommend the “One Year Bible,” a Bible that is broken down into 365 daily readings. As long as you can set aside 15 minutes each day and keep up with the daily readings, you can get through the entire Bible in one year’s time. Now, 15 minutes a day is not a big commitment for yourself or for God, but I’ve found that if you don’t get in a routine and do it at a set time each day, the business of life kicks in and before you know it, the day is over. The best time for me to read the Bible is on my daily morning commute into the office on the DC subway.
If you ever find yourselves in our nation’s capitol, there is something you should know. The subway is no fun place to be. It’s overcrowded, underfunded, downright dirty, in major need of repair, frustratingly slow, hot and humid, and always-delayed. And there is something else you should know, an unspoken but very important rule: when riding the escalators in the subway stations, you always stand on the right side of the escalator so those who are in a rush or just don’t like piling up on the slow-moving escalators can hustle down the left side.
I’m not making an excuse for any impatience on my part, but my daily commute from my apartment in Washington to my office in Arlington, VA takes a total of 45 minutes over the duration of 14 different stops including a transfer from a green or yellow line train to a blue, orange, or silver line train … all to travel just a measly five miles across the Potomac River into Virginia! Combine this intense commute with an overcrowded, underfunded, downright dirty, in major need of repair, frustratingly slow, hot and humid, and always-delayed subway experience and, well, you’ve got yourselves a powder keg of extreme frustration that’s liable to explode with even the slightest prompting.
Like most big cities, it’s a dog eat dog world on DC public transportation, with people always in a rush to catch their train and having little to no patience for anything that gets in their way or slows them down. So maybe you can imagine my own frustration one day as I was transferring from a green line train to a blue line train at L’Enfant Plaza (one of the busiest metro stations in DC). I was already a sweaty hot mess and probably running behind because the train I just got off of was running a little late, so it was very important that I make this transfer in as little time as possible.
And just as I began my descent on the escalator to catch the blue line train on the lower platform, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a train that was fast approaching the platform beneath me. As I began to pick up the pace so I could be sure to catch the next train, all of the sudden, the escalator traffic I was descending with ground to an unexpected halt and there I was, standing on a slow moving escalator, watching my train pull up to the platform, the doors of the train open … and then close … and then, go figure, the train sped away from the platform just as I was getting off the escalator.
I swiftly identified the culprit, a middle-aged woman, and called out to her from behind, “Excuse me!” Surprised that someone was speaking to her, she turned around and looked at me. I wonder what she was expecting I might say to her, but instead of saying something nice and friendly, I said to her in a very frustrated tone of voice, “You’re supposed to stand on the right and walk on the left… and because of you, I just missed my train!” She shook her head and looked at me with sadness in her eyes and said, “Gee, thanks a lot.”
And less than one minute later, another train was approaching my side of the platform to take me to my destination. I was relieved to be whisked away from that woman into anonymity, but also embarrassed because not even a minute had passed between the train I missed and the train I had boarded. In the long run, her breaking the “stand right, walk left” rule had not really impacted my commute into work at all.
I cannot say definitively the impact my words had on this woman. Maybe she was a tourist, and our brief encounter left her with a bitter taste in her mouth by how she was treated by cold city people like me. But what if just an hour before, she had learned that a loved one had died, or she had just gotten news of a diagnosis, or a pet was sick, or she had been hurt by a friend. And what if my words only served to further break down her spirit.
What made matters even worse, I was holding my “One Year Bible” in my hand as I said those words to her. I was in the middle of reading my daily scripture while on my morning commute. What a bad representation I was for Jesus Christ and for God’s love at that moment. It’s an experience I’ll never forget, a lesson I learned that I share with all of you so we can hold each other accountable on this journey of love and “Christian Perfection” were are on.
Zion Church, God is on the line, every single day because of the words we choose to speak to others and the actions that follow them. And God is on the line calling us to be proof of God’s existence, calling us to live our lives in love. We are called to speak words that give life and words that give love. Our actions will bring people closer to God or they will drive people away. The words preached from the pulpit and how we act as a church – including the words we speak to others – have implications that will last a lifetime. Lives are literally on the line. Jesus calls us out of a narrow, legalistic mindset and to let love, mercy, and compassion have the final word.
We are called to be the light of God’s love shining throughout our world. Even in the midst of darkness, may our lives be lived in such a way that radiates the brilliance of God’s love. Ever changing from glory to glory, mirrored here may our lives tell God’s story. Jesus, light of the world, shine upon us. Set us free by the Truth you now bring us. Shine, Jesus, shine! Fill this land with the Father’s glory. Blaze, Spirit, blaze. Set our hearts on fire. Flow, river, flow. Flood the nations with grace and mercy. Send forth your word, Lord, and let there be light!
And thanks be to God for that light! Amen.
Seeing the Word is a program of guided reflection that makes it possible to pray with images from The Saint John’s Bible, the first handwritten and illuminated Bible commissioned by a Benedictine Abbey in over 500 years.
Thank you to my friend Rachel Gabelman of Saint John’s University School of Theology for the invitation to participate in this program and offer a week of Lenten reflections on the parable of the prodigal son. These reflections originally appeared on Seeing the Word’s blog.
Day 1: Reading of Scripture
Click here to listen to me read the scripture.
Day 2: Listen
We can easily relate to the two brothers in this story. We understand the impatience of the younger brother who asks for his father’s inheritance upfront, his giving into temptation, his inability to be a good steward of his resources, and the shortsightedness that ultimately leads to his demise. The life he has chosen for himself, which may have seemed a dream come true to him at first, leaves him quite literally hungry and unsatisfied.
Then there is the older brother, who is responsible, practices an exceptional work ethic, follows the rules, and respects his father. Yet, because of this, he develops a complex that causes him to think he is better than others, at least better than his younger brother. He finds it unfathomable that his father would celebrate the return of his younger brother, who squandered his inheritance, when he has been so diligent and responsible all along.
Indeed, there are moments when we can see and hear ourselves in the very human and real laments and frustrations that both these brothers give a voice to in this parable. How do you find yourself reacting to and identifying with each brother?
Day 3: Meditate
It is no mistake that this parable is read during Lent. Like many of the stories we see depicted in this illumination, this is a story about resurrection and renewal, about death and coming back to life. The younger brother thinks he has it all, but when he loses all that he has, he is humbled. What is more humbling than being willing to eat the food that pigs eat and yet not being offered any? To be sure, he is also embarrassed and ashamed at the thought of having to share the news with his father that he lost his inheritance and is now incapable of supporting himself as an adult. But he goes back to his father anyway, because that is all he knows to do. He begs for his father’s mercy. He pleads for compassion. And what awaits him is an unexpected, surprising celebration.
Like the father, God is always waiting for us, ready and willing to accept us with open arms. No matter how badly or how often we fall, no matter how much of our talents we waste, no matter the extent to which the life we seek leaves us hungry and unsatisfied, God is always ready to rejoice with us when we return. Like the father, who tells the servants to quickly bring out the best robe for the youngest son, God promises to clothe us with God’s grace.
Day 4: See
In the same diagonal panel in which we see the image of the father reaching out to embrace the son, we also see two gold bars—the Twin Towers. Suddenly, we realize that we cannot divorce our modern reality from this Gospel message. In this illumination, we are confronted with the truth that following Christ does not only mean we are daughters and sons of the abundantly merciful Father. It also means that we are called to do the difficult work of forgiveness. We are called to interpersonal, intergenerational, interracial, and intercommunal forgiveness.
It is not easy to be like the father in the parable. And certainly not every situation calls us to express our regard for others with a physical welcome and embrace. Some relationships cannot be reconciled because they are too abusive and exploitative. But forgiveness is still essential and it is work we can do with God’s grace. These difficult scenarios call for a different kind of openness—one of our hearts rather than our arms. With open hearts we let the offenses of these relationships go, loosening their control in our lives. Rather than keeping our bitterness, resentments, and anger locked away in hearts, we implore that the Holy Spirit guide us to release them appropriately. In doing so, we experience more freedom. By the grace of God, we are then able to live more fully the life to which God calls us in a healthy, safe, and meaningful way.
Day 5: Pray
O God, our world needs more love, mercy, and compassion. Soften our hearts, renew our minds, open our eyes, and allow us to be transformed by the workings of your grace. Free us from the compulsion of jealousy, help us to value the goodness in others, teach us the way of prudence, and lead us along the path of humility. Thank you for always being there for us. Your unearned, unconditional love is always there ready and waiting to be received. Lasting joy is union with you. Amen.
Day 6: Contemplate
It is often hard to accept another person’s generosity toward us. It is also often hard for us to see someone, besides ourselves, be the recipient of another person’s generosity, when we ourselves did not benefit from that act of kindness. Jealousy and pride go hand in hand. Engrained in our American spirit of rugged individualism is this idea that fierce independence is a measure of strength. But when we value not needing anyone’s help, we also resist when others are helped. This is a vicious cycle that Jesus beckons us out of by offering us the parable of the prodigal son. It is not about taking advantage of generosity by plundering everything we have been given like the younger brother because we know a bail out is on the horizon. Nor is it about striving for perfection in everything we do such that we become haughty like the older brother. Instead, this is a story about the magnificence of God’s love, which lies at the heart of the miracle of our personal, daily resurrections and social transformations. This story calls us, like the two brothers, to contemplate continuous conversion in the face of God’s magnanimous love.
Day 7: Become Christ-like
Jesus summons us to be open: open-minded, open to ourselves, open to daily renewal, open to others, open to transformation, and open to love. In Luke 15:1-3, we see that Jesus tells the parable of the lost son as a way to expand the minds of the Pharisees and scribes, who started to grumble about Jesus’ association with sinners. In doing so, Christ reveals the tender nature of God, who extends a generous welcome to all. Like Jesus, we are called to proclaim this message of good news with joy to the entire world: God’s love is free and available to all! The hope-filled promise of eternal life, which overcame suffering and death on the cross through Jesus Christ, becomes real and transformative in our lives when we love without conditions.
“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5
Here in Washington, the days leading up to Christmas have been wet, gloomy, and grey. And just earlier this week, we commemorated the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. In the midst of this great season of Advent, a season of joy and light, this confluence of natural events has offered me the much-needed impetus to pause and take some time to reflect on the darkness in my own life and in the world in which we live.
We have a lot to be sad about this season. We have much to be weary of. There are a multitude of reasons to despair. And yet, in the midst of all the pain, brokenness, trauma, and sorrow sustained in our own lives and throughout the world, we are assured of the promise that as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, a new day will dawn.
Therein lies the tension of the faith we live and breathe, a faith that is full of contradictions because we worship a God who is big enough to accommodate the “both/and” realities that are a hallmark of our experience of being human.
Every year, we get pulled into a harried performance of sending cards, baking cookies, making fudge, cooking dinner, hosting and attending holiday parties, buying gifts, and wrapping presents. And as stressful and fast-paced as this performance can be, we must get something out of it. Sure, it is nice to spend time and relax with those we love. And it is nice to bring a smile to another person’s face. But I also suspect this performance offers us a distraction on some level. In all the “acting,” we distract ourselves from confronting head on the darkness that exists in our lives during the holiday season. After all, the message we hear loud and clear is that we are not supposed to be sad on Christmas.
But many people are sad on Christmas. And sadness – darkness – is very much a part of our lives. Yet it is our sadness, our despair, our brokenness, our own experience of darkness that compels us even more to seek after the light. If Christmas is to truly mean something to us, we must take the time to encounter the darkness in our lives and to reflect on the ways that others are light for us, to give thanks for that light and to be that light for others.
It was no mistake that Jesus, the true light of the world, was born in the darkness of the night. Over two thousand years later, we still seek after the same light that led the three magi to the manger where Jesus was laying. As we seek after light this Christmas, may we fall on our knees at the manger in awe and splendor as we marvel at the grace and light that casts out all the darkness of the world. For as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, a new day will dawn.
Empathy lies at the heart of the Christian moral life and I am convinced that it should motivate our political convictions and commitments as well. When we closely examine the life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth through the sacred scriptures, we encounter a variety of examples of the Son of God entering into the experiences of others, listening to their stories, and taking on their sufferings as his own. This is the ideal of public service. After all, Jesus was – and is – the model public servant.
But empathy poses a significant challenge to those who practice it, which is what makes this virtue so difficult to acquire. The virtue of empathy entails personal transformation, which requires social obligation. It is difficult to be sensitive to the experiences of those around us, to admit that we are all too often wrong about an opinion that we hold to be true, to be transformed by a new perspective that is different from our own, and to take on new practices that shift how we interact with others.
There is a man in Washington, D.C. who can usually be found near Dupont Circle holding a cardboard sign that simply reads: “Seeking human kindness.” In a world that is connected now more than ever through social media, we seem to be increasingly unaware of the needs of those right in front of us. How is our practice of empathy impacted when our ears are plugged by earbuds and our eyes are fixed to the screens of our iPhones? I wonder how many people actually take the time to read his sign. I wonder how many people look him in the eye and greet him with a simple hello as they pass by. And how many dare to ask him, “How are you?” It is important to have mercy on the overseas refugee, but what about the neighbor who is merely seeking the act of human kindness?
As we gear up for another election cycle, with a lot of conviction swirling around, I am reminded of the quote from Flannery O’Connor: “Conviction without experience makes for harshness.”
Yesterday, I watched Kim Davis stand on stage to “break her silence” moments after being released from jail for refusing to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples on the grounds of her literal, biblically fundamentalist Christian conviction – which undoubtedly shapes her conscience. Our beliefs ought to guide our actions and here is a woman who is literally walking the walk, not merely talking the talk like many Christians, myself included, have the tendency to often do. Here is a woman who accepted the consequences of her religious convictions and was willing to go to jail for what she believes to be true. Throughout history and to this very day, there are other examples of Christians who have been jailed for their beliefs. I’m pretty sure the Apostle Paul came to think of a jail cell as his home away from home and he would not have had it any other way! I think of civil rights activists. And I also think of my fellow Boston College alumna, Sister Megan Rice, including a host of countless others who are jailed for conscientiously breaking the law or worse yet, jailed and even murdered because of their faith.
As I listened to the few words that Kim Davis did say on stage, I also strangely found myself in agreement with her. Yes, indeed, I believe that God is worthy. God is worthy of our belief, of our praise, of our affection, and of our worship. And we Christians are indeed a strong people. It’s true; the early “church” suffered immense persecution, but prevailed by the grace of God, which empowered these early followers of The Way to bear bold, brave, and courageous testimony to the work of the Spirit through their life in Christ. Recall Tertullian’s belief that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.”
While the scene I watched unfold was eerily reminiscent to the scenes starring Pennsatucky from Orange Is the New Black, I also recognized that this was and is reality, not a Netflix original series. And so, I find myself asking: How can Kim Davis and I both worship the same God, practice the same religion, follow the same Christ, and yet end up with radically different conclusions about what it means to live out our faith?
Sometimes, I despair that there are two different gods at work in Christian revelation, experience, and life. Initially, I am inclined to say that Kim Davis believes out of fear, while other Christians like myself who embrace marriage equality believe out of love. But is it right – is it healthy – for people who believe as I do to condemn Kim Davis and those who agree with her? Kim Davis and those who agree with her will only do the same to us. Is that really productive, does that move us forward? Is it right – is it healthy – to dichotomize Christianity into right vs. wrong, progressive vs. conservative, educated vs. uneducated? What about Jesus? What about the good news? Where does redemption fit into all of this? It is sin that separates, grace that restores and sanctifies. We need all the grace we can get!
Our religious landscape is fast becoming a lot like our political landscape. We talk past each other. Our ego and conceit drive and uphold our belief systems, preventing us from stepping outside and beyond ourselves to learn from the life and experience of someone who is different than us. We have become lazily entrenched in our beliefs and uncompromising in our arrogance when we believe that we have nothing, absolutely nothing to learn from those who believe differently than we do. We wonder why we grow increasingly polarized, but we fail to cast the blame on ourselves.
The best thing that ever could have happened to me after graduating from Boston College was moving to Arkansas. My friends in Boston and Chicago thought I was crazy, but I did it anyway. I have nothing but gratitude for the two years that I spent in the Natural State. The people there made me a better human being as I entered into their lives and learned what they value. And the people in Arkansas are good – some of the kindest and most genuine people I have ever met, even though many of the Christians there do not agree with marriage equality. And the activists and leaders there who fight and struggle and work for diversity and inclusion are some of the bravest and most courageous I have ever known.
I’ll never forget meeting one woman while on the campaign trail. As she and I talked about politics and religion, she could not understand how I could be a Christian and a Democrat, especially since, as she reasoned, the Democrats tend to support a platform that embraces a woman’s right to choose and marriage equality, two issues that she thought to be profoundly unbiblical and antithetical to the Christian faith.
Instead of hardening my heart and walking away from her, I risked vulnerability and shared my story with her, including my support of marriage equality. I was patient, spoke in her language, and appealed to her values. By the grace of God, we ended the conversation on a positive note. She later found me in the neighborhood and, with a troubled look on her face, apologized to me for making me uncomfortable and in her words said, “I do not want you to think that I am condemning you.”
I cannot say for certain, but I am sure this woman thought highly of Kim Davis’s stance against issuing the marriage licenses to same-sex couples. But her words remain etched on my heart: “I am not condemning you.” Nor was I condemning her. Both the lady and I wanted to do the right thing. And so, we came to a place where the Spirit opened us up to each other. Of course, I acknowledge that this one isolated incident – graced though it was – is not the case for everyone. Hearts have been broken, relationships ruined, jobs have been lost, housing opportunities denied, and lives have ended because of rejection and condemnation and fear of the “Other.”
But I do have hope. And while I cannot say for certain Kim Davis would be willing to sit down and have a chat with me, I would hope her conscience would beckon her to say yes. I’m a Christian but I’m not … like Kim Davis.
Or am I?
A year has passed since the tragic bombings on Boylston Street and I am still in disbelief that it ever even happened. Evil maimed bodies, shed blood, and ended lives in a place so public and so innocent on a day so sacred and so meaningful. If you walk down Boylston Street today, it would seem as if nothing has changed. And yet, everything has. The memory is stained, embedded, and forever lurking in our collective consciousness. One year later, I find myself having fewer answers and asking more questions.
How could it be? How could it be that evil could make itself known just a few feet away from Old South Church, one of Boston’s most architecturally beautiful sacred spaces? How could it be that evil ended lives and wounded bodies on a day so bright, so beautiful, so crisp, and so full of promise? How could it be that I was not at the finish line on that day, at that hour, cheering on the runners with the gathered crowds in a place so familiar, so comfortable, and so much like home? How could it be?
Evil has no explanation. Evil has no justification. If we try to search for answers, we will become bitter, overcome with resentment, and paralyzed by fear. Evil has a way of gripping, binding, and hindering the human spirit.
This year, people from all walks of life and of every age will faithfully line the streets to cheer for the runners as they make their way to the finish line. The crowds will be bigger, the cheering will be louder, and the emotion, passion, and energy will be more palpable than ever before. This is the “miracle” of Marathon Monday – that nothing, not even bombs that take lives, fragment flesh, shatter bone, or spill blood can hinder the resilience of the human spirit. Marathon Monday is living proof to us that evil does not, cannot, and will not ever, ever, ever have the last word.
If you do not believe in the miracle of resurrection, a trip to Boston on Marathon Monday will be all the evidence you need. There, you will find the spirit of those we lost one year ago alive with each mile that is ran, with each cup of water that is handed to a parched runner, with each smile that is shared, each laugh that is had, each sign that is made, and each cheer that is exclaimed.
This is Boston getting stronger. We are Boston strong.