The Reading and reflections are taken from Luke 22:1-23
I. The Festival of Unleavened Bread, which is also called Passover, was approaching. Leading priests, and teachers of religious law were plotting to kill Jesus, but they were afraid of the people’s reaction.
Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve disciples, went to the leading priests and captains of the Temple guard to discuss the best way to betray Jesus to them. They were delighted, and they promised to give him money. So he agreed and began to look for an opportunity to betray Jesus so they could arrest him when the crowds weren’t around.
Reflection 1
Luke is the one Gospel which tells us from the beginning that he is relating as closely as possible what he has been told by others. Some of the leading priests and teachers of the religious law were already planning to get rid of Jesus, according to Luke, but didn’t have a good excuse.
Then there is Judas. Judas had been one of the twelve all along, and probably he was one of the few who really believed Jesus was in fact the hoped-for Messiah. He had been there where Jesus had done so many things, he likely believed it would be easy for Jesus to just call up the power of God and demonstrate to the religious leaders and the Romans who he really was. I don’t think Judas ever thought Jesus would really die. I think he took the money, and figured the joke would be on the leaders when Jesus demonstrated his real power.
II. The Festival of Unleavened Bread arrived, when the Passover lamb is sacrificed. Jesus sent Peter and John ahead and said, “Go and prepare the Passover meal, so we can eat it together.”
“Where do you want us to prepare it?” they asked him.
Jesus said “As soon as you enter Jerusalem, a man carrying a pitcher of water will meet you. Follow him. At the house he enters, say to the owner, ‘The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room where I can eat the Passover meal with my disciples?’ He will take you upstairs to a large room that is already set up. That is where you should prepare our meal.” They went off to the city and found everything just as Jesus had said, and they prepared the Passover meal there.
Reflection 2
If we take Luke at face value, it looks as if Jesus is predicting everything which will come. More likely Luke leaves out the bits where Jesus has made arrangements ahead of time; maybe those details weren’t related; maybe Jesus had other people do the arrangements; maybe Jesus had a premonition that this would be the last Passover together, and he wanted it to be special. Knowing how the people would crowd into Jerusalem, he wanted to be sure they had a place where they could sit in comfort and eat in peace, and enjoy each other’s company. Everyone Jesus loved, together in one place. Not just the twelve, but all the people who went with them everywhere - the women and the children too.
What would it be like, if you just had a feeling you were going to die soon, and wanted to have one last get-together with all your friends. You would make sure everything was arranged - the place, the food, the atmosphere. Jesus sends Peter and John ahead to prepare the food, but he has already made sure everything else is organised so there won’t be any glitches. There is water, food, wine, bread - and a comfortable place where everyone has everything they need.
III. When the time came, Jesus and the apostles sat down together at the table. Jesus said, “I have been very eager to eat this Passover meal with you before my suffering begins. For I tell you now that I won’t eat this meal again until its meaning is fulfilled in the Kingdom of God.”
Then he took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it. Then he said, “Take this and share it among yourselves. For I will not drink wine again until the Kingdom of God has come.”
He took some bread and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this to remember me.”
After supper he took another cup of wine and said, “This cup is the new covenant between God and his people—an agreement confirmed with my blood, which is poured out as a sacrifice for you.
“But here at this table, sitting among us as a friend, is the man who will betray me. For it has been determined that the Son of Man must die. But what sorrow awaits the one who betrays him.” The disciples began to ask each other which of them would ever do such a thing.
Reflection 3
So the meal is prepared. Long low tables set around the room, cushions and benches to recline on, simple dishes for the food - and the traditional meal.
Some of the detail in Luke is interesting though. Jesus takes the cup at the beginning of the meal - and offers thanks to God. In fact, he would have offered a blessing on God, and then thanks. He says he will not drink again until God’s realm comes on earth. Then he takes the bread - also the custom - but the words are changed and the bread becomes his body. Then he takes the cup a second time, saying that it is the new covenant, a confirmation of the agreement between God and the people.
We’ve always thought that Jesus knew from birth that he was going to die. That’s what we’ve been taught. Jesus wasn’t stupid. He had been in the face of the religious authorities one way or another all the time; he had been abrasive and critical - and he had been right about their hypocrisy. Luke tells us at the beginning that the religious leaders were already plotting Jesus’ death. Jesus’ statement that his death has already been determined is simply a matter of fact, not psychic abilities or supernatural knowledge. He knows more than Judas had realised. No, Jesus wasn’t stupid at all. He saw it coming.
The disciples of course, react exactly the way everyone would. Who on earth would turn him in? Who would ever betray Jesus? Who would ever renege on the friendship which had been formed? Who would turn against him, or deny knowing him?
Knowing the physical danger, wouldn’t we all?
Friday, March 26, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
“A Prodigal Muchness” John 12:1-8 Fifth Sunday in Lent Glen Ayr United Church
Has anyone seen the new Alice in Wonderland movie yet? I confess I have not, but it’s on the to-do list for this week. My friend and colleague, Rev. Susan Leo, did go to see it. She comments that it is a sequel to the Disney animation of 1951, rather than a remake. Alice, in this movie, is now a young woman, almost an adult. She’s not happy with her options, but isn’t certain of herself, not sure of what she should do, or what she could do. So when she falls down the rabbit hole into Underland, she is older than when she first visited, and also a very different person: less bold, less confident - so much less herself that the March Hare and the Mad Hatter are sure that she’s The Wrong Alice. “You were so much more, muchier then”, the Hatter says, looking sad. “You’ve lost your muchness.”
“You’ve lost your muchness.” It happens doesn’t it? As we get older, exposed to life, we gradually lose our muchness. We’re supposed to tamp our muchness down - we might be considered improper, or misunderstood, or judged too much - we might be judged.
As we look at the story from the Gospel of John today, there are a couple of things for you to hold in your mind.
First, in scripture the Hebrew word "me'od" means, literally, "muchness." In Deuteronomy 6:5, when we are told to love God with our strength, the word is actually "me’od” - muchness. Jesus quotes Deuteronomy, and the word is translated variously as "strength" or "might." but it really is “me’od”, muchness. Jesus says to love God with “all your muchness”.
Second, the dictionary tells us that the meaning of the word “prodigal” means rashly or wastefully extravagant - but also giving, or given in abundance, lavish or profuse. A prodigal person is one who is given to wasteful extravagance.
Well, the story today from John is about muchness: the muchness of Mary, the muchness of God, and the judging it provokes.
Jesus was in Bethany, at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. These three are never identified as official disciples, although I think they were, because although they lived at home, they were friends of Jesus. We don’t know how they became friends, but Jesus was obviously very close to them. It sounds like he had been there often for a breather from the people wanting him. This friendship had just recently been tested. In the story right before this one, Lazarus had become seriously ill. Mary and Martha sent for Jesus to come and help, believing that he would make Lazarus well. They believed he could heal Lazarus.
Even after Jesus received the message, he flatly refused to go, and even spent time relaxing by the Jordan River for a couple more days. When he did eventually go, he found himself confronted with anger, accusations of betrayal from the grieving sisters. Moved by their grief, Jesus went to the tomb, and called Lazarus out. The crowd surrounding the tomb that day was amazed. Some went away bewildered, some left filled with wonder and awe. Still others ran off to the Pharisees and told them of what they had seen. Now this would not sit well with the Pharisees - because only a real prophet can raise the dead to life. They would be really angry - just as John paints them in his gospel. Jesus might just be who everyone says he is.
So here we are: a comfortable home, friends eating and relaxing together, just a couple of days after the miraculous thing, and just before Jesus enters Jerusalem for the last time - although they don’t know that yet. Relaxing, drinking a little or a lot, talking and laughing. Martha, the older sister and a perfectionist, has put another incredible meal on the table. Mary, the younger sister, the one whose mind is always off in the clouds, sitting near Jesus and just drinking in everything he says. Lazarus, maybe still pinching himself after the ordeal, laughing with Jesus and the gang.
Mary goes to another room for a moment, and comes back with a jar in her hands. She kneels in front of Jesus, opens the jar, scoops out the spicy nard, which has a scent reminiscent of mint and ginseng. She warms it in her hands, and the fragrance fills the whole room. The room goes silent. Mary massages the very expensive perfume into his feet, then lets her hair down, and begins to wipe away the excess.
This is an astonishing and provocative scene. Not only was it totally unexpected, it was outside the acceptable norms of behaviour for a woman; when Mary broke open the jar, she broke a whole pile of taboos. Anoint a man’s head was a symbol of royalty; to pour perfume on a man’s was the action of a slave. A woman might touch the feet of a man to whom she was married, but otherwise not. And a respectable woman would never let down her hair like that.
Judas was the one who spoke. What a waste of money! Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money used to help the poor??? John tells us Judas didn’t care about the poor, he cared about the money. So instead of seeing this action as gratitude and extravagant love, - prodigal love, profligate in is extravagance - he only saw waste. He couldn’t deal with the “muchness” of the whole thing! That oil would, indeed, have fed many poor people for a long time!
Last week's story of the prodigal son brought us a jubilant father pulling out all the stops to celebrate his son’s return, despite conventional wisdom, and the petulance and anger of the other son. The father lives with “muchness”. Mary demonstrates the same kind of extravagant love in this story. It is a story about “muchness” - me’od.
Mary makes us uncomfortable - she is so adoring and driven to give a blessing. Jesus makes us uncomfortable because he is so willing to receive it - we would have expected Jesus to chastise Mary for the waste, wouldn’t we? Judas is just opposed to muchness in any of its manifestations.
Yet here, through Mary the dreamer, is an expression of extravagant love, magnanimous love; lavish love. She offers Jesus an incredible blessing; to give or receive a blessing, is to become vulnerable, revealing more of ourselves, our desire, and our love. We don’t like looking “over the top”. Usually, for us, when we’re given a blessing, we think we don’t really deserve it, we automatically think there must be strings attached somewhere. Who are we to give a blessing to others? So many of us think that. Oh, Im nobody special what do I have to offer anyway?
And unlike Mary, when we give we don’t give out of “muchness”, we give with a poverty of soul. Then, playing the role of Judas, we judge people who are as lavish as Mary, or the overjoyed father in the prodigal son story. This is a story of prodigality and muchness: through Mary, we see the muchness of God. Through a woman, no less, the generosity and extravagance of God is demonstrated. Mary's gift was a prodigal and profligate, incredible blessing, with no regard for propriety, cost, or the fear of being too much. Gods gift of Jesus is an even greater muchness, a large extravagant blessing given without regard for propriety, regulation, cost, or the fear of being too much. God wishes for us to be as much as we are capable of being. God wishes that we stop paying attention to the Judas who would curb our muchness. God wishes us to give with extravagant generosity from those blessings whenever and wherever we can. God wants us not to lose our “muchness”, but to celebrate it and work on it
In the second letter to the church in Corinth, Paul writes “Thanks be to God, who in Christ, always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing Christ. For we are the aroma of Christ....”
Sources:
1. Sermon “A Holy Muchness”, by Rev. Susan Leo, Bridgeport United Church of Christ, Portland, Oregon.
2. 2 Corinthians 2:14-17 - “Scent of a Disciple” by Rev. Wes Morgan, First Christian Church Disciples of Christ, Conroe, Texas..
“You’ve lost your muchness.” It happens doesn’t it? As we get older, exposed to life, we gradually lose our muchness. We’re supposed to tamp our muchness down - we might be considered improper, or misunderstood, or judged too much - we might be judged.
As we look at the story from the Gospel of John today, there are a couple of things for you to hold in your mind.
First, in scripture the Hebrew word "me'od" means, literally, "muchness." In Deuteronomy 6:5, when we are told to love God with our strength, the word is actually "me’od” - muchness. Jesus quotes Deuteronomy, and the word is translated variously as "strength" or "might." but it really is “me’od”, muchness. Jesus says to love God with “all your muchness”.
Second, the dictionary tells us that the meaning of the word “prodigal” means rashly or wastefully extravagant - but also giving, or given in abundance, lavish or profuse. A prodigal person is one who is given to wasteful extravagance.
Well, the story today from John is about muchness: the muchness of Mary, the muchness of God, and the judging it provokes.
Jesus was in Bethany, at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. These three are never identified as official disciples, although I think they were, because although they lived at home, they were friends of Jesus. We don’t know how they became friends, but Jesus was obviously very close to them. It sounds like he had been there often for a breather from the people wanting him. This friendship had just recently been tested. In the story right before this one, Lazarus had become seriously ill. Mary and Martha sent for Jesus to come and help, believing that he would make Lazarus well. They believed he could heal Lazarus.
Even after Jesus received the message, he flatly refused to go, and even spent time relaxing by the Jordan River for a couple more days. When he did eventually go, he found himself confronted with anger, accusations of betrayal from the grieving sisters. Moved by their grief, Jesus went to the tomb, and called Lazarus out. The crowd surrounding the tomb that day was amazed. Some went away bewildered, some left filled with wonder and awe. Still others ran off to the Pharisees and told them of what they had seen. Now this would not sit well with the Pharisees - because only a real prophet can raise the dead to life. They would be really angry - just as John paints them in his gospel. Jesus might just be who everyone says he is.
So here we are: a comfortable home, friends eating and relaxing together, just a couple of days after the miraculous thing, and just before Jesus enters Jerusalem for the last time - although they don’t know that yet. Relaxing, drinking a little or a lot, talking and laughing. Martha, the older sister and a perfectionist, has put another incredible meal on the table. Mary, the younger sister, the one whose mind is always off in the clouds, sitting near Jesus and just drinking in everything he says. Lazarus, maybe still pinching himself after the ordeal, laughing with Jesus and the gang.
Mary goes to another room for a moment, and comes back with a jar in her hands. She kneels in front of Jesus, opens the jar, scoops out the spicy nard, which has a scent reminiscent of mint and ginseng. She warms it in her hands, and the fragrance fills the whole room. The room goes silent. Mary massages the very expensive perfume into his feet, then lets her hair down, and begins to wipe away the excess.
This is an astonishing and provocative scene. Not only was it totally unexpected, it was outside the acceptable norms of behaviour for a woman; when Mary broke open the jar, she broke a whole pile of taboos. Anoint a man’s head was a symbol of royalty; to pour perfume on a man’s was the action of a slave. A woman might touch the feet of a man to whom she was married, but otherwise not. And a respectable woman would never let down her hair like that.
Judas was the one who spoke. What a waste of money! Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money used to help the poor??? John tells us Judas didn’t care about the poor, he cared about the money. So instead of seeing this action as gratitude and extravagant love, - prodigal love, profligate in is extravagance - he only saw waste. He couldn’t deal with the “muchness” of the whole thing! That oil would, indeed, have fed many poor people for a long time!
Last week's story of the prodigal son brought us a jubilant father pulling out all the stops to celebrate his son’s return, despite conventional wisdom, and the petulance and anger of the other son. The father lives with “muchness”. Mary demonstrates the same kind of extravagant love in this story. It is a story about “muchness” - me’od.
Mary makes us uncomfortable - she is so adoring and driven to give a blessing. Jesus makes us uncomfortable because he is so willing to receive it - we would have expected Jesus to chastise Mary for the waste, wouldn’t we? Judas is just opposed to muchness in any of its manifestations.
Yet here, through Mary the dreamer, is an expression of extravagant love, magnanimous love; lavish love. She offers Jesus an incredible blessing; to give or receive a blessing, is to become vulnerable, revealing more of ourselves, our desire, and our love. We don’t like looking “over the top”. Usually, for us, when we’re given a blessing, we think we don’t really deserve it, we automatically think there must be strings attached somewhere. Who are we to give a blessing to others? So many of us think that. Oh, Im nobody special what do I have to offer anyway?
And unlike Mary, when we give we don’t give out of “muchness”, we give with a poverty of soul. Then, playing the role of Judas, we judge people who are as lavish as Mary, or the overjoyed father in the prodigal son story. This is a story of prodigality and muchness: through Mary, we see the muchness of God. Through a woman, no less, the generosity and extravagance of God is demonstrated. Mary's gift was a prodigal and profligate, incredible blessing, with no regard for propriety, cost, or the fear of being too much. Gods gift of Jesus is an even greater muchness, a large extravagant blessing given without regard for propriety, regulation, cost, or the fear of being too much. God wishes for us to be as much as we are capable of being. God wishes that we stop paying attention to the Judas who would curb our muchness. God wishes us to give with extravagant generosity from those blessings whenever and wherever we can. God wants us not to lose our “muchness”, but to celebrate it and work on it
In the second letter to the church in Corinth, Paul writes “Thanks be to God, who in Christ, always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing Christ. For we are the aroma of Christ....”
Sources:
1. Sermon “A Holy Muchness”, by Rev. Susan Leo, Bridgeport United Church of Christ, Portland, Oregon.
2. 2 Corinthians 2:14-17 - “Scent of a Disciple” by Rev. Wes Morgan, First Christian Church Disciples of Christ, Conroe, Texas..
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Prodigals!!! A sermon based on Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32 Glen Ayr United Church March 14, 2010 Fourth Sunday in Lent
“What? You want ME to go to a party for that moron? Look, Dad, I’ve really had it up to here, ya know? I’ve worked the farm year in and year out, done everything you asked without ONCE complaining. Meanwhile that little moron takes all the money he can get, runs off and blows the lot on women and drinking. He’s a totally irresponsible idiot. I told you this would happen, didn’t I? And now you want me to welcome him home, act like everything’s OK? It *isn’t* OK. But you and mom always did love him best....”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal eldest - giving all his time and energy, the perfectionist, taking no time for himself but always trying to do what he thought would meet the approval of Mom and Dad. Desperately looking for their approval. Slaving away in the fields long after the regular labourers had quit for the day. Assuming more and more of the heavy work as Dad got older.....and feeling like it was all taken for granted, feeling as if he was *expected* to give all his life to his family, at the expense of his own happiness. Prodigal and profligate with his giving and giving and giving without restraint.
Six years between him and the youngest, and in those six years he had all the attention, all the love, all the little extra good tidbits of food at the table. He was an only child for those years, and while it meant he got the attention, he felt like he was expected to perform. By the time the younger son came along, he was on his way to being a perfectionist oldest who was never satisfied with giving anything less than all of himself to everything. Prodigal and profligate in his giving to his parents, he never learned how to love himself for who he was. He passed up chances with some of the prettiest girls around, because he always felt he had to be at the farm, helping his parents. After awhile it felt like life had passed him by, that he would never have a life of his own until it was too late.
He got all the extra attention, until the little moron came along - and then - in his eyes - watching all the attention and the extra tidbits going to this ugly little thing which toddled after him, hanging on to his clothes. The one who could do no wrong as he grew up, the one who never got any discipline no matter what the escapade; the one who couldn’t care less about school, who didn’t worry about Mom and Dad, who just went his own way. ...and for that, Mom and Dad loved him best.
The worst thing he could possibly call his brother, in his culture, was *idiot* and *moron*. His resentment festered.....
“What? You want me to go to a party, for that MORON?”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal youngest - the one who came along after the eldest had a grip on Mom and Dad’s love. The one who always had to follow after the older one, do what he was told. The one who was never allowed to do anything without his older brother. The one who wasn’t quite so smart, wouldn’t get out and work the fields, didn’t like to get dirty. The one who always seemed to have girls following him. Prodigal and profligate in his life, he spent all his time drinking in the local pub, or running around with any woman who would have him. Who just assumed everything would always work out. The one who was sick of that perfect older one, who Mom and Dad preferred because he was so responsible all the time. He always felt second-best, always felt like his parents were saying “Why can’t you be more like your brother? He knows what’s important.” He would never have a life at all on this backwater farm, plowing and working the fields, picking more rocks than crops, smelling like the pigs. No point in trying to impress Mom and Dad, they clearly loved the oldest one best, and probably never really wanted him anyway.
Nothing to do but take the money and run. Grab while you can, live in the moment, the future will somehow take care of itself. Get as far away as possible from that wuss who spends all his time sucking up to Mom and Dad, and live a real life. Out where things are interesting, where you never know what’s going to come next.
Living with the best of everything - good wine, excellent food, a comfortable place, lots of parties. Prodigal and profligate, the money slips through his fingers like sand. The more he has, the more he wants, the harder it is to have without becoming a criminal. Famine strikes; the money is gone, there is no more food or wine. He doesn’t feel any better than he did at home, in fact he feels worse. Working in someone else’s fields, even the husks from corn and beans look good to a hungry person. And nothing feeds the hunger of the soul.
“What? You want me to go to a PARTY for that moron?”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. Parents, trying to recognise the individuals, treat each of them fairly - take stock of the needs of each, love them with all they have. Being accused of favouritism, of being boring, having no life, ignoring one and paying attention to the other. “You always loved HIM best!”
Father gradually growing older, finding it harder to move in the mornings with arthritis. Working the fields, tending the animals - growing enough to feed sheep, calves, and chickens to feed a family. Proud of the eldest who will carry on the farm; worried sick about the youngest who seems to have no sense of direction, knowing he needs to learn about the world, even if it’s the hard way.
Mother spending most of the day cooking for field labourers, making clothes, cleaning up - looking tired beyond her years. Trying gently to get her oldest son to ease up, and get the youngest to help more, to grow up.
Father, wisely, giving the young son his money and letting him go off recklessly abroad - hoping he learns, afraid of what could happen to him, wondering if he will ever see this wild child again.
Leaning out the window one day in an upstairs room he can see far down the road. A tiny speck in the distance makes him look harder. His child! His child has come home.....
Prodigal and profligate in his generosity and joy, running into the road, yelling to the labourers to go get the calf he has been fattening for market, the perfect calf which would bring in enough money to last a year. Prepare a celebration, the child has returned. Whatever happened, however it happened, doesn’t matter. Racing faster than he’s run in many a year, arthritis forgotten; arms thrown wide open to hug and hold and cry and rejoice. He looks into the sad and now knowing eyes of this dear child, and hears the words “I am not worthy to be considered your child. “ Hears himself saying “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Of course you are worthy! I love you, you are my child. Welcome home!”
Prodigal and profligate in his generosity, the calf is killed, the best robes in the house brought out, the farm hands given the day off. The table is prepared and everyone is invited to come and eat, to celebrate the return of the one who lost his way and found it again. Prodigal and profligate in his love, shining out of his very pores, coming alive again because of this one lost child.
“What? You want ME to go to a PARTY for that MORON? I’ve worked and slaved here, always done whatever you asked, never took money, never even had a DATE because I was working this farm because I wanted you to LOVE me? Because you always loved him best when *I* was the one who was reliable.” Tears now, and an angry stamping of feet. “I’ve wasted the best years of my life here, and for what? So you can celebrate that the moron came home because he had nothing left? He’s an idiot, taking advantage of you again, and he’ll hurt you again.”
Tears in the eyes of parents. “But we’ve always loved you. Everything we have has always been yours, always. Everything is yours, don’t you know that? Your brother was lost...he didn’t realise what that meant. Now he does and he’s come back to us! His return is what’s important. Come and eat, you are hungry too, I know you are. You are as much a part of this family as he is. Come to the table, come to the celebration.”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal eldest - giving all his time and energy, the perfectionist, taking no time for himself but always trying to do what he thought would meet the approval of Mom and Dad. Desperately looking for their approval. Slaving away in the fields long after the regular labourers had quit for the day. Assuming more and more of the heavy work as Dad got older.....and feeling like it was all taken for granted, feeling as if he was *expected* to give all his life to his family, at the expense of his own happiness. Prodigal and profligate with his giving and giving and giving without restraint.
Six years between him and the youngest, and in those six years he had all the attention, all the love, all the little extra good tidbits of food at the table. He was an only child for those years, and while it meant he got the attention, he felt like he was expected to perform. By the time the younger son came along, he was on his way to being a perfectionist oldest who was never satisfied with giving anything less than all of himself to everything. Prodigal and profligate in his giving to his parents, he never learned how to love himself for who he was. He passed up chances with some of the prettiest girls around, because he always felt he had to be at the farm, helping his parents. After awhile it felt like life had passed him by, that he would never have a life of his own until it was too late.
He got all the extra attention, until the little moron came along - and then - in his eyes - watching all the attention and the extra tidbits going to this ugly little thing which toddled after him, hanging on to his clothes. The one who could do no wrong as he grew up, the one who never got any discipline no matter what the escapade; the one who couldn’t care less about school, who didn’t worry about Mom and Dad, who just went his own way. ...and for that, Mom and Dad loved him best.
The worst thing he could possibly call his brother, in his culture, was *idiot* and *moron*. His resentment festered.....
“What? You want me to go to a party, for that MORON?”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. The prodigal youngest - the one who came along after the eldest had a grip on Mom and Dad’s love. The one who always had to follow after the older one, do what he was told. The one who was never allowed to do anything without his older brother. The one who wasn’t quite so smart, wouldn’t get out and work the fields, didn’t like to get dirty. The one who always seemed to have girls following him. Prodigal and profligate in his life, he spent all his time drinking in the local pub, or running around with any woman who would have him. Who just assumed everything would always work out. The one who was sick of that perfect older one, who Mom and Dad preferred because he was so responsible all the time. He always felt second-best, always felt like his parents were saying “Why can’t you be more like your brother? He knows what’s important.” He would never have a life at all on this backwater farm, plowing and working the fields, picking more rocks than crops, smelling like the pigs. No point in trying to impress Mom and Dad, they clearly loved the oldest one best, and probably never really wanted him anyway.
Nothing to do but take the money and run. Grab while you can, live in the moment, the future will somehow take care of itself. Get as far away as possible from that wuss who spends all his time sucking up to Mom and Dad, and live a real life. Out where things are interesting, where you never know what’s going to come next.
Living with the best of everything - good wine, excellent food, a comfortable place, lots of parties. Prodigal and profligate, the money slips through his fingers like sand. The more he has, the more he wants, the harder it is to have without becoming a criminal. Famine strikes; the money is gone, there is no more food or wine. He doesn’t feel any better than he did at home, in fact he feels worse. Working in someone else’s fields, even the husks from corn and beans look good to a hungry person. And nothing feeds the hunger of the soul.
“What? You want me to go to a PARTY for that moron?”
Brothers....one older, one younger. Siblings, tied by blood and family, but completely unlike each other. Parents, trying to recognise the individuals, treat each of them fairly - take stock of the needs of each, love them with all they have. Being accused of favouritism, of being boring, having no life, ignoring one and paying attention to the other. “You always loved HIM best!”
Father gradually growing older, finding it harder to move in the mornings with arthritis. Working the fields, tending the animals - growing enough to feed sheep, calves, and chickens to feed a family. Proud of the eldest who will carry on the farm; worried sick about the youngest who seems to have no sense of direction, knowing he needs to learn about the world, even if it’s the hard way.
Mother spending most of the day cooking for field labourers, making clothes, cleaning up - looking tired beyond her years. Trying gently to get her oldest son to ease up, and get the youngest to help more, to grow up.
Father, wisely, giving the young son his money and letting him go off recklessly abroad - hoping he learns, afraid of what could happen to him, wondering if he will ever see this wild child again.
Leaning out the window one day in an upstairs room he can see far down the road. A tiny speck in the distance makes him look harder. His child! His child has come home.....
Prodigal and profligate in his generosity and joy, running into the road, yelling to the labourers to go get the calf he has been fattening for market, the perfect calf which would bring in enough money to last a year. Prepare a celebration, the child has returned. Whatever happened, however it happened, doesn’t matter. Racing faster than he’s run in many a year, arthritis forgotten; arms thrown wide open to hug and hold and cry and rejoice. He looks into the sad and now knowing eyes of this dear child, and hears the words “I am not worthy to be considered your child. “ Hears himself saying “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Of course you are worthy! I love you, you are my child. Welcome home!”
Prodigal and profligate in his generosity, the calf is killed, the best robes in the house brought out, the farm hands given the day off. The table is prepared and everyone is invited to come and eat, to celebrate the return of the one who lost his way and found it again. Prodigal and profligate in his love, shining out of his very pores, coming alive again because of this one lost child.
“What? You want ME to go to a PARTY for that MORON? I’ve worked and slaved here, always done whatever you asked, never took money, never even had a DATE because I was working this farm because I wanted you to LOVE me? Because you always loved him best when *I* was the one who was reliable.” Tears now, and an angry stamping of feet. “I’ve wasted the best years of my life here, and for what? So you can celebrate that the moron came home because he had nothing left? He’s an idiot, taking advantage of you again, and he’ll hurt you again.”
Tears in the eyes of parents. “But we’ve always loved you. Everything we have has always been yours, always. Everything is yours, don’t you know that? Your brother was lost...he didn’t realise what that meant. Now he does and he’s come back to us! His return is what’s important. Come and eat, you are hungry too, I know you are. You are as much a part of this family as he is. Come to the table, come to the celebration.”
Saturday, March 6, 2010
A Fig Tree? Lent 3 Year C Glen Ayr United Church Luke 13:1-9
About this time Jesus was told that Pilate had murdered some Galileans, as they were offering sacrifices at the Temple. “Do you think those Galileans were worse sinners than all the other people from Galilee?” Jesus asked. “Is that why they suffered? Not at all! And you will perish, too, unless you repent of your sins and turn to God. And what about the eighteen people who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them? Were they the worst sinners in Jerusalem? No, and I tell you again that unless you repent, you will perish, too.” Then Jesus told this story: “A man planted a fig tree in his garden and came again and again to see if there was any fruit on it, but he was always disappointed. Finally, he said to his gardener, ‘I’ve waited three years, and there hasn’t been a single fig! Cut it down. It’s just taking up space in the garden.’ “The gardener answered, ‘Sir, give it one more chance. Leave it another year, and I’ll give it special attention and plenty of fertilizer. If we get figs next year, fine. If not, then you can cut it down.’”
What do we know about fig trees? Not much, probably because we don’t see them a lot. Fig trees are quite common in areas of the world with a Mediterranean climate, which includes the southern US, California and Texas. They can be picked twice, and even three times in a year. Figs have been an important food crop for thousands of years, and are one of the very first plants cultivated by humans. In Gilgal, in the Jordan Valley just north of Jericho, no fewer than nine subfossil figs dating to about 9400–9200 BC - the Neolithic age - were found. This find predates the domestication of wheat, barley, and legumes.
So when Jesus talks about fig trees, as he does in various places in the Gospels, he is using a symbol which has been around as long as the Israelite people remember. He isn’t using some rare esoteric plant that hardly anyone would relate to, he is using literally the most common food source around.
But there’s another little piece in this scripture which needs to be noted. The translation I just read uses the word fertiliser, but the Greek word is kopria, which means literally “manure”. So the gardener says to the owner “Leave it with me for a year or so. I will prune it and give it lots of manure.”
So here we have a scripture in two parts - first, Jesus saying something totally contrary to the accepted religious belief. Remember, it was common cultural belief that people suffered because of sin. Some of the Galileans were murdered by Pilate, and the people who come to Jesus intimate that somehow they were responsible for their own deaths at the hands of Pilate. Jesus says that those people were no worse than any other Galileans. Neither were the eighteen who were crushed by the tower of Siloam. ...and, says Jesus, everyone sins. Everyone is less than perfect, and no one is any better than anyone else. You can almost see the eyebrows of the religious leaders going straight up into their hairlines.
Then he goes on to tell one of his stories about the realm of God, and what it is like. The second part of the scripture. ...then there are two parts to the story of the tree - the roots which need feeding, before the fruit can come.
Yesterday, at the coffee and conversation get together, we got slightly off into plants that don’t bloom. I have two orchids which have sat proudly putting out lots of nice green and healthy robust leaves; they were very muscular plants, but not a sign of a bloom. I got mad. I stuck them in the front window, fertilised, and told them if they didn’t bloom they were going out into the trash. Miraculously those two orchids are now putting forth spikes and preparing to bloom.
So here is a tree - something which has been around longer than anything else - something which represents everything the children of Israel are, and it puts out leaves and branches year after year - but no fruit. Jesus was a master at using ordinary commonplace everyday things as a vehicle for teaching something really important and profound.
So he has dismissed out of hand the idea that tragedy and sin are related. These things were not (and are not) God's doing. They are terrible tragedies, and God weeps at the senselessness of the acts. Were the people who died in the bombing of the trains in Spain worse than others? Were those who died in the world trade centre worse than others? No!! They died because of random acts of violence. None of these calamities was God's doing, none of them was a punishment. Jesus wants people to understand that suffering is random. But Jesus also is saying that we all have a need to return, to repent, and to do something with our lives before we too are gone.
To repent is to get ourselves back on track, to be in right relationship with God. Sin is being out of right relations with God. To repent is to reconnect with God, to stop doing the things that hurt us and others. God calls us to repent because if we don't, our souls perish. Just as the fig tree is offered a second chance to produce fruit, God offers us a chance to begin again, to live a life of abundance.
The owner of the fig tree wants to cut it down. It's taking up precious land, soil, and time. The gardener says "Give it one more year. I'll dig around it, put manure around it. Now, this makes sense, doesn’t it? Tree roots, like everything else, need oxygen in the soil, they need to breathe. I don't know about you, but I can identify with the fig tree. Every time I turn around, there is a second chance. But there’s the critical part, too. The roots have to be dug around, the soil loosened so the air can get in, good old stinky manure spread around to give nourishment. So it is with people. We have to dig down to our roots, let some air in, fertilise with study and reflection, taking out what we’ve always believed and giving it a good second look. Is this who we are? We have to remember, we aren’t in it alone. God helps us to grow, helping us garden our lives and bearing fruit.
Anna Murdock, who continues to offer plenty of food for thought to scripture discussions, tells a story about an elderly man in her church. His back yard was filled with fig trees. He and his wife spent the fruitful season making jams and cobblers, and bagging up fresh figs. They would go throughout the town, knocking on doors and giving little gifts of their overabundance. He not only understood about looking after trees, he understood about the soul, the roots, and how essential healthy roots are in the gardens of our souls.
Sources:
1. Anna Murdock, story on “Midrash”, Woodlake Books.
2. From the sermon “One More Year”, by Rev. Cynthia Huling Hummel
3. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_fig
What do we know about fig trees? Not much, probably because we don’t see them a lot. Fig trees are quite common in areas of the world with a Mediterranean climate, which includes the southern US, California and Texas. They can be picked twice, and even three times in a year. Figs have been an important food crop for thousands of years, and are one of the very first plants cultivated by humans. In Gilgal, in the Jordan Valley just north of Jericho, no fewer than nine subfossil figs dating to about 9400–9200 BC - the Neolithic age - were found. This find predates the domestication of wheat, barley, and legumes.
So when Jesus talks about fig trees, as he does in various places in the Gospels, he is using a symbol which has been around as long as the Israelite people remember. He isn’t using some rare esoteric plant that hardly anyone would relate to, he is using literally the most common food source around.
But there’s another little piece in this scripture which needs to be noted. The translation I just read uses the word fertiliser, but the Greek word is kopria, which means literally “manure”. So the gardener says to the owner “Leave it with me for a year or so. I will prune it and give it lots of manure.”
So here we have a scripture in two parts - first, Jesus saying something totally contrary to the accepted religious belief. Remember, it was common cultural belief that people suffered because of sin. Some of the Galileans were murdered by Pilate, and the people who come to Jesus intimate that somehow they were responsible for their own deaths at the hands of Pilate. Jesus says that those people were no worse than any other Galileans. Neither were the eighteen who were crushed by the tower of Siloam. ...and, says Jesus, everyone sins. Everyone is less than perfect, and no one is any better than anyone else. You can almost see the eyebrows of the religious leaders going straight up into their hairlines.
Then he goes on to tell one of his stories about the realm of God, and what it is like. The second part of the scripture. ...then there are two parts to the story of the tree - the roots which need feeding, before the fruit can come.
Yesterday, at the coffee and conversation get together, we got slightly off into plants that don’t bloom. I have two orchids which have sat proudly putting out lots of nice green and healthy robust leaves; they were very muscular plants, but not a sign of a bloom. I got mad. I stuck them in the front window, fertilised, and told them if they didn’t bloom they were going out into the trash. Miraculously those two orchids are now putting forth spikes and preparing to bloom.
So here is a tree - something which has been around longer than anything else - something which represents everything the children of Israel are, and it puts out leaves and branches year after year - but no fruit. Jesus was a master at using ordinary commonplace everyday things as a vehicle for teaching something really important and profound.
So he has dismissed out of hand the idea that tragedy and sin are related. These things were not (and are not) God's doing. They are terrible tragedies, and God weeps at the senselessness of the acts. Were the people who died in the bombing of the trains in Spain worse than others? Were those who died in the world trade centre worse than others? No!! They died because of random acts of violence. None of these calamities was God's doing, none of them was a punishment. Jesus wants people to understand that suffering is random. But Jesus also is saying that we all have a need to return, to repent, and to do something with our lives before we too are gone.
To repent is to get ourselves back on track, to be in right relationship with God. Sin is being out of right relations with God. To repent is to reconnect with God, to stop doing the things that hurt us and others. God calls us to repent because if we don't, our souls perish. Just as the fig tree is offered a second chance to produce fruit, God offers us a chance to begin again, to live a life of abundance.
The owner of the fig tree wants to cut it down. It's taking up precious land, soil, and time. The gardener says "Give it one more year. I'll dig around it, put manure around it. Now, this makes sense, doesn’t it? Tree roots, like everything else, need oxygen in the soil, they need to breathe. I don't know about you, but I can identify with the fig tree. Every time I turn around, there is a second chance. But there’s the critical part, too. The roots have to be dug around, the soil loosened so the air can get in, good old stinky manure spread around to give nourishment. So it is with people. We have to dig down to our roots, let some air in, fertilise with study and reflection, taking out what we’ve always believed and giving it a good second look. Is this who we are? We have to remember, we aren’t in it alone. God helps us to grow, helping us garden our lives and bearing fruit.
Anna Murdock, who continues to offer plenty of food for thought to scripture discussions, tells a story about an elderly man in her church. His back yard was filled with fig trees. He and his wife spent the fruitful season making jams and cobblers, and bagging up fresh figs. They would go throughout the town, knocking on doors and giving little gifts of their overabundance. He not only understood about looking after trees, he understood about the soul, the roots, and how essential healthy roots are in the gardens of our souls.
Sources:
1. Anna Murdock, story on “Midrash”, Woodlake Books.
2. From the sermon “One More Year”, by Rev. Cynthia Huling Hummel
3. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_fig
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