Proper 24B: Shhh! Why Don’t You Let God Talk?

Waiting for God to talkOLD TESTAMENT: Job 38: 1-7, (34-41)

Read the passage from Job

Just to set the stage…

As Elihu speaks, the sky darkens. Ominous rumblings of thunder sound. Lighting rips open the sky. The cattle huddle together, heads down, tails facing into the wind. Rabbits scamper hurriedly to the deep woods. Birds flutter anxiously, twittering and chattering excitedly. Stillness hovers over the land. Dark clouds race in from the west and black out the sun.

Then lightning zigzags across the blackness and bathes the landscape in eerie whiteness. The thunder swells in volume, its reverberations shaking the earth. And then the heavens open, and the rain pours down. Tall trees bend, their branches sweeping and swishing the rain as it falls in sheets.

Job crouches on the ground. He grasps at his sackcloth, trying to pull it over his head to shield his body from the driving rain. Lightning blazes again. There is a sharp crack, then another sudden clap of thunder. Under his sackcloth, Job breathes heavily. Fear and despair clutch him. Even the brutal, uncontrollable forces of nature have turned against him now. Job cries weakly.

And then suddenly, the storm is over. The writer of Job describes what follows:

And now the light in the sky is dazzling, too bright for us to look at it; and the sky has been swept clean by the wind. A golden glow is seen in the north, and the glory of God fills us with awe. (Job 37: 21, 22)

                God is about to speak. (Mildren Tengbom, Sometimes I Hurt: Reflections on the Book of Job, (St. Louis, MO: Concordia Publishing House, 1986), 184-185.)

 

The opening line of Chapter 38, “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind,” has been prepared for by Job’s demand to see God. This whirlwind is not to be confused with a tornado or a hurricane or some other natural phenomena. It is instead a sign of God’s own appearing in human affairs—a creative, life-changing force that is undefined, perhaps not understood. You can’t hold this God down, you can’t explain this God. This God is dynamic, in motion, while our definitions are always static, trying to put God in a box, saying God is this or that. But for Job, God is a whirlwind.

            Well, finally God speaks up! (Richard Rohr interprets 38:1 as “Aw, shut up!, Job”) For almost 90% of the book, Job has begged God to intervene, implored God to speak. Now that God has, uncharacteristically chosen to speak, we are reminded of the fact that God has been present through this whole story.

In last week’s reading, Job was anxious to bring his case against God: “I would learn what he would answer me,” Job brashly declared, “and understand what he would say to me.” But God turns the tables on him. “I will question you,” God says, “you shall declare to me.” Job has longed for a sort of “Q and A” with God, but this is going very differently than that for which he hoped. God’s first question is simple. “Were you there?” Were you there when I laid the very foundations of the earth? Well, of course Job’s answer is that he was not. God goes on and ticks off all of the grandeurs of Creation. Can Job do what God does? Can Job care for creatures the way God does? And, of course, Job has to admit that he had nothing to do with any of it. In this questioning, (even beyond what we’ve read), God lists a variety of animals—lion, raven, the wild ass, the wild ox, the ostrich, the hawk and the eagle, to name a few.

The Rabbis long ago noted that, when God boasts of God’s handiwork, of all the animals God offers as evidence of divine creative genius, none of them is of any earthly use to humanity. Humanity is only a small part of the wonder of Creation. The implication is that, regardless of whether or not Job can feel God’s Presence, God is there. And God is God; Job is not. But God still treats Job with respect. There is no demand of apology or repentance. In Job, God doesn’t seem to be bothered with all the earlier rantings and arguments that have gone on. God just wants Job to realize that he is not God. Job doesn’t really receive an answer to his question of why he, or for that matter any human, has to suffer. God instead just reminds Job of the incredible Presence and providence of God. Essentially, God gives no answers. In fact, we are left with more questions! Richard Rohr points out that when the church gave us the impression that there were ready-made answers, it was doing us more harm than good.

 

After God’s great speech, Job is a changed man, but it is not the content of the speech that heals him. Rather, it is the fact that a God whom he had only heard about has now come to him personally. Theological constructs are not the source of Job’s redemption; rather, it is relationship with God that transforms his profound suffering. Job meets God and sees that the circuitous track of his life has led him through paths of joy and suffering. Best of all, Job realizes that in all things his path was held in the hand of a God who was waiting to take him in God’s arms and wipe his tears away.

Last summer I traveled to France, and visited the great cathedral at Chartres. I had heard that there was a labyrinth laid into the cathedral floor. In the Middle Ages, pilgrims would journey to the cathedral and walk the labyrinth in meditative fashion–acting out a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. They would enter the labyrinth at the outside of the circle and follow the path as it weaves in and out, around and around to the center of the circle. There are no wrong turns and no dead ends: the path always leads back to the center.

When I arrived at Chartres, I could not walk the path because chairs were set up across the floor, so I spent time praying at the entrance of the labyrinth. Soon I moved into the center of the circle. I was struck by the power of the labyrinth as an image of my life. I had journeyed 40 years to stand in the center. As I looked back over my life, I thought of all the losses, failures, mistakes and brokenness I had experienced. I thought also of the joys, gifts and treasures of my life. Through it all, the path led to the center, to a meeting place with a God who was there all along.

Is this word of hope enough for those who suffer–that in the end, wherever the path leads, it is the presence of God that heals our grief? Probably not. For the rumor of God is rarely enough to satisfy. But the meeting . . . the meeting is sweet balm for the one on an ever-circling journey to the heart of God.

The other night I dreamed that I was in Chartres: As my eyes adjust to the dim light of the cathedral, I see people walking the ancient labyrinth and join them. The circuitous path leads me through the terror and shadow of my worst fears, as well as through my most poignant joys. I reach the center, the pulsing heart of it all. Suddenly, an arm is around my waist, a hand light upon my shoulder. I look into the eyes of God. The dance begins, and we whirl and twirl in a dance of laughter and glee. How was I to know, as I moved around and around this labyrinth path, that I was fumbling toward this sweet ecstasy? We dance, God and I, a whirlwind of light. And all round us dance the daughters of Job, the sweet, beautiful daughters of Job. (Margaret B. Hess, “The Labyrinth of Life, (The Christian Century, June 4, 1997), available at http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_n19_v114/ai_19550312/, accessed 12 October, 2009.)

  1. What is your response to this passage?
  2. What does this say about God?
  3. What does this say about humanity?
  4. How do you feel about there really being no answer given? Is that always bad?

NEW TESTAMENT: Hebrews 5: 1-10

Read the passage from Hebrews

In this passage, the writer depicts an image of Jesus as a priest who we can grasp on to. Essentially, Jesus is a priest in solidarity with humanity at its most vulnerable. Our great high priest chooses to stand with the people, not above them, and from their midst renew the church and teach it once again to know God. We are reminded of God’s action in Christ and that Jesus has been exalted above all the cosmic powers.

In this culture, high priests were always appointed. Here, Jesus is portrayed as part of the order of Melchizedek. Melchizedek is mentioned twice in the Hebrew Scriptures—in Genesis and then again in Psalm 110. He was a priest of the Most High in the time of Abraham who received tithes from him. His name literally means “righteous king”. Some have claimed that these passages refer to a literal human; others claims insist that it refers to a theophany, a righteous ruler superior to the Levitical priests. This is not what we think of as an apostolic priesthood. But it is an eternal designation. So Jesus is part of this same so-called “order”. But the ministries of a priest like this must be with the people, not removed from them.

God does not want compensation; God desires one’s very life. Jesus was fully human and suffered as humans suffered. But Jesus was fully human, the very epitome of humanity. This is the way to perfection. The passage depicts Jesus as learning obedience through suffering. This is not just “doing what God says”, so to speak. It’s deeper than that. Obedience has to do with the transformation of the will such that all of life, every action, every choice, every relationship, every priority, every conversation, every work decision, everything reflects the will and values of God. God does not will us to suffer. God wills us to get through it.

 

  1. How does this passage speak to you?
  2. What does the image of Jesus in solidarity with humans mean for you?
  3. What does this say about faith?
  4. How does this speak to you about obedience?

GOSPEL: Mark 10: 35-45

Read the Gospel passage

This passage comes as Jesus is preparing to enter Jerusalem and confront the controversy that awaits him there.  For the Markan Gospel writer, this passage plays a key role in explaining Jesus’ death.  James and John request privileged places of authority in seats at Jesus’ right and left.  In doing this, they appear to have missed everything that Jesus has said and done.  They recognize that glorification awaits Jesus and they conspire to capitalize on that high honor.

Jesus’ response to them foreshadows the violence and death that await him in Jerusalem. Mark’s Gospel emphasizes that such rejection and death are inevitable and required, because of who Jesus is, because of the boundary-breaking character of his ministry, and because those who wield power in the world will do all they can to protect themselves and their agendas from what is essentially his subversive ministry. But James and John have a need for human power (ironically the same kind of power that will ultimately end Jesus’ life.) In contrast, greatness among Jesus’ followers is measured by their ability to live as servants, even if that means suffering oppression at the hands of those who wield earthly power.

Being a servant or slave is not about being subservient to Jesus, though. It is about joining with him, partnering in the ongoing act of God’s creative activity in the world. Jesus was powerful. His call to leadership was not to be without power but, rather, to redefine what power and leadership is. He came not to be served but to serve.

In the culture in which this was written, slavery was a normal thing. It was part of the social fabric and no one viewed it as necessarily a bad thing like we would today. In fact, it was considered a close relationship, so using this imagery to depict one’s relationship with God was not out of the question. And yet, James and John didn’t get this. They came essentially asking Jesus a favor. “Jesus, what can you do for me?” You will notice that, contrary to what many think Jesus represents for them, Jesus did NOT answer with “Sure, guys, anything you need…” Instead, his response was, “Well, what exactly do you want me to do for you?”

This is not unlike Job’s expectation of God. Perhaps Jesus response was more like, “Really, guys, were you there….?” We probably need to cut James and John some slack, though. After all, how much of what they are doing do we do? Perhaps they really did get it and were afraid. Perhaps, rather than seeking power, they were just seeking security. Give them credit—at least they were honest. They want badly to be like God. God is powerful. God is in control. God is there. Barbara Brown Taylor refers to it as trying to secure cabinet positions before the election is finalized. The problem is that they are assuming that the new world—the coming Kingdom—will be set up with the same rules as the old one. And one more time, Jesus tells them, “Sorry guys…that’s not the way it works.”

 

  1. What meaning does this passage hold for you?
  2. Who do you think that Jesus is addressing here—those in power or those who long for power? Is one worse than the other?
  3. What definitions of “power” exist? How does that differ with Jesus’ depiction of “power”?
  4. What “powers” do we need to let go of in our own lives in order to follow Christ?

 

Some Quotes for Further Reflection:

Grace is the light or electricity or juice or breeze that takes you from that isolated place and puts you with others who are as startled and embarrassed and eventually grateful as you are to be there. (Ann Lamott, Traveling Mercies)

Our disappointments, our lonelinesses and our defeats do not separate us from Christ; they draw us more deeply into communion with him.  And with the final unanswered cry, “Why, my God, why?” we join in [Christ’s] death cry and await with [Christ] the resurrection.  This is what faith really is:  believing, not with the head or the lips or out of habit, but believing with one’s whole life.  It means seeking community with the human Christ in every situation in life, and in every situation experiencing his own history. (Jurgen Moltmann, 1926-    )

If you read the Bible and it does not challenge you, then you are reading yourself and not the Bible. (Ernesto Tinajero, 21st century)

Closing

Give me a pure heart—that I may see Thee,

A humble heart—that I may hear Thee,

A heart of love—that I may serve Thee,

A heart of faith—that I may abide in Thee.  Amen

Dag Hammarskjold

 

Transfiguration B: Veiled Glory

 

Fog on mountaintopOLD TESTAMENT: 2 Kings 2: 1-12

To read the Old Testament Lectionary passage, click here

At the beginning of this passage, we’re given the hint that Elijah will soon be taken up to heaven in a whirlwind. Elijah has up until now been the key prophetic voice through the region. Now that he is about to depart the scene, the stage is set for the choosing of Elisha as his successor. Elisha is depicted as refusing to leave Elijah’s side. He is obviously very committed to him. He is determined to follow him to the end. It is obvious that Elisha is not being led into this mission unknowingly. He clearly knows what he is being asked to do.

Elijah’s mantle, which he uses to part the waters, is a symbol of his authority and power, the equivalent of Moses’ rod. The implication is that his power resembles that of Moses’. Once they have crossed the Jordan, they are now in the region where Moses had died, where long ago, a mantle had also been handed over. There Elisha asks for a double-portion (an allusion to the legal right of a first-born son). It used to strike me that he was being a little demanding or greedy. Here he essentially asks for twice the wisdom that Elijah had, twice the authority, and a double helping of Elijah’s spirit. Perhaps he was just so unsure that he was prepared for the job that he was about to be asked to do, that he felt he needed this added affirmation. Perhaps in an odd sort of way this was not a case of Elisha feeling entitled but, rather, humbled at the very prospect of what he was being called to do and who he was being called to follow. Perhaps he thought that he was “half” the person that Elijah was.

The whole idea of the chariots and the horsemen almost a resemble a sort of war. In Israel’s ideology of holy war, the Lord’s celestial hosts fight along with and on behalf of the terrestrial hosts, the armies of Israel. It hints at the type of ministry that Elisha will have. The tearing of his shirt indicates a traditional expression of grief. Seeing Elijah leave was like seeing the body of a loved one go; this was real. The mission was now his. One could read this as a time of transition in Israel. The great prophet Elijah was no longer around, having been taken up into heaven. But you could also read it as a time of continuation. The prophetic role is still firmly in place.

We can understand why this text is included in this week’s lection choices. After all, Elijah will once again make an appearance in the depiction of the Transfiguration account that we will read from the Gospel According to Mark. But, really, this is more a story about Elisha and the way he is transformed into one who is faithful to God and to who God has called him to be. It is a lesson to us about our own calling to be transformed, to be transfigured, into who we are meant to be. Elisha wanted desperately to hold onto Elijah, to hold onto his leader, his mentor, his friend. But part of transformation is about letting go and letting newness and recreation happen. For years, Elisha had been doing ministry, working in the midst of the shadow of Elijah. The shadow now was gone and it was Elisha’s turn to walk into the light. Even in the midst of his honest and human grief, he had to go on. He had to take the reins. He was prepared, he had been given the resources that would need, whether or not he knew it.

The truth is that this is not a story about prophetic succession or the passing of mantles. It’s not about Elijah and Elisha; it’s about God. That’s what true leadership is, when you think about it—to lead others to where they need to be rather than to lead them to where the leader thinks they should go. Sometimes being a great leader means stepping aside and passing the mantle to someone else. It makes us realize that transformation doesn’t just happen on an individual basis but, rather, is woven into the community of faith, into the hearts of all of those who have the humility and the strength to take a part in the play.

 

  1. What is your response to this passage?
  2. What is your thinking on how Elisha felt about this calling?
  3. What does this passage say about leadership?
  4. How could this passage speak to us today?
  5. How do you see transformation in your own life?

  

NEW TESTAMENT: 2 Corinthians 4: 3-6

To read the Lectionary Epistle passage, click here

Here Paul is responding to questions about whether or not God has hidden part of the Gospel from view. It is a response, once again, to those who are trying to discredit him. After all, if the things about which he spoke were real and believable, don’t you think others would know this? Don’t you think it would be obvious? Why in the world has God hidden the Godself from plain view? He contends that it was not done for manipulation but, rather, that it simply seems that way because some are indeed blinded to the good news. He claims that there is still a veil that prevents some people from seeing Christ for who Christ is.

He links the creation of light with the light that emanates from Christ. Light, glory, and glow are all ways of expressing God’s presence. There’s a lot here about seeing and veiling. What does it take to see through the veil? And why is there a veil at all? Why didn’t God just make it more obvious to us? Maybe that’s the point. It IS obvious unless one is blinded by the bright lights and “gods” of this world. It IS obvious unless one has quit looking toward it because one has already figured out what he or she thinks they see. It takes a change of vision, a new way of seeing. Paul claims that the message is clear. It is just up to us to see it.

Now this is one of those passages that could easily be misused. I don’t think this is about assigning roles or separating “believers” (those who “see”) from “unbelievers” (those who don’t). We don’t all of a sudden miraculously “see” God and everything falls into place. It is a journey. Seeing is something that is an act of faith. Learning to see is the whole point of our journey of faith. It would be ludicrous for us to claim that there are never times on our journey when we miss seeing the way we are supposed to, when our own desires and our own fears and our own perceptions of God get in the way of the God who comes to us each and very day. But there are also times when we do see it, when the clouds of this world part if only for a moment, when the veil becomes thin enough for us to feel and know the Presence of God that has been there all along. The Celtic tradition would call them “thin places”, places where the “veil” that separated the earth and heaven, the ordinary and the sacred, the human and the Divine, becomes so thin, so translucent, that one gets a glimpse of the glory of God. It is those times and places in our lives where God’s Presence becomes almost palpable and where we cannot help but be transfigured into what God calls us to be. Perhaps it is those times when we don’t just think about God but rather create space enough for the sacred and the Divine to penetrate our lives and our flesh in the deepest part of our being.

 

  1. What meaning does this passage hold for you?
  2. How is this Scripture sometimes misused?
  3. What gets in the way of our “seeing” Christ?
  4. What are those “thin places” in your own life?

 

 GOSPEL: Mark 9: 2-9

To read the Lectionary Gospel passage, click here

In the big scheme of things, we’ve gotten to this point pretty fast. Here it is—a child born into anonymous poverty and raised by no-name peasants turns out to be the Son of God. He grows up, becomes a teacher, a healer, and capable of hosting large groups of people with just a small amount of leftovers. Then he asks a handful of people to become his followers, to help him in his mission. They leave everything they have, give up their possessions and their way of making a living, they sacrifice any shred of life security that they might have had, and begin to follow this great person around, probably often wondering what in the world they were doing. And we’ve essentially read through all of this in a matter of a few months since early December. And then one day, Jesus leads them up to a mountain, away from the interruptions of the world.

Now, this is sort of interesting. There is no proof of an actual geographically-charted mountain. It is presented as if it just rose up, uninterrupted, from the terrain, as if it is rather a part of the topography of God. Even for people, such as myself, who cannot claim a single, stand alone, so-called “mountain-top experience” that brought them to Christ but rather came year by year and grew into the relationship…even for us…this IS the mountain-top experience. And there, on that mountain, everything changes.

The clothes that Jesus was wearing change, taking on a hue of dazzling, blinding, white, whiter than anything that they had ever seen before. And on the mountain appeared Elijah and Moses, representing the Law and the prophets, the forerunners of our faith, standing there with Jesus. Peter wanted to build three dwellings to house them. For me, that’s sort of an interesting part of the story. Dwellings…I guess because that would keep them here, essentially bound to our way of living. Dwellings…to control where they were. Dwellings…to somehow put this incredible thing that had happened into something that made sense, to bring it into the light of the world where we could understand it. But, instead, they are veiled by a cloud and from the cloud comes a voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!” “Listen to him!” And then they were gone and Jesus stood there alone.

The Greek term for transfiguration is metaphorphosis. It means, literally, to change into something else. That is what this experience does for the disciples and for us. It changes us into something else. The account of the Transfiguration of Jesus seems to us that it should be the climax of the Jesus story. After all, how can you top it—Old Testament heroes appearing, God speaking from the cloud, and Jesus all lit up so brightly that it is hard for us to look at him. But there’s a reason that we read this on the last Sunday before we begin our Lenten journey. In some ways, it is perhaps the climax of Jesus’ earthly journey. Jesus tells the disciples to keep what happened to themselves, if only for now.

Going back to what we said earlier, this is, of course, the ultimate in thin places. The light is so bright it is blinding. God’s glory is so pervasive that we cannot help but encounter it. And these Old Testament characters? They show us that this is not a one-time “mountain-top” experience. It is part of life; it is part of history; it is part of humanity. Rather than everything of this world being left behind in this moment, it is all swept into being. It all becomes part of the glory of God.

And then the lights dim. There are no chariots, Moses and Elijah are gone, and, if only for awhile, God stops talking. And in the silence, Jesus starts walking down the mountain toward Jerusalem. From our vantage point, we know what happens there. And he asks us to follow and gives us all the portions we need to do just that. And we can. Because now we see the way to go. Let us now go to Jerusalem and see this thing that has happened.

 

  1. What meaning does this passage hold for you?
  2. What does the term “mountain-top” experience mean for you?
  3. Once again, we are talking about “seeing”. They saw Jesus because they were looking for him. What does that mean for you?

 

 

Some Quotes for Further Reflection:

 

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes. (Marcel Proust)

 

Learn to see and then you’ll know that there is no end to the new worlds of our vision. (Carlos Casteneda)

 

A faith that moves mountains is a faith that expands horizons. It does not bring us into a smaller world full of easy answers, but into a larger one where there is room for wonder. {Rich Mullins}

 

Closing

 

The journey to Bethlehem was much more to my liking. I am content kneeling here, where there’s an aura of angels and the ever-present procession of shepherds and of kings who’ve come to kneel to the Newborn to whom we are newborn. I want to linger here in Bethlehem in joy and celebration, knowing once I set my feet toward Jerusalem, the Child will grow, and I will be asked to follow.

 

The time of Light and Angels is drawing to a close. Just when I’ve settled contentedly into the quiet wonder of Star and Child, He bids me leave and follow. How can I be expected to go back into darkness after sitting mangerside, bathed in such Light?

 

It’s hard to get away this time of year; I don’t know how I’ll manage. It’s not just the time…the conversation along the way turns from Birth to Death. I’m not sure I can stand the stress and pain; I have enough of those already. Besides, I’ve found the lighting on the road to Jerusalem is very poor. This time around, there is no Star…

 

The shepherds have left; they’ve returned to hillside and to sheep. The Magi, too, have gone, having been warned in a dream, as was Joseph, who packed up his family and fled. If I stay in Bethlehem, I stay alone. God has gone on toward Jerusalem.

 

Amen. (“Looking Toward Jerusalem”, from Kneeling in Jerusalem, by Ann Weems, p. 14-15.)