In Luke 19, we have one of the accounts of one of Jesus’ cleansings of the temple, and then Luke says: “And he was teaching daily in the temple. The chief priests and the scribes and the principal men of the people were seeking to destroy him, but they did not find anything they could do, for all the people were hanging on his words.”
The picture that I get is that most of the common people were no longer paying attention to their “principal men” anymore, because they couldn’t get enough of Jesus. So their “principal men” got angry and desperate to recover their lost ground, but found themselves powerless because the people weren’t paying any attention to them.
How powerful is belief. In the face of the most murderous opposition to Christ, belief in the truth was the primary deterrent to falsity. By the same token, if we are more engaged by the moral arguments of our “principal men,” does that not actually lend power to those who oppose Christianity?
On whose words do I hang?
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Good Friday
From the Book of Common Prayer:
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the world world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the world world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Let these words sink into your ears
Yesterday, I read in Deuteronomy Moses' promise that God would raise up a prophet from among them like him, and then in Luke 9:
"Now about eight days after these sayings [that is, after Jesus had told them that if anyone would be his disciple, he had to take up his cross and follow him] he took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were talking with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and those who were with him were heavy with sleep, but when they became fully awake they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. And as the men were parting from him, Peter said to Jesus, 'Master, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah'—not knowing what he said. As he was saying these things, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, 'This is my Son, my Chosen One; listen to him!' And when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen."
When they come down off the mountain, Luke records that Jesus healed a child possessed by a spirit, and comments in vs. 43 that all were astonished at the majesty of God, only to go on to say,
“But while they were all marveling at everything he was doing, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men.’ But they did not understand this saying, and it was concealed from them, so that they might not perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him about this saying.”
We have glimpses of Jesus through the disciples’ eyes that not only fulfill Moses’ words that God would raise up for Israel a prophet like him from their midst, but actually include Moses in the picture, a huge clue you would think. But the disciples were at that time unable to perceive what they saw and heard, blinded and deafened by sleepiness and fear.
Hearing, understanding, and belief are all such mercy, without which we are left trembling before God’s thundering voice with no hope. That he eventually granted these mercies to the disciples is amazing, but that he grants them continually to us who read the gospel accounts seems even more amazing. What is not amazing is that we are slow to perceive, sleepy and afraid.
Yesterday, Palm Sunday, we read the entire story of the passion from the triumphal entry on. The priest suggested beforehand that we should let the words wash over us. Quietly in my heart I contradicted, "No, please Lord, in your mercy, let your words sink into my ear."
"Now about eight days after these sayings [that is, after Jesus had told them that if anyone would be his disciple, he had to take up his cross and follow him] he took with him Peter and John and James and went up on the mountain to pray. And as he was praying, the appearance of his face was altered, and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were talking with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and those who were with him were heavy with sleep, but when they became fully awake they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. And as the men were parting from him, Peter said to Jesus, 'Master, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah'—not knowing what he said. As he was saying these things, a cloud came and overshadowed them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. And a voice came out of the cloud, saying, 'This is my Son, my Chosen One; listen to him!' And when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and told no one in those days anything of what they had seen."
When they come down off the mountain, Luke records that Jesus healed a child possessed by a spirit, and comments in vs. 43 that all were astonished at the majesty of God, only to go on to say,
“But while they were all marveling at everything he was doing, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let these words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men.’ But they did not understand this saying, and it was concealed from them, so that they might not perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him about this saying.”
We have glimpses of Jesus through the disciples’ eyes that not only fulfill Moses’ words that God would raise up for Israel a prophet like him from their midst, but actually include Moses in the picture, a huge clue you would think. But the disciples were at that time unable to perceive what they saw and heard, blinded and deafened by sleepiness and fear.
Hearing, understanding, and belief are all such mercy, without which we are left trembling before God’s thundering voice with no hope. That he eventually granted these mercies to the disciples is amazing, but that he grants them continually to us who read the gospel accounts seems even more amazing. What is not amazing is that we are slow to perceive, sleepy and afraid.
Yesterday, Palm Sunday, we read the entire story of the passion from the triumphal entry on. The priest suggested beforehand that we should let the words wash over us. Quietly in my heart I contradicted, "No, please Lord, in your mercy, let your words sink into my ear."
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Mute
I was trying to get my students to think of the antithesis of sound yesterday and they could not come up with it.
In Luke 1, the first person we meet is Zechariah, a priest. He is visited by an angel, who gives him astounding news, to which Zechariah, a righteous man, understandably expressed incredulity. The sign he was given to prove this word would come to pass was his own muteness. He did not take a vow of silence. Silence was thrust upon him until his son was born. By this he came to believe that the word had come from God. A gestation of silence.
I wonder how much talking would be left in our world if all who are dubious about the veracity of the Word of God were struck mute until every word was fulfilled. It seems profound to me that the pathway to belief for Zechariah required him to stop talking.
In Luke 1, the first person we meet is Zechariah, a priest. He is visited by an angel, who gives him astounding news, to which Zechariah, a righteous man, understandably expressed incredulity. The sign he was given to prove this word would come to pass was his own muteness. He did not take a vow of silence. Silence was thrust upon him until his son was born. By this he came to believe that the word had come from God. A gestation of silence.
I wonder how much talking would be left in our world if all who are dubious about the veracity of the Word of God were struck mute until every word was fulfilled. It seems profound to me that the pathway to belief for Zechariah required him to stop talking.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
In the hearing of the Lord
Numbers 11 begins "And the people complained in the hearing of the LORD about their misfortunes."
It struck me that there is a qualitative difference between complaining in the hearing of the LORD, and in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving letting our requests be made known to God. He hears both of course, but they do not accomplish the same thing in our hearts, nor does it seem God's ear inclines to these utterances in the same way.
Something like the difference between a parent's response to a request from a whiney discontented child and a parent's response to a request from a contented child for something they need.
It struck me that there is a qualitative difference between complaining in the hearing of the LORD, and in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving letting our requests be made known to God. He hears both of course, but they do not accomplish the same thing in our hearts, nor does it seem God's ear inclines to these utterances in the same way.
Something like the difference between a parent's response to a request from a whiney discontented child and a parent's response to a request from a contented child for something they need.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
You have given me an open ear
The season of Lent is upon us, and this year I have decided to approach it a little differently by adding instead of taking away: adding disciplines which I don't do regularly but wish I did, like memorize poetry and scripture, one poem or scripture passage every week of Lent.
This coming week's project is Psalm 40, which I have long counted among my favorites, but have never memorized. You may think it's a little ironic that my Lenten psalm of choice includes "Sacrifice and offering you have not desired," but the main reason this psalm pressed itself on me is the next phrase, "but you have given me an open ear." The note in the ESV says that the Hebrew is literally "ears you have dug for me." Commentators I have encountered recently do not believe this has anything to do with piercing a slave's ear with an awl as a mark of ownership, which was rather the popular explanation I grew up with, but they link it to the subsequent images in the psalm of allowing the word of God to penetrate deeply, into the ears and seeping right down into the dark and stubborn will. That sounds like a Lenten project tailor made for me this year.
Sacrifice and offering you have not desired,
but you have given me an open ear.
Burnt offering and sin offering you have not required.
Then I said, "Behold, I have come;
In the scroll of the book it is written of me:
I desire to do your will, O my God,
Your law is written within my heart.
This combines rather well with project number one, a wonderful penitential poem of John Donne. I've been imbibing this poem since Ash Wednesday, for which service my church choir sang a wonderful setting. We will sing it again tomorrow. As usual, I knew the tune before I knew the words, but now I know the words by heart too, and I'm so glad.
Wilt thou forgive the sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive the sin which I have won
others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt thou forgive the sin that I did shun
a year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
my last thread, I shall perish on the shore.
Swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine, as He shines now and heretofore.
And having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.
This coming week's project is Psalm 40, which I have long counted among my favorites, but have never memorized. You may think it's a little ironic that my Lenten psalm of choice includes "Sacrifice and offering you have not desired," but the main reason this psalm pressed itself on me is the next phrase, "but you have given me an open ear." The note in the ESV says that the Hebrew is literally "ears you have dug for me." Commentators I have encountered recently do not believe this has anything to do with piercing a slave's ear with an awl as a mark of ownership, which was rather the popular explanation I grew up with, but they link it to the subsequent images in the psalm of allowing the word of God to penetrate deeply, into the ears and seeping right down into the dark and stubborn will. That sounds like a Lenten project tailor made for me this year.
Sacrifice and offering you have not desired,
but you have given me an open ear.
Burnt offering and sin offering you have not required.
Then I said, "Behold, I have come;
In the scroll of the book it is written of me:
I desire to do your will, O my God,
Your law is written within my heart.
This combines rather well with project number one, a wonderful penitential poem of John Donne. I've been imbibing this poem since Ash Wednesday, for which service my church choir sang a wonderful setting. We will sing it again tomorrow. As usual, I knew the tune before I knew the words, but now I know the words by heart too, and I'm so glad.
Wilt thou forgive the sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive the sin which I have won
others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt thou forgive the sin that I did shun
a year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
my last thread, I shall perish on the shore.
Swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine, as He shines now and heretofore.
And having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.
Monday, February 6, 2012
God's Voice
Psalm 29 offers an extensive description of the voice of the LORD.
“The voice of the LORD is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders, the LORD over many waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful;
The voice of the LORD is full of majesty.
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;
The LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon…
The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.
The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness…
The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth.
He strips the forest bare, and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
…May the LORD give strength to His people.
May the LORD bless his people with peace.”
I wonder if David was thinking about Mt. Sinai when he wrote that Psalm. Exodus 24 tells us God spoke with Moses, and that Moses wrote down all the words of the LORD. Not only that, but he read them aloud: “He took the Book of the Covenant and read it in the hearing of the people. And they said, “All that the LORD has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient.” And then Moses sprinkled them with the blood of the covenant. All this seems a profound shadow of the Word that would be made flesh. And then Moses went up the mountain, and Psalm 29 describes what the people heard, quaked at, and felt “Glory” in terrified awe rushing to their lips.
I almost wish I didn’t know how quickly they forgot, how quickly they worshiped a god of their own making. I do know, I know from experience.
We who are washed in the blood of the New Covenant would do well to remember these sounds and their fearful response. The Word made flesh is not a lesser manifestation of the Glory but a greater, and a nonchalant or ambivalent response is inappropriate. This creates a deep hunger in me for a more extensive and thoughtful palette of sounds in our Christian worship gatherings, and for shepherds who are about teaching us to listen, not just enabling talented parishioners to use their gifts!
I’ve been teaching my Art of Listening class the powerful music of the Romantic tradition, music that terrifies, that overwhelms with authoritative majesty, and then, oh blessed reprieve, the delicate music of France, tender enough to attend the miracle of birth, to strengthen the faint, and emit peace: we need it all! All of it reveals the full spectrum of God’s voice, and were it not for His image in us, we would not be able to create any of it. If it were not for my being a musician, I’m trying to think how I would know any of these sounds. They so rarely make it into church; some churches have never heard them. The very real risk of making music into “a god of our own making” is ever present, but to be without a full spectrum in our aural imaginations when it comes to hearing the voice of God, runs the terrible risk of producing desensitized Christians, ostensibly deaf: no more able to hear the still small voice than the thunder and lightening that breaks mighty cedars into matchsticks. I wish I could teach my Art of Listening class as a Sunday School class. There would be so much richness there.
“The voice of the LORD is over the waters;
the God of glory thunders, the LORD over many waters.
The voice of the LORD is powerful;
The voice of the LORD is full of majesty.
The voice of the LORD breaks the cedars;
The LORD breaks the cedars of Lebanon…
The voice of the LORD flashes forth flames of fire.
The voice of the LORD shakes the wilderness…
The voice of the LORD makes the deer give birth.
He strips the forest bare, and in his temple all cry, “Glory!”
…May the LORD give strength to His people.
May the LORD bless his people with peace.”
I wonder if David was thinking about Mt. Sinai when he wrote that Psalm. Exodus 24 tells us God spoke with Moses, and that Moses wrote down all the words of the LORD. Not only that, but he read them aloud: “He took the Book of the Covenant and read it in the hearing of the people. And they said, “All that the LORD has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient.” And then Moses sprinkled them with the blood of the covenant. All this seems a profound shadow of the Word that would be made flesh. And then Moses went up the mountain, and Psalm 29 describes what the people heard, quaked at, and felt “Glory” in terrified awe rushing to their lips.
I almost wish I didn’t know how quickly they forgot, how quickly they worshiped a god of their own making. I do know, I know from experience.
We who are washed in the blood of the New Covenant would do well to remember these sounds and their fearful response. The Word made flesh is not a lesser manifestation of the Glory but a greater, and a nonchalant or ambivalent response is inappropriate. This creates a deep hunger in me for a more extensive and thoughtful palette of sounds in our Christian worship gatherings, and for shepherds who are about teaching us to listen, not just enabling talented parishioners to use their gifts!
I’ve been teaching my Art of Listening class the powerful music of the Romantic tradition, music that terrifies, that overwhelms with authoritative majesty, and then, oh blessed reprieve, the delicate music of France, tender enough to attend the miracle of birth, to strengthen the faint, and emit peace: we need it all! All of it reveals the full spectrum of God’s voice, and were it not for His image in us, we would not be able to create any of it. If it were not for my being a musician, I’m trying to think how I would know any of these sounds. They so rarely make it into church; some churches have never heard them. The very real risk of making music into “a god of our own making” is ever present, but to be without a full spectrum in our aural imaginations when it comes to hearing the voice of God, runs the terrible risk of producing desensitized Christians, ostensibly deaf: no more able to hear the still small voice than the thunder and lightening that breaks mighty cedars into matchsticks. I wish I could teach my Art of Listening class as a Sunday School class. There would be so much richness there.
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