Sunday morning musings

If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

This line from Galatians 5 jumped out at me this morning as I listened to the lessons being read.  Biting and devouring isn't usual Sunday fare, thanks be to God, but I wonder if it was usual Sunday - and maybe even daily - fare for the new Christians in Galatia.  It's such colorful language for sniping and fighting!

I suspect I bite and devour sometimes even though I feel like I bend over backwards doing just the opposite.  When others begin to do so, I try to ease the tensions or simply walk away rather than get involved. 

But there are times when we have to stay and fight.  It seems to me the various parts of the Anglican Communion have been biting and devouring lately - or should I say once again or still.  A part of me wants to jump into the fray and do a little biting myself.  Part of me wants to walk very far away, even out of the relationship.  But that feels like I am letting the biting and devouring consume me.

If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

Take care that you are not consumed by one another, says Paul.  It sounds to me like we have permission to disagree even to the point of taking chunks out of each other but that we are never to go for the knockout punch.  Hmmm....  I would love to know what Paul was talking about, wouldn't you?  Is he saying, "If you are going to argue, don't walk away mad" or "If you are going to fight, don't draw blood?"  It's hard to know, isn't it.

But it refreshing to see that Paul doesn't seem to be saying that we should make nice just for the sake of keeping the peace.  We shouldn't paste that plastic smile on our faces and pretend everything is fine.  Somehow we are meant to engage each other about our differences.  It ought to be a loving disagreement with each of us listening to the other and thinking about how best to respond without saying "well, that's just stupid," no matter how obliquely we try to do that.

So I guess biting and devouring are not generally appropriate behavior amongst the greater family but Paul is realistic enough to know we will still try it on once in a while.  'When you do," he seems to be saying, "take care not to cause the other  - and hence, ourselves - irreparable damage.  Always leave the discussion with the door still open and all the bodies intact.

(Image from winning-smiles.co.uk)

what are you doing here?

Elijah led an amazing life.  He is fed by ravens and widows, raises a child from the dead and then takes on Jezebel and her prophets/priests of Baal.  While Eliijah was living with the widow, King Ahab had been looking for him everywhere and is quite pleased to find him.  At last he has a chance to get rid of this annoying prophet.

But Elijah tells Ahab to gather all of Israel together at Mt. Carmel and "bring 450 priests of Baal with you."  I guess the mix is enough to make Ahab curious.  In any case, he does not take this opportunity to get rid of Elijah but does what he asks instead.

And so the famous contest takes place.  One prophet of God versus 450 of Baal's.  Two bulls cut into pieces and placed on a stack of dry wood were the weapons of choic.  The person or group who can get their god to light the fire wins.  Elijah is ever gracious, offering to let his adversaries pick the bull and go first.  So the prophets of Baal picked a bull, prepared it for sacrifice and then began chanting to their God.  O Baal, here us!  All day long they prayed and prayed, shouting out to their god and calling his name over and over again.  But nothing happened even though they continually walked around and around the offering.

Then it was Elijah's turn. First he gathered twelve stones and repaired the altar of the Lord that had once stood there.  Then he dug a trench around the altar, laid the wood in a particular order, placed the pieces of the bull on top and told the Israelites to pour lots of water on top.  And then he prayed.  Not all day but really for only a few minutes.  The Lord answered his prayer and lit the fire, consumed all of the sacrifice and even the water in the trench.  The Israelites seized the prophets of Baal and Elijah killed them all.

To top it off, the drought ended and it began to rain.

After a triumph like that, you would think Elijah would find a comfy chair, a skin of good wine and some great barbeque and relax.  But instead, he chases the king back to Jezreel.  Ahab tells his wife all that had happened - he was a real whiner - and she sends a message to Elijah telling him he is in for it now.  She swears that she will have him killed by the end of the day.

Even thought Ahab has just been incredibly vindicated by the Lord, proving to one and all that the Lord is great and mighty, he hears the message and heads for the hills.  He runs from the northern part of the kingdom to the very southern end.  There he sees a lovely tree in the barren wilderness and lies down to sleep.

Can you hear the Lord sighing as Elijah runs away? 

Despite all the times God has acted on Elijah's behalf, keeping him safe from famine and from Jezebal, Elijah is so elated by "his" triumph at Carmel that he is vulnerable to threats and criticism.  Isn't that what happens to us when we are on an incredible high, having just accomplished a goal or done something we thought was beyond our ability?  We are so happy that it takes almost nothing - an unkind word, a smirk or sneer - to pop our balloon and send us crashing to earth.  This is how Elijah feels.

So the Lord sends an angel to feed Elijah and prepare him for an even longer journey deeper into the wilderness.  The Lord sends him to the very mountain upon which Moses and God used to talk.  You would think just being there, remembering the stories of Moses being in God's presence would be enough to turn Elijah around, to remind him whose prophet he is.

But once Elijah arrives, the Lord speaks to him and says, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" and Elijah whines almost as much as Ahab.  "I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts.  For the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars and killed your prophets with the sword.  I alone am left and they are seeking my life, to take it away."

So God, hearing the despair in Elijah's whining, tells Elijah to go out on the mountain and the Lord will pass by.  The Lord was not in the wind, the earthquake or the fire.  No, the Lord was in the stillness.  Sheer silence, a space absolutely devoid of sound or movement.  And Elijah recognizes God there and hides his face.

Again God asks the question.  "What are you doing here, Elijah?"  Now you would think that Elijah, having experienced the Lord firsthand, would have a new answer.  Even "I don't know" would have been better than his last answer to the question.  But, no, he repeats what he has already said.  Again, I hear God sighing, wondering what else can be done to turn Elijah around.

The Lord tells Elijah to go home by way of Damascus. God doesn't promise that all will be well, that nothing bad will happen to Elijah.  There are no rainbows in the sky or pillars of cloud and fire.  God just tells him to go home.  "And on your way, annoint Hazael king in Damascus and Jehu king in Israel.  Also anoint Elisha as a prophet." 

Just as Moses needed the seventy elders to help him, so Elijah needs help.  He can't do it alone - although the stories we have make it sound like he was doing a pretty good job.

When we lose trust in our faith in God, how do we answer God's question. "What are you doing here?"  Sometimes it is not so much a matter of losing trust as it is taking matters into our own hands and making a real hash of things.  "What are you doing here?" I think God asks us this question a lot.  How about times when we agree to do something because we know someone has to do it?  We aren't the right person for the job but we know it has to be done.  "What are you doing here?"  Are we brave enough to honestly admit we don't really know what we are doing or do we stick with the same old excuses.  "Well, someone had to do it, God.  You didn't seem to be helping much so I struck out on my own.  I like to take charge and there seemed to be a leadership void I could easily fill."

The man with a legion of demons must have felt as high as Elijah after Jesus sends the demons out of him and into the pigs.  But then he sees the fear in his kin and his former neighbors and he begs Jesus to take him with him.  The fear has pricked his balloon of triumph and he loses trust in the one who just made him well.

But Jesus doesn't make it easy for him.  He tells him to go home, and proclaim what God has done for him.  That couldn't have been easy to do.  No one wanted to be reminded of this event.  They have asked Jesus to leave and the healed man's presence won't really let that happen.  He knew what he was doing there.

What are we doing here?  Are we doing what the Lord has called us together to do or are we content to have everything stay the same.  Are we running away, sleeping under a lovely tree or allowing our demons to tear us apart?  Can we set aside wind, earthquake and fire long enough to hear God in the sheer silence?

I suspect that the truth is we could probably answer yes to all of those questions.  We do do the work of the Lord but we are content to remain the same, not listening for other new ways God is calling us to work.  There are times when we run away, just want to get away from it all and even times when the pressures, stresses and anxieties tear us apart.  And for many of us, finding that silence is what keeps us on the right track.

What are we doing here is a good question to ask ourselves.  Maybe not every day but often enough that we seriously consider whether we are walking with God, sitting on the sidelines or have decided to take over and run our own show.  Whatever the answer to God's question, we need to answer it honestly and be prepared for God's response.  It might not be what we want to hear.  It is likely to challenge us and may even be a little scary.

But just as God is present to ask the question, God is present to help us live into the answer.  As the psalmist says more than once, "Put your trust in God." 

Adoption and the Holy Spirit

Before we could tell my in-laws that we were applying to adopt a child, my husband's grandmother remarked how sad it was that his cousin had to raise someone else's children rather than being able to have her own.  As you can imagine, I had hysterics.
Many friends would say something like, "don't worry; once you adopt, you'll probably get pregnant right away."  And a dear family friend often said about her adopted daughter, "we love her as if she were our own."

Now I knew that adoption was the right thing for us to do.  Both of us came to that decision through prayer.  But I worried about how we would bond with a child that we hadn't given birth to, particularly since we were not expecting to adopt an infant.  Then my sister Beverly told me that giving birth to Michelle and seeing and holding Michelle for the first time were completely unrelated events.  As soon as the nurse said, "here's your baby" and put her in Bev's arms, that is exactly who she was.  And is. 

The first time we met Heather, we knew she was ours.  It didn't matter that we hadn't made her, that I hadn't carried her for nine months.  It didn't matter that she was three and not a tiny infant.  We took one look and became parents of an adorable blonde little girl.  Life before Heather was a distant memory in the blink of an eye. The same was true for Matt although the circumstances were much different.   My kids couldn't be more mine if I had birthed them.

It really doesn't matter when we come to know God for we are children of God NOT from the moment we set eyes on God but from the moment God sets eyes on us.  Jesus came to let everyone know that they were already children of God.  They just needed to turn to God, centering their life on the Lord rather than the marketplace, the pasture or the vinyard. 

Jesus knew we wouldn't always remember that, though.  So he sent the Advocate to be with us always.  What a wonderful word that is!  An advocate supports, advises and instructs, argues for us and maybe even with us when we stray from the way.  Advocates are active.  It is not a sedentary job but requires a lot of work.

When we think of the Holy Spirit, do we think of an active, relentless being working hard on our behalf all of the time?  Or do we think of a being who occasionally comes down to touch our lives with a little bit of flame?  The collect says that God "taught the hearts of your faithful people by sending to them the light of your Holy Spirit."  The flames that descended on the disciples didn't stop at the crowns of their heads.  They went straight to their hearts and continued to burn there long after that fateful morning.

When we are baptized, the prayers ask that we be filled with God's "holy and life-giving Spirit."  Not just on the occasion of the application of water and oil but for every moment of our lives.  Read the service of baptism and see how many times we invoke the Spirit.  It's a lot!  We are serious about the place of the Spirit/Advocate in our lives.  This is not a casual, on-off relationship; it is for life.  Whenever we feel alone or abandoned, remember that the Spirit is actively working on our behalf.

Follow me

All of his life, Peter had been a fisherman.  His father was probably a fisherman before him and raised Peter in the trade.  Peter would have raised his sons to follow in the family business as well.

But then one day, his brother Andrew came to him and announced "We have found the Messiah."  Peter - who was called Simon at that time - went with Andrew to where Jesus was.  It was Jesus who named him Peter and it was Jesus that Peter followed throughout the next three years.

Peter saw amazing things:  the miracle of the wine at Cana, the feeding of the 5000 with just a few loaves and fish, Jesus walking on the water, the raising of Lazarus.  Peter and the others heard Jesus teaching the crowds and sat at his feet for their own lessons.  And right before Jesus was crucified, Peter denied he knew him three times despite having proclaimed his love and steadfast loyalty only hours before.

Still, it was to Peter that Mary Magdalene ran with the news that she had seen the risen Lord and he and another disciple ran to see for themselves.  Peter was in the house when Jesus appeared to the disciples both times.  He heard Jesus say, "As the Father has sent me, so I send you."  Jesus breathed on all those in the house and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

But nothing seems to have changed for Peter or the others.  Rather than going out to proclaim the good news, these followers have gone back to the sea.  I imagine these men lounging around, hoping that Jesus will come visit them again.  When it doesn't happen, Peter announces that he's going back to work.  All the others decide to go, too.  So that night, they set out in the boat but they caught no fish.  That's the way it is in the fishing business.  One night there will be a good catch and another, there are no fish to be found.

In the morning, a man calls to them from the shore, asking them if they have caught anything.  When they shout back that it was not a good night for fishing, he tells them to cast the net out on the right side of the boat.  So many fish they couldn't haul the net into the boat!  And one of the men says, "It is the Lord!"  Peter immediately puts on his robe and jumps into the water. 

That's one of my favorite biblical moments.  I know Peter wouldn't be wearing Gucci loafers and an Armani cashmere sport coat but, still, it seems terribly strange to get dressed to go swimming.  Now Peter would have to sit around the fire hoping his clothes dried quickly.  And the weight of that wet robe must have slowed down his swim time considerably.

After breakfast on the beach, Jesus begins to question Peter.  "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?"  What does he mean, "more than these?"  Is Jesus asking if Peter loves him better than the other disciples love Jesus?  Is he asking if Peter loves him more than Peter loves the other disciples?  These possibilities don't seem likely given that Jesus didn't teach them to love one person more than another.  And Jesus never said he loved one of them more than the others.  If he is to be the example of love, then quantifying love can't be what he has in mind here.

It is more likely that Jesus is asking Peter whether he loves Jesus more than his life, his vocation, fishing.  Does Peter love Jesus so much that he is willing to give up that which shaped and defined him for all of his years before the last three?  Peter assures Jesus that he loves him and Jesus tells him to "feed my lambs."  Two times, then, Jesus asks "do you love me?"  And Peter assures him of his love, finally adding that Jesus knows everything so surely he knows of Peter's love for him.  Each time, Jesus tells him to tend or feed his sheep.  And finally he says to Peter, "Follow me."

Follow me.  If Peter looks back at the last few hours of life, he may realize what that means.  It does not mean business as usual Monday through Friday with weekend trips into the nearby towns to proclaim the good news.  It means proclaiming that good news all the time.  It means doing what Jesus did, loving and feeding the flock, bringing others into the fold and even dying in the proclamation of the Word.  Jesus didn't stay in one place for long and Peter is meant to leave home, too.  Jesus healed the sick and raised the dead and Jesus did not limit himself to citizens of Israel.  All of this, Peter is to do as well, going wherever the Spirit takes him, preaching and healing to whomever he encounters.  Loving Jesus, following Jesus will take all of his life.

Jesus says to us, "Follow me."  That is not something we fit into spare moments or section off a part of the week to take care of.  Being a follower of our Lord is a life-long commitment made for us, usually, at baptism and affirmed by us when the bishop lays hands on us at confirmation.  We need not to ask ourselves, "How will I fit Jesus into my life?" but rather ask "How will my life fit into my commitment to follow Jesus?"   When we begin each day praising God and giving thanks, we have our priorities straight.  When we wake up wondering how we are going to get everything done and beginning to make lists, we need to start over.

Fortunately, we are not the final judge of how well we answer Jesus' call to follow.  And the very good news is that Jesus will keep asking us, bringing us back to the fold when we stray too far away, reminding us who it is we love.  Every time we gather at his table, we are brought home - home to God's never failing love, home to the one who knows everything about us.

Maundy Thursday

I am officially tired of the Gospel of John.  It's not that the readings during Holy Week aren't wonderful ones but I'd like to hear from Luke tomorrow.  Ah well, that's not what we are mandated and, after all, it is Mandatum Thursday.

This I command you, to love one another.  We would be happier probably if this commandment had followed something other than the washing of the disciples' feet.  That is uncomfortable enough already without having it linked to loving.  We understand how giving our infants a bath is an act of love but we aren't so sure about how washing our teenagers' sneakered, sockless feet might be the same act of love.
And then there's all those other feet in church with us.  Sure we love each other but that doesn't mean we want to touch everyone's feet.  Jesus doesn't particularly care if we want to or not.

Jesus tells Peter that refusing to have his feet washed has no part of Jesus.  Jesus washes the feet of all twelve disciples, too.  He doesn't pass over Judas but treats him with the same love he has for all the others.  Jesus washes all the feet because he loves all of the disciples and he knows that in some way or another, all of them will let him down, even betray him, that night.

There are two great acts in the service on this night.  The first is the washing of feet, something we are all encouraged by our Lord to do.  It is a symbol for us of our servanthood and reminds us that humility is a good thing.  It also says to the one whose feet we wash, you are loved, loved by the one who first washed feet and loved by me.  As you wash someone's feet, think of all the people you love enough to do this for.  Then think of all the people who have betrayed you in one way or another and ask yourself if you could wash their feet.

The second is coming together to share in the Eucharist.  This is something we do all the time in the Episcopal Church.  It is the action that brings us close to our Lord as we honor his command to Do this.  It is also, for Christians, as holy as Passover is for our Jewish brothers and sisters.  It is a clear sign that God is with us, that God saves us from ourselves.  As you come to the table to take the bread and to drink the cup, look at those who are there with you.  Remember that Jesus came to earth for all of us, that there is no one at this table who is lesser or greater than the next.  We are all loved intensely by the God who created us, died for us and rose again that we might live.

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.  Whereever there is charity and love, God is there.  Footwashing and feasting, charity and love.  May they fill our hearts and spil over into our actions.

Whiplash Sunday

Palm Sunday is so odd!  Who needs two gospel readings in one service?  We are somehow supposed to begin the morning jubilant and excited.  "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!"  We are supposed to cast off our winter cloaks and lay them on Jesus' path, damping down the dust on the road and showing honor to this great teacher we have been listening to and following for some part of these last three years.

And then, just as we settle into the pews after singing All Glory Laud and Honor, we are confronted by the end of the week and are cast again as that same joyous multitude but this time, we are demanding Jesus' life!  Just like that we go from praise to spitting.  It's the kind of shift in thinking that gives me a crick in my neck and an ache above my eyebrows.  What's more, reading this story as we do 2,000 years after the event (give or take a few dozen years) gives us a warped sense of what happened.  Too bad the multitude of disciples didn't have Luke's manuscript handy at the start of the week so they could see and hear clearly.
You see, those folks understood the significance of the Mount of Olives, how the Messiah was supposed to come from there.  They likely thought the donkey a strange touch but some of them knew there is prophetic writing to back it up.  But they didn't have Luke's description of the scene like we do.  They were too busy being in that place, feeling the excitement and joy and looking forward to what was surely to come next - the victory of the Messiah over the Roman oppressors.

We, though, see the scene through Luke's eyes.  We feel the sense of the multitude that victory and triumph belong to Jesus even as we see the paradox of that victory in the image of this king riding on the young donkey, certainly not an animal fit for a king.  Try as we might, we cannot manage to be so caught up in the crowd's emotion that we miss that detail.  Luke makes it stand out for us.

And few who were there likely heard the Pharisees rebuke Jesus, demanding that he silence the people.  Would they have understood the reference to the stones crying out in Habakkuk?  There the stones cry out for injustice done against the peoples: war and violence, slave labor and degradation.  Here, Jesus is telling the Pharisees that the stones would cry with that same message for he has spent his entire ministry speaking for these same peoples - those marginalized by war, economics, greed and even religion.

Now on the other side of the city, another triumphal entry is occurring.  It is the season of the Passover when tempers run high in Jerusalem.  So Pilate, the Roman governor is coming into Jerusalem with his troops to make sure that the peace is kept throughout the festival.  His entry is far more regal with his servants and troops arrayed before and behind him.  No one dares get close enough to lay down a cloak or palm branch here.  Pilate himself likely rides in on a fine horse or in a gilded chariot driven by a personal slave.  Yes, Pilate is coming to bring peace, too, peace to the territory of Judea and especially the city of Jerusalem, the peace of submission to a mightier nation. 
 
Yet the multitude knowing what is happening on the other side of the city, still shouts out, "Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven.!" They, too, expect peace, the peace of the kingdom of God brought about by the reign of Christ.

But again, we cannot really share their enthusiasm.  It seems naive to us who watch the drama year after year from such a great distance, a distance of more than time.  We know what will happen when these two great figures meet.  There is nothing peaceful in the encounter.  It is painful, confusing and maybe even a little embarrasing.  When you hear the Passion, have you ever felt like someone sitting in the stands saying, "Come on Jesus, you can turn this around.  You've got the power and the words to change their minds and make them see the light.  Just do it!"  You know who is going to win and you know it looks like you are backing the loser.  This time, we hope the story will end differently, that the orchestra will break into Beethoven's Ode to Joy and Jesus and Pilate will clasp hands in solidarity and stride off for a festival banquet.
God doesn't do peace like that.  "The peace of God," says the hymn, "it is no peace  but strife closed in the sod.  Yet let us pray for but one thing, the marvelous peace of God."

The multitude of disciples is all gone now.  They have wandered away all week long as the peace they longed for seems less and less likely to occur.  Enough of them stayed long enough to be turned against Jesus and to demand his death.  The last eleven have put great distance between themselves and Calvary by the time Jesus is nailed on the cross, fearing for their own lives.  No one wants to be crucified, after all. 

Even Pilate doesn't get the peace he expected to bring to this city.  The Jewish leaders have dragged him into this interreligious warfare despite his best attempts to stay out of it.  And those leaders of faith and Temple get no peace, either.

We don't feel peace, either, do we?  This is one of those times when the grace of God, the peace of God, the love of God seem to have withdrawn from us.  For we know that we are the multitude of disciples.  We get caught up in the excitement and joy and sometimes we are convinced to turn away.  We are uncomfortable playing the part of that multitude when they cry, "Crucify him!" because we know we have done so and will probably do so again even though we try hard not to. 

But, my brothers and sisters, do not fear.  The love, the peace and the grace of God surround us now just as the disciples were surrounded.  Whether we find ourselves bold enough to stand at the foot of the cross or too afraid to come very close at all, God is standing with us.

God is with us all this week as we hear the stories of that first Holy Week.  Let us allow ourselves to feel that presence, to share God's pain and sorrow just as God shares ours.

Figs, Sins and Mercy

The crowd around Jesus is large, a multitude of thousands according to Luke, so many that they are stepping on each other in an attempt to get closer. The chapter before our reading today is one familiar teaching after another about possessions and anxiety and the coming of the kingdom of God. But they keep peppering Jesus with questions and it is clear that they do not understand him.




In frustration, Jesus cries out that if they are able to tell the weather from the clouds and the winds, why can’t they interpret the present time.

It is in the midst of that conversation that someone mentions the Galileans who were slaughtered by Pilate’s forces while they made their sacrifices in the Temple. It would seem that they are telling Jesus they certainly can interpret the time. We just don’t know exactly what their interpretation is. Are they saying that the Romans are getting bolder, that it is no longer safe even in the Temple, that now more than ever they need a King David-like messiah who will rid them of the oppressors?



Or are they saying that the fate of these Galileans is proof of the fact that they were not righteous ones making sacrifice but sinners who got what was coming to them. Perhaps they believe that God strikes down sinners who dare enter the Temple!



Whatever they meant, Jesus immediately turns the talk to sin, repentance and, yes, judgment. “Do you honestly think these Galileans were more sinful than all the others? Do you think the eighteen people killed when the tower fell were the only sinners in Jerusalem? No, I tell you, what happened to them had nothing to do with their sins.”



And that’s where everyone there probably began breathing a sigh of relief. Except that Jesus hadn’t gotten to the period of his sentence. “No; but unless you repent you will perish as they did.”



What? Does this mean this multitude needs to go home and lock themselves in their houses so that nothing can fall on them and Pilate can’t get to them? Didn’t Jesus understand that they were merely pointing out they could interpret the time? Is he telling them that they are not righteous, that God’s judgment could fall on them, too? You can begin to understand why some of these same people will turn against Jesus, can’t you? He is intent on poking them with a sharp stick.



And then he tells the parable of the fig tree. Fig trees have often been used by the prophets to represent Israel. The man in the parable probably lives in town, an absentee landlord. Note that he “has” the tree planted and it is to his vinedresser, a servant, that he is talking. All the man wants is the fruit. And when there is none, he decides that the tree should be cut down.



Now any gardener will tell you this is reasonable. Figs use up a lot of nutrients in the soil, nutrients that the grapes would be getting otherwise. And their sole purpose is to produce figs. If they don’t, then taking the tree out makes sense.



But the vinedresser asks for more time, for mercy on this tree. He will take better care of it, loosen the soil and fertilize it with manure to give it more nutrients. “Just give it this one more year, sir, and let’s see what happens.”



We are not told what happens to the tree. The disciples don’t ask for an interpretation of the parable. Maybe they understand this one. So why do we - I - have a hard time with it?



The first part of the reading makes good sense to me. I don’t for a minute think that bad things happen because God is striking us down for our sins or even the sins of our ancestors. That was the common belief at the time and it is still widely believed today. If it weren’t, then Pat Robertson’s statement that the earthquake in Haiti was God’s judgment wouldn’t have made the news, would it? When bad things happen to our dear friends, we don’t always know what to think. Well, Jesus makes it clear that we can stop thinking those things happened because of a person’s sins. Bad things often happen to us when we sin but God doesn’t cause us to become terminally ill or be hit by a drunk driver. Rather we live in the consequences of our own bad decisions, something which can be pretty hellish.



I do believe that Jesus is telling the multitude and us that we may well die without having made our sins right. If the only time we confess is here on Sunday, thinking that will take care of repentance for another week, we are sadly mistaken. There is a prayer in The Great Litany that asks the Lord to deliver us from dying suddenly and unprepared. Just like those who went to make their offerings in the Temple and found themselves the victims of state oppression. Or those who happened to be walking down the wrong street at the wrong time. Confession, repentance and reconciliation are daily activities. We don’t store our sins up all week long and get rid of them all at once. Some might take years but that just means we need to work on them for as long as it takes.



But the parable reminds me that even though the wrath of God doesn’t manifest itself in cancer or car accidents, the wrath of God still exists. Judgment Day will happen for all of us. An author I read this week said she imagines it will be like standing under a glaring spotlight and being bombarded by all the pains she has caused others, pains she meant to inflict and pain she didn’t know she had. For me, it has always been like the parable of the wheat and the weeds that grow up together, are harvested and then separated with the weeds being burned up.



I believe we will stand face to face with the Lord and be judged. I believe we can know a little of what that will be like every day when we sit down with God and talk about what we’ve done and what we haven’t done, about how we have hurt or been hurt and what we need to do about that.



But before we go thinking that we need to live our lives in fear and trembling waiting for the ax to be put to our roots, we need to remember the end of that parable. It’s about mercy and it says that even in judgment there is mercy. They come together as part of a whole. We all want mercy, rely on mercy when we go wrong, pray for mercy at least every Sunday - Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.



So I believe that, in some odd way, judgment is something we ought to look forward to. It won’t be painless but we will come away truly cleansed of all our wrongdoings, perhaps truly recognizing God’s love and mercy for the first time, so that we may increase in knowledge and love of the Lord and go from strength to strength in the life of perfect service in God’s heavenly kingdom.