9th Sunday after Pentecost – Year C
Luke 1:1-11
“Teach us to Pray”
This past Thursday, I needed to travel to Atlanta to meet the newly appointed campus pastor at GA Tech. The cut-backs in campus ministry budget have reduced the church-wide staff from eight down to two and one half. Duties once taken on by these folks have been passed to local staff – like me. So on Thursday, I traveled to Atlanta to meet the new staff person who will be heading up our work at Tech, GA State, and Agnes Scott.
I was very impressed, and pleased, and am confident that in a few years he will build a strong program and be the one visiting me, to share insights. But for now, I am clearly the senior, and no matter how hard I tried to tell him that I was there to lay the foundation for a long and supportive collegial relationship, there remained strong overtones of “authority come to town.”
I had anticipated some of this. So I had built in a safety valve. Since I was going to be in Atlanta anyway, and since Kat’s Father’s Day gift to me were a couple of tickets to see the Braves, I called Ben Edge to see if he might want to sit patiently and wait for me to finish the meeting, then go with me to the game. He did. The Braves won. And I had the perfect antidote to a morning filled with cautioned conversation. Whereas I needed to think about each comment to be made to my new colleague, with an ole friend I could speak freely and comfortably. (Sorry, did that sound like I called Ben “old?” I didn’t mean to. I meant to refer to a friend with whom enough time and interaction had been shared as to allow one to feel at home and at ease.)
Communications experts teach us that interactions between such individuals are honest, mutually enhancing, and productive. We all seek such interactions. But getting there isn’t as easy as taking a course on communications; it comes as a result of the work done in building up the relationship. It unfolds when we have become comfortable and at ease with our conversation partner.
This is the approach taken to interpreting today’s Gospel lesson in an article recently published by Pastor Peter Marty. His writing helped me to realize that for most of my twenty-seven years of preaching, I have looked at Luke 11:1-11 and tried to explain how Jesus’ prayer, the one he taught the disciples to pray, is good instruction. Drawing on the works of Martin Luther, I would expose the nuances of Jesus’ prayer, explaining the depth and insight of each petition. I won’t insist that the position taken in this recent article is the only legitimate sermon to be preached, but I do have to say that he made a believer out of me. It may just be the case that when the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, they weren’t looking for the correct words to speak, so much as begging him to help them transform their words to God from the guarded, cautious words of a newbie into the deep, honest expression of a well established and mutually appreciated relationship.
“Lord, teach us to pray.” Is the request the disciples make of Jesus. They had observed his prayer life; they had seen the ease with which he spoke to God and listened for God. This ease of interaction is what they were seeking; this is what they wanted. The limitations of language leave open the potential for misunderstanding. And, particularly for those who struggle with prayer, it is tempting to seek words or technique which might overcome a lack of intimacy. But learning to pray begins with learning to be at ease with the One whom we are addressing.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
Let me acknowledge how difficult it is to talk, honestly, about this topic. What caught my eye about the article from Pastor Marty was his honesty in acknowledging his own struggles with prayer. Doing so is tough. It is revealing. It can be disastrous. I remember on internship being one of only two pastors present for a study of the upcoming Sunday’s texts. With an honesty that impressed me, my colleague talked about prayer, concluding with “If the people in my parish knew how much I struggled with this it would be all over.”
Early on, my spiritual director helped to realize that one’s prayer life is deeply intimate and not something that we easily talk about. The only things less likely to be discussed with members of the congregation are their finances. My experiences in ministry have bore this out. I have lots of pastoral conversations about concepts and ideas; fewer about prayer life or spiritual direction.
It is tough to talk about how we talk to God.
Now, if one is looking for a model, of what to say to God, then Luke 11 is your answer. There is a reason why we repeat this prayer every Sunday, and at most of the Church’s other gatherings. It captures well what it is that needs to be included in the content of our prayers. At some point, in the not so distant future, every one of us should review Martin Luther’s Small Catechism for support of this prayer as a form to be followed. Each petition is ripe with content.
But all of that content starts with the simplest of reminders that whenever we speak to God, we speak to one who loves us more than we could ever love back. Jesus instructs his disciples that all communication between us and God should be framed with an understanding that the exchange is between a loving parent and a devoted child. “When you pray, (begin your prayer by acknowledging God as) Father.”
Let me throw in an acknowledgment that not all father-child, or for that matter parent-child, relationships are as they should be. A group of us have been meeting on Sunday mornings to discuss Young’s novel The Shack. In that book, God appears to the main character as a woman. We are told, in the novel, that God does this as a way of avoiding the hurt and harm associated with the main character’s relationship with his biological father. Not all relationships with “fathers” or “mothers,” has been ideal. But, never-the-less, we ought to be able to understand the form such relationships ought to take. When lived out as God would hope, these relationships are the prime place where we experience unconditional love.
Jesus tells his disciples to approach God with such expectations. Jesus tells us to begin our prayer to God with the address used to talk to a loving parent. All the content in the world; everything that could possibly follow is eclipsed with the simple acknowledgment that our talk with God is not of the forced and strained variety, but rather the casual and comfortable exchanges which take place between persons who are deeply appreciative of each others person and their presence.
“When you pray, say: Father.”
You aren’t trying to talk God out of something that God doesn’t want you to have. You are not trying to hide from God all the things that God already knows. You are speaking with the one person in the whole of the cosmos who most wants you to be happy, and healthy, and whole. This is what parents do for us. This is why their blessing and their support is so important. And, when parenting wasn’t done in this way, why the children in such households have such difficulties throughout the rest of their lives. (There are other reasons why children can have extreme difficulties. No parent, no matter how loving can avoid them all. But when the children don’t have this unquestioned love, their battle is even more of an uphill struggle.)
“When you pray, say: Father.”
Prayer will (probably) always be difficult. It isn’t easy. It exposes us. And we have been taught, carefully taught, not to ever seem vulnerable or weak. Prayer is one of those topics we find it embarrassing to address. And seldom do we find ourselves in a relationship where we are comfortable sharing the details. God knows this; Jesus knew it. And while he may have wanted to be as helpful to his disciples as John was to those who followed him, Jesus realized that neither technique nor formula would enable his followers to overcome the obstacles. The only reason they would want to spend time talking and listen was if they first came to understand the relationship God is inviting them to enter.
“When you pray, say: Father.” And if you can’t think of anything more to say, you may have said enough.
Amen.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sermon - July 11, 2010
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost - Year C
Luke 10:25-37
Guilt or Grateful
In the retelling of any story, things differ greatly depending upon the character with whom we identify. Typically, we refer to this reading from Luke 10 as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It could just as easily be called the parable of the man who fell among robbers; or the parable of the preoccupied Priest; or the ritualistically pure Levite. In naming the story, we might be suggesting with whom it is that we want others to identify.
The “good Samaritan” is the one to whom the Church most often points. He becomes the model of Christian goodness and compassion. He is the model of what it means to care for others. He is the neighbor, assured of eternal life. Telling the story, with him as the focal point, makes it easy for a preacher to wrap things up neatly by saying, “Go and do likewise.”
And, we should – go and do likewise. We need to set aside our own agendas, fears, and apprehension long enough to be concerned about the other. It is important that we ask and do the thing which preserves life. If some story about an outcast doing the right thing can guilt us into do it too, so be it.
But I do wonder if guilt is the only, or even best, motivator. What happens if we see the story from the perspective of the man who is beaten? How do we experience the story when we identify not with the persons who have a choice of whether or not they will respond, but when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, dying.
With a little encouragement, I think we might be able to see the similarities between that poor, bloody individual and ourselves.
This man falls victim to the evil plot of others. He does nothing to deserve what happens to him. He is going down to Jericho, from Jerusalem. He falls, Jesus tells us, into the hands of robbers. Maybe he could have been more street smart; maybe he should have been packing a weapon; maybe he should have recognized the trap before it is sprung and made a McGuiver style escape. Maybe. But Jesus says that he “fell” into the hands of robbers - a phrase which could allow us to understand that he was not deserving of what happen, he is merely its victim. He didn’t deserve what happens to him.
Among us, there are those who do deserve what they get – there are some. But many more – most in fact – don’t. Evil happens. Bad things occur. And while some will find elaborate ways to construct a theory of just retribution, seldom do such attempts at logic hold water. I thought of Bob Bock, whose care-taking of Ruth was cut short by the mysterious sequence of events which took his life. Or what of Judy Morrison and her continuing problems with the leg; cared for by Roger, still recovering from his own heart surgery. Marylyn Thompson, whose fall caused so many problems, first it was the bruise to the head, then the constant pain from injuries to her lower back. It would be inconsiderate of me to name the examples of emotional distress or chemical addition – shared with me in pastoral care conversations – but you are aware of these and understand how dark it can be and you know that such suffering is surely undeserved.
We are the man who fell among robbers. We are the one who lies in the ditch, hoping someone will notice us and take pity on us.
This is the interpretation of the story favored by Augustine and Martin Luther. In re-telling this parable, Luther identified the Good Samaritan with Jesus and assigned the other roles accordingly. With such an interpretation, those in the ditch can take heart. There is hope; there is reason to believe that we will be noticed. Christ has seen us and will come to us, bind up our wounds, and provide for our care.
As undeservedly as is the calamity which befell us, so also is there no reason to take credit for the rescue which follows. The man does nothing to deserve it. It simply comes his way. The good Samaritan (Jesus) finds us.
I think this may be a helpful way to understand the story. The lengths to which we will go in order to preserve the notion of things happening for a reason and as a result of what one deserves also come into play when we move into discussions of those who receive aid. All too often we continue the mistaken notion that those who receive assistance did something or do something which makes them rise to the top. The parable of Luke 10 instructs us that this simply is not the case.
If receiving mercy depends upon doing the right thing then it would have been the priest or the Levite who would have responded to this man. A parable is short, by design, and many details are left to one’s imagination. The assumption is safe that the man who fell among robbers is himself a member of the Temple, of the people of Yahweh. He may have been known, in his pre-victim existence, by the Priest or the Levite. Jesus dispels the notion that we are wounded because we deserve it and he breaks the impression that we are aided because we deserve it by making the one who reaches out to the man a lowly, despised Samaritan.
Samaritans were half-breeds. Despised by the Jews, they were considered unclean and unworthy of entering the Temple. There is at least the possibility that the man who lies in the ditch shared the racist attitudes of Jesus’ hearers – that he might have also recoiled at the notion of being touched by someone who is an infidel.
And yet, this is the man who comes to his aid. This is the messenger of God who does the right thing.
Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, all our prejudices are open for re-evaluation. Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, we cannot afford to hold on to the mistaken notion that everyone gets what they deserve. Lying there, we understand what grace is all about.
God comes to us; God sends his messengers to us without merit or action on our part. God reaches out to us and cares for us, regardless of our ability to reach out to Him.
For most of our lives, we are like the Priest or the Levite – we are the ones capable of deciding what course of action will be taken. But isn’t it comforting to know that when things are beyond our control and we become the helpless victim lying in the ditch that God’s grace is there in plentiful supply.
Amen.
Luke 10:25-37
Guilt or Grateful
In the retelling of any story, things differ greatly depending upon the character with whom we identify. Typically, we refer to this reading from Luke 10 as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It could just as easily be called the parable of the man who fell among robbers; or the parable of the preoccupied Priest; or the ritualistically pure Levite. In naming the story, we might be suggesting with whom it is that we want others to identify.
The “good Samaritan” is the one to whom the Church most often points. He becomes the model of Christian goodness and compassion. He is the model of what it means to care for others. He is the neighbor, assured of eternal life. Telling the story, with him as the focal point, makes it easy for a preacher to wrap things up neatly by saying, “Go and do likewise.”
And, we should – go and do likewise. We need to set aside our own agendas, fears, and apprehension long enough to be concerned about the other. It is important that we ask and do the thing which preserves life. If some story about an outcast doing the right thing can guilt us into do it too, so be it.
But I do wonder if guilt is the only, or even best, motivator. What happens if we see the story from the perspective of the man who is beaten? How do we experience the story when we identify not with the persons who have a choice of whether or not they will respond, but when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, dying.
With a little encouragement, I think we might be able to see the similarities between that poor, bloody individual and ourselves.
This man falls victim to the evil plot of others. He does nothing to deserve what happens to him. He is going down to Jericho, from Jerusalem. He falls, Jesus tells us, into the hands of robbers. Maybe he could have been more street smart; maybe he should have been packing a weapon; maybe he should have recognized the trap before it is sprung and made a McGuiver style escape. Maybe. But Jesus says that he “fell” into the hands of robbers - a phrase which could allow us to understand that he was not deserving of what happen, he is merely its victim. He didn’t deserve what happens to him.
Among us, there are those who do deserve what they get – there are some. But many more – most in fact – don’t. Evil happens. Bad things occur. And while some will find elaborate ways to construct a theory of just retribution, seldom do such attempts at logic hold water. I thought of Bob Bock, whose care-taking of Ruth was cut short by the mysterious sequence of events which took his life. Or what of Judy Morrison and her continuing problems with the leg; cared for by Roger, still recovering from his own heart surgery. Marylyn Thompson, whose fall caused so many problems, first it was the bruise to the head, then the constant pain from injuries to her lower back. It would be inconsiderate of me to name the examples of emotional distress or chemical addition – shared with me in pastoral care conversations – but you are aware of these and understand how dark it can be and you know that such suffering is surely undeserved.
We are the man who fell among robbers. We are the one who lies in the ditch, hoping someone will notice us and take pity on us.
This is the interpretation of the story favored by Augustine and Martin Luther. In re-telling this parable, Luther identified the Good Samaritan with Jesus and assigned the other roles accordingly. With such an interpretation, those in the ditch can take heart. There is hope; there is reason to believe that we will be noticed. Christ has seen us and will come to us, bind up our wounds, and provide for our care.
As undeservedly as is the calamity which befell us, so also is there no reason to take credit for the rescue which follows. The man does nothing to deserve it. It simply comes his way. The good Samaritan (Jesus) finds us.
I think this may be a helpful way to understand the story. The lengths to which we will go in order to preserve the notion of things happening for a reason and as a result of what one deserves also come into play when we move into discussions of those who receive aid. All too often we continue the mistaken notion that those who receive assistance did something or do something which makes them rise to the top. The parable of Luke 10 instructs us that this simply is not the case.
If receiving mercy depends upon doing the right thing then it would have been the priest or the Levite who would have responded to this man. A parable is short, by design, and many details are left to one’s imagination. The assumption is safe that the man who fell among robbers is himself a member of the Temple, of the people of Yahweh. He may have been known, in his pre-victim existence, by the Priest or the Levite. Jesus dispels the notion that we are wounded because we deserve it and he breaks the impression that we are aided because we deserve it by making the one who reaches out to the man a lowly, despised Samaritan.
Samaritans were half-breeds. Despised by the Jews, they were considered unclean and unworthy of entering the Temple. There is at least the possibility that the man who lies in the ditch shared the racist attitudes of Jesus’ hearers – that he might have also recoiled at the notion of being touched by someone who is an infidel.
And yet, this is the man who comes to his aid. This is the messenger of God who does the right thing.
Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, all our prejudices are open for re-evaluation. Lying in the ditch, bleeding to death, we cannot afford to hold on to the mistaken notion that everyone gets what they deserve. Lying there, we understand what grace is all about.
God comes to us; God sends his messengers to us without merit or action on our part. God reaches out to us and cares for us, regardless of our ability to reach out to Him.
For most of our lives, we are like the Priest or the Levite – we are the ones capable of deciding what course of action will be taken. But isn’t it comforting to know that when things are beyond our control and we become the helpless victim lying in the ditch that God’s grace is there in plentiful supply.
Amen.
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