Listening to See Jesus

“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you. One of my contacts is stuck to my eyelid.”

I knew how ridiculous that sounded before the words were out of my mouth. There seems to be no obvious relation between wearing corrective lenses and ability to hear. But, if you have ever worn contacts and struggled with a lens that will not stay in place or irritates your eye in some way, you probably understand that statement perfectly. It’s like all the other senses focus on whatever discomfort the contact lens creates, trying to help the eyes feel better. Perhaps your taste sensation is not as strong because taste buds are racing to the eyes to offer support or comfort. Could be that your sense of touch is less acute because all your feeling sensations or directed towards that eye irritant. Or, as in my case, maybe you just cannot hear as well as normal, because your sense of hearing is screaming at you to make the discomfort in your eye go away.

We often think of the Transfiguration of Jesus as an issue of sight. Jesus changes before the eyes of Peter, James, and John. His clothes become blinding white. He is seen talking to Moses and Elijah. Peter wants to build structures to commemorate what they have seen. But, as Mark tells the story, the real climax is a voice that speaks to the disciples, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” (Mark 9:8)

Chapters 8, 9, and 10 in Mark’s gospel contain three passion predictions; once in each chapter, Jesus predicts his suffering and death. Each prediction is followed by a story of the disciples misunderstanding what Jesus is trying to teach them. It’s like the disciples’ sense of hearing is distorted, as if they are too distracted to hear what Jesus is really saying.

The three passion predictions are surrounded by two stories of Jesus curing blindness (8:22-26 and 10:46-52). In the middle of these healing stories is the Transfiguration scene (9:1-8). Maybe Mark is warning us that our vision of Jesus gets distorted when our hearing is not functioning properly. Listen to Jesus, and you may see something more amazing than what Peter, James, and John saw on that mountain. Listen to Jesus, and you will see who he truly is.


Who Are These People? (On Seeing the Saints and Revelation 7:9-17)

Today is All Saints Day. One of the scripture readings assigned for the day is Revelation 7:9-17. At this point in the story of Revelation, John sees a vision of worship around God’s throne. There are angels, elders, creatures, and a great throng of people surrounding and singing praise to God. One of the elders turns to John and asks, “Who are these people?”

John responds, “You know.” I take that to be John’s way of saying, “I have no idea. That’s the very thing I was wondering, ‘who are these people?'”

John has already told us a few things about these people. He describes them as a great crowd. They come from everywhere and speak every language. They are dressed in white robes and stand before the throne singing a song of praise to God.

But why these people? Why are they here at God’s throne singing praise? Why are they dressed in white robes? What makes them so special?

The elder then answeres his own question, “These are people who have come out of the great hardship (or ordeal, or tribulation; depending on which translation you are reading.)” The word variously translated as ordeal, hardship, tribulation, etc., is the same word that John uses to describe his own condition in chapter 1 of Revelation.

You may remember that as the book opens up, John is in exile on the island of Patmos. Despite what he describes as his persecution, John is worshipping when the visions that he writes about are given to him.

Being persecuted for his faith by undergoing exile to a remote island, I imagine it was easy for John to feel like he was alone, cut off from the community of faith, and one of a very small faithful group of people willing to be persecuted for remaining faithful during  a time of hardship. I imagine this because, when I feel my relationship with Christ causes me to take an unpopular stand or make a statement that others may find offensive, it is easy for me to think, “Why are all the other “so-called” Christians giving in? Why am I the only one willing to stand up for the faith? How come the church is not filled with fully committed, dedicated people?”

I also know I am not the only person tempted to think this way when remaining faithful becomes difficult. When God finds Elijah alone at Mount Horeb (I Kings 19), God asks him, “What are you doing here?” Elijah says, “I am the only faithful one left.”  As God sends Elijah back to continue his work as a prophet, God says there 7,000 left in Israel who have remained faithful.

John tells us he sees a crowd so large that they cannot be numbered, people from every country and tribe. He sees a crowd so diverse that he describes them as speaking every language. John sees what we often call the church universal, the church spread across the earth and throughout time. John is given a reminder that we are never alone, that there are often more faithful than we recognize and acknowledge, especially when we are at worship.

I wonder as I go throughout this All Saints Day if there are saints that I might be missing, saints that I do not see or recognize?

The Yoke of Christ​

“My yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11.30

That sounds comforting and reassuring.  A nice, easy burden to bear; who wouldn’t sign up for that? It sounds like a great gift until I remember that it is Jesus who is speaking this.

Just a few verses earlier, Jesus talks about bringing a sword, creating divisions in families and carrying a cross. When I think of following Jesus in discipleship, light and easy are not the first words that come to mind. More often I think of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his reminder that Christ calls us to ‘costly grace.’  I begin to wonder if this is one of those Jesus paradoxes like finding your life to lose it and losing your life to find it, or the last being first and the first last? Is this some slight of hand to trick me into taking on the yoke of Christ, only to find that this light, easy yoke is really about losing life and being last?

As a child, I had even more problems with this text. I knew very little about farming and what a yoke was. In fact, I thought Jesus was saying ‘yolk,’ as in the yellow, protein-rich and fat-rich part of the egg, the part my doctor would rather I not eat. I could not figure out what was going to be easy about walking around with egg yolk on.

Eventually, I learned about yokes, the wooden crosspieces that bind animals together to pull carts or plows. I realized this is what Jesus was asking me to put on, but it still did not sound too comfortable. A leather harness sounded more comfortable than a wood crossbeam. Are disciples of Jesus ever gonna get away from wood cross pieces, I started to wonder?

Slowly I started to understand the verse better in its context in Matthew. Jesus speaks to us as people who are struggling to carry loads on our own, working hard and often carrying more than we can bear. He offers us part of the yoke that connects us to him, “Put on my yoke, and learn from me” (11.28). The yoke reminds us that, even though Jesus calls us to hard and difficult work, he does not leave us or abandon us to carry it out on our own. “Learn from me,” he says, “and you will find rest for your souls” (11.29).

The easy yoke is a symbol of the mystery of revelation that Jesus celebrates in the prayer just before these verses (11.25-27). In his prayer, Jesus thanks the Father that understanding the mystery of who he is, what he is about, and what he calls us to is not based on our effort, our understanding, or even our ability. This is something God shares with the babes. Jesus celebrates that this yoke is carried by the lowly, the poor, the meek, even infants. And it is easy to bear because Jesus walks with us.

I guess it is a paradox. The yoke allows us to lift heavy burdens, like oxen moving heavy carts. The yoke allows us to dig deep and plant for a good harvest, like mules pulling a plow across a new field. The yoke allows us to bear more than we could have struggled through on our own; it aides heavy lifting and deep cultivation. Yet it’s so much lighter than trying to do it on our own.

Cross-Shaped Living

The cross is the central symbol of the Christian faith. Crosses are placed on top of steeples, adorn altars and are often worn by those who want to be identified as followers of Jesus. Even those churches that shun the display of stained glass windows and icons, will usually have a cross on display in their sanctuaries.

Yet sometimes I wonder if the cross has become too familiar to us.

Has our prominent display of the cross caused us to forget that Jesus calls us to pick up our cross and follow him?  Do we see the cross and think only of Christ’s death and resurrection? While I do not want to discourage meditations on the cross or giving thanks for the offering of Jesus on the cross,  we cannot stop there. Jesus calls us to let the cross shape our living.

In Matthew 10.38-39 Jesus says, “Whoever does not pick up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” I confess that the paradox of the last line often overwhelms me and causes me to forget the call to pick up the cross. Thinking about how finding our life leads to losing it while losing it for Jesus causes us to find life makes my head hurt. Rather than trying to understand that, much less live it, I move on to things that seem easier to understand like loving God and my neighbor. And in the process, I often leave the cross there too.

Yet trying to love God and neighbor without the cross leads to trying to find life on my own. I find my limits for love growing shorter and shorter. I love when I feel like it, on my terms. When I am feeling good and have some extra time available, I will gladly offer it to God. When I meet someone who brings joy and comfort to my life, I will love them. But when someone disagrees with me or acts in ways that I interpret as mean or ugly, I withhold love. If there are too many demands on my time, I feel paying attention to God is an intrusion on my day; maybe I will feel more like loving God tomorrow. Before I know it, this life of love I have set out to live has gone fleeting away.

The cross calls me to love when I do not feel like it, when the person I am asked to love may not meet my conditions. The cross calls me to abandon my terms, my requirements that have to be met before love will be offered.  More importantly, the cross calls me to enter into pain and brokenness in the world, especially when it is not my pain and suffering. To follow Jesus in taking up the cross means to take on the brokenness of others. And by losing “my life” through the cross, I gain the life Jesus offers to his followers.

The cross calls us to enter suffering and pain with the love God offers the world. As Parker Palmer writes in The Promise of Paradox, the cross is not the creation of pain and suffering; it is the willingness to enter the pain and suffering that already exist in the world: “The way of the cross is often misunderstood as masochistic, especially in an age so desperately in search of pleasure. But the suffering of which Jesus spoke is not the suffering that unwell people create for themselves. Instead, it is the suffering already present in the world, which we can either identify with or ignore” (pp.32-3, Josey-Bass, 2008). One way leads to life and one way will cause us to lose it.


On Being Led to the Wilderness

When Christians talk about being led by the Spirit, we often think about serving in ministry, going on mission trips, or starting some new service project: “Well I was not positive that it was the right thing to do, but I felt led by the Spirit.” In the ministry of Jesus, the first place the Spirt leads him is to face temptation.

This Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent, many churches will read the story of the temptation of Jesus (Matthew 4.1-11). In rushing to focus on how Jesus overcomes three dramatic temptations, we may loose sight of the very first verse which reminds us that the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to face temptation.

We tend to think that once we have affirmed our commitment to God, we should face no difficulty, no adversity, no temptation. But the Bible says it is often at the moment of our commitment that temptation arises. So the Spirit calls us to face our temptation, drives us to it, instead of trying to ignore it or pretend it is not there.

This is not the first time the Bible uses the wilderness as a place to confront temptations. Israel wanders in the wilderness for 40 years facing temptation after temptation. The three temptations that Jesus faces in Matthew’s story parallel three of the temptations the Israelites face in the wilderness:  bread (see Exodus 16), testing God (seed Exodus 17) and idolatry (see Exodus 32). Though Israel succumbs to these temptations, Jesus resists them. Elijah is driven by God to face his fears and doubts in the wilderness for 40 days before his encounter with God on the mountain (I Kings 19). Now Jesus, fresh from the waters of baptism, where the voice proclaims he is the Son of God and the Spirit descends, is led by that very Spirt into the wilderness to face temptation for 40 days.

We tend to think of the early Christian ascetics as people who were trying to flee the temptations of society, the evils of civilization and the cruelty of humans. Yet most of these early monastics and hermits saw themselves following in the footsteps of Elijah and Jesus, being led by the Spirit to go out into the wilderness to face their temptations. What we read as dramatic encounters with demons, they meant as honest confrontations with temptation.

The danger is, when we do not face our temptations, we are prone to give in to them. Or, we may start excusing our sin because of our temptation: “Well I already thought it, so I might as well commit it. Thinking it is as bad as doing it. I would not want to be a hypocrite.”  No the temptation of Jesus reminds us that there is something different about facing the temptation to turn stones into bread and actually doing it.

So the Spirit leads us to a place where we are not distracted by background noise, by the self-congratulatory clapping we give ourselves that we have not succumbed to the temptations of others or the chatter we occupy ourselves with that may mask the temptations we have already let hold sway in our lives; a wilderness where we can honestly face the temptations that distract us from trusting God. Our wilderness may not be a physical desert like where Jesus, Elijah, and the early ascetics led. Perhaps our wilderness if the prayer closet that Jesus talks about in the gospel. The wilderness the Spirit leads us to is a place where we can face the temptations that arise in our journey with the Spirit.

We should not think that temptation is a once and done affair, once we have said no to temptation it will go away never to return. Jesus is tempted at other points in his ministry. But we can trust the Spirit who leads us to face our temptations to also empower us to resist them.

Remember the Dust

I do not remember exactly how old I was the first time I attended an Ash Wednesday service. However, I know there was a lot happening that I did not understand at the time. For instance, when I went forward and my father put ashes on my head, I honestly thought he was telling me to remember to dust my room when I got home. “Remember you are dust,” is, I am pretty sure, what he said. Remember to dust, is what I heard.

It might have made more sense if I had paid more attention to the scripture reading, his sermon or event the instructions he surely gave before the imposition of the ashes. But for me, this was all just new, strange and very intriguing. Plus it helped that he put some dust on my forehead to remind me to dust once I got home. When I got back to my pew, I realized a lot of other people forgot to dust as well. Everyone I saw in church that night had that same reminder, “Remember to dust.”

Dusting is still one of my least favorite household chores. It’s not that I do not see the benefit, it’s just that it takes so long, you have to move stuff around, and even once you have gone over an area, you can almost always spot a smudge or a stray spot of dust left behind. Remember to dust. If you forget and let it build up, it’s just that much harder to clean up later on. The more dust that accumulates, the more difficult it is to get rid of.

Maybe dusting is not a bad analogy to what we are trying to say on Ash Wednesday. Remember to clean out the sin. Remember that as soon as you think you have it all wiped up, there are going to be stray marks and sins floating around you. It’s a never ending vigil. As long as we are human, as long as we are dust, we have to remember to dust.

Rember you are dust and to dust you shall return. So, in the meantime, remember to dust.

Get Up: Matthew 17.1-9

One day Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him to the top of a mountain. As they were watching him, Jesus was suddenly changed before them. They saw him in a different light. The Bible says, “he was transfigured before them” (Mt. 17.2). Then they saw Moses and Elijah talking with Jesus.

My guess is that at this point, the three disciples were thinking that they had reached the pinnacle, the high point of their journey with Jesus. When they first started following him, they did not know much about Jesus. They heard him teach. Saw him perform miracles. They helped him feed thousands from a few scraps. Now, on top of the mountain, they see him changed before their very eyes and talking to two of the greatest prophets. What more could there be? Surely this is where all their journeys have been leading.

It’s then that Peter, ever the spokesperson of the group, steps forward and says, “Lord, this is great and a great place to be. We need to commemorate this event with some buildings!” Matthew doesn’t say this, but in my mind, I can hear James and John chime in, “Yes, we can organize a capital campaign. Set up a designated amount to give if you want your name on a plaque. This is great!”

As the three disciples are splitting up the responsibilities of chairing the building committee, capital campaign, and communications team; they are knocked to the ground by a cloud and a voice. The voice speaks words similar to those spoken at the baptism of Jesus: “This is my son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Only this time there is added the phrase, “Listen to him!”

So Jesus comes over to the disciples, puts his hands on them and says, “Get up and don’t be afraid.” They did not know that even greater things were waiting for them. They did not know about the heartache they would suffer at the death of Jesus or the joy they would experience at the resurrection. This mountain top experience, great as it was, was not the pinnacle experience of their journey with Jesus, for that they had to get up and keep going.

As easy as it is sometimes to read this story and poke fun at Peter for impulsively speaking and wanting to throw up some commemorative structures, or to wonder how all three disciples could wind up on the ground in fear at the sound of the voice from heaven, let’s also be sure to give them their due credit, they got up and walked back down with Jesus. They did listen to him.

Right now, I find myself needing to really hear those words of Jesus, “Get up and do not be afraid.” There is a part of me, a large part of me to be honest, that would like to run to the mountain and hide out in a tent with Jesus. I find myself at times wanting to lay down on the ground and cover my face, not at the blinding radiance of Jesus or the booming voice from heaven, but because of the hate and anger and division that seem to be so loud and clouding our world at the moment. This is what makes me want to lay down and cover my eyes. As I write this, a close family member lies on her bed near death. I want to cover my eyes, crawl into my sanctuary and hide out with Jesus. I want to go back to one of those spaces where I heard God speak with the clarity of thunder rolling through the mountains, where I saw the path ahead as clearly as a bright light shining like the sun on a clear day.

Yet Jesus comes over and places his hand on me. He does not chastise me for lack of faith or scold me for wanting to give into to fear. With his hand on me, he utters the words, “Get up and do not be afraid.” In his touch and invitation comes the strength to rise and move on. Thanks be to God.