ON THE FRITZ

Long Is The Way ...

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Sun, 08 Jan 2017 03:08:00 +0000

Our Christmas and New Year's celebrations are over, and 2017 is here. Most of us were glad to leave the old year behind, as the often divisive and acrimonious election season left a bitter taste.

But even though the twelve days of Christmas ended yesterday, on Three Kings Day, the message of Christmas can be our compass for all that is to come.

Christmas

Deep is the night. Long is the way.
We walk in time's mysterious sway.

And on we walk. But as we stride,
dark sadness never leaves our side.

It cries in us and sighs and wails.
Our tender heart fears death and ails.

How harsh and long the road ahead!
We are alone, and filled with dread.

We walk -- where to? After the light
of which the angel spoke at night.

For somewhere in the distant lands,
far, far away, a hovel stands

where to become a child God chose,
so restless heart finds its repose.

...

Weihnacht

Die Nacht ist tief. Der Weg ist weit.
Wir wandern durch die dunkle Zeit.

Wir gehn fürbass, doch Schritt für Schritt
geht unsre dunkle Schwermut mit.

Die weint in uns und seufzt und klagt.
Das Herz ist wund und todverzagt.

Die Wegfahrt, ach, ist schwer und lang.
Wir sind allein, und uns ist bang.

Wir gehn -- wohin? Dem Lichte nach
von dem zur Nacht der Engel sprach.

Denn irgendwo am Rand der Welt,
da ist das Hüttlein aufgestellt

drein Gott sich gab zur Nacht als Kind,
daß ruhlos Herz hier Ruhe find.

(German poem by Arno Pötzsch [1900-1956]. 2015 Translation by Fritz Wendt, b. 1957)

"How harsh and long the road ahead! We are alone, and filled with dread." These words speak to us as we look at the 2017 calendar. What will happen to us, as a world, as a nation, as a community, as a family, as individuals?

Indeed, our hearts can become quite restless as we think about what's to come. But we are not alone: "We walk -- where to? After the light of which the angel spoke at night".

May the light of Christmas be with you this day and all days.

Christmas Blessings

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Tue, 27 Dec 2016 06:36:00 +0000

Wishing all my readers a Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year.

Poetry: Hans von Lehndorff

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Sat, 17 Dec 2016 05:39:00 +0000

KLEINES ADVENTSLIED

1. Komm in unsre stolze Welt,
Herr mit deiner Liebe Werben.
Überwinde Macht und Geld,
lass die Völker nicht verderben.
Wende Hass und Feindessinn
auf den Weg des Friedens hin.

2. Komm in unser reiches Land,
der du Arme liebst und Schwache,
dass von Geiz und Unverstand
unser Menschenherz erwache.
Schaff aus unserm Überfluss
Rettung dem, der hungern muss.

3. Komm in unsre laute Stadt,
Herr, mit deines Schweigens Mitte,
dass, wer keinen Mut mehr hat,
sich von dir die Kraft erbitte
für den Weg durch Lärm und Streit
hin zu deiner Ewigkeit.

4. Komm in unser festes Haus,
der du nackt und ungeborgen.
Mach ein leichtes Zelt daraus,
das uns deckt kaum bis zum Morgen;
denn wer sicher wohnt vergisst,
dass er auf dem Weg noch ist.

5. Komm in unser dunkles Herz,
Herr, mit deines Lichtes Fülle;
dass nicht Neid, Angst, Not und Schmerz
deine Wahrheit uns verhülle,
die auch noch in tiefer Nacht
Menschenleben herrlich macht.

***

LITTLE ADVENT SONG

1. Come, Lord, to our prideful sphere
with your love’s determined wooin',
pow'r and wealth to commandeer
lest the peoples go to ruin.
Turn our hate and hostile wrath,
lead us to a peaceful path.

2. Come, Lord, to our wealthy land,
you who love the poor and lowly,
that with greed and dullness banned
human hearts might waken slowly.
Use our affluence to carve
ways to rescue those who starve.

3. Come, Lord, to our noisy town,
come and bring your silent center,
so those who in anguish drown
might implore your strength to enter
their own course through noise and strife
heading to eternal life.

4. Come, Lord, to our solid stead,
as one naked and unguarded.
Just a tent around us spread,
used one night and then discarded.
Those who think they’re safe won’t say
that they still are on the way.

5. Come, Lord, to our hearts gone glum,
light from light in full revealing,
lest greed, fear, grief, pain become
tools that serve your truth’s concealing,
truth that e’en in deepest night
will make human lives shine bright.

***
German original by Hans Graf von Lehndorff, 1968; English translation by Fritz Wendt, 2016

***

Hans Count von Lehndorff (1910-1987) was a German physician, poet and pastor. Raised in a wealthy family in East Prussia, he had his first experience with the Nazis when his mother was incarcerated for supporting a Lutheran pastor who had criticized the new regime. As a young doctor, von Lehndorff became an active member of the Confessing Church, and was aware of the plans to assassinate Hitler through a cousin who was involved. During World War II, he was the head of a small military hospital in Königsberg (Kaliningrad), and saw unimaginable suffering when the Russian army captured and occupied the town.

After the war ended, he was a church musician in East Germany (GDR), but after several decades was able to move to Bonn-Bad Godesberg, where he founded a small clinic and became active in hospital ministry. Von Lehndorff wrote the poem above in 1968; it is a prayer reflecting the horrors of what he had seen during the war, but also the beginning of the Vietnam War (stirring national conversations, mostly among students, about how to maintain and secure peace) and Germany’s “economic miracle” with its new phenomenon, the migrant workers (leading to conversations about justice and income equality).

Black Lives Matter

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Sun, 17 Jul 2016 21:35:00 +0000

From today's sermon

"In that day,” says the sovereign Lord, “I will make the sun set at noon,
and make the earth dark in the middle of the day.
I will turn your festivals into funerals,
and all your songs into funeral dirges.
I will make everyone wear funeral clothes
and cause every head to be shaved bald.
I will make you mourn as if you had lost your only son;
when it ends it will indeed have been a bitter day".
(Amos 8:9-12)

It is time to go inward, my friends. We all know that this July began with bloodshed, and lots of it:

On July 4, Delrawn Small, an unarmed African American man, was shot and killed by a police officer, in Brooklyn, NY. "I will make you mourn as if you had lost your only son ..."

One day later, July 5, Alton Sterling, a 37-year-old African American father of five, was shot in the chest and back by a police officer outside a convenience store in Baton Rouge, LA. "I will make you mourn as if you had lost your only son ..."

The next day, July 6, Philando Castile, a Black man, was shot and killed in his car by a police officer outside St. Paul, MN. "I will make you mourn as if you had lost your only son ..."

Two days after that, July 8, five officers were shot and killed and seven others wounded by sniper fire during a protest in Dallas, TX against the recent deadly police shootings. Two civilians were also shot.

"When it ends it will indeed have been a bitter day". That bitter day hasn't ended. It's still very much with us. There is deep pain and fear and anger in our country:

*The pain, fear and anger of the police officers and their families in Dallas and the larger police community;

*The pain, fear and anger of the black community in the face of so many recorded police killings;

*The pain, fear and anger among us.

There is so much pain. There is so much fear. There is so much anger.

It is time to go inward, my friends, for the bloodshed doesn't just highlight our country's problematic history of access to guns and military weapons.

Rather, it highlights the demons in our midst – white supremacy, systemic racism, interpersonal racism, corrupt authorities and a justice system that is broken, as it seems to enable rather than prevent murder and hate.

We are guilty because we have allowed these demons to work for us.

"Black lives matter" ... the name of the movement points to where we as white people have failed:

*It is time to go inward and realize just how blind our white upbringing has made us to people who aren't white.

*It is time to go inward and realize that racism is the original sin of this country, and that we have profited from racism whenever we thought of Black people as "the others" who have to live by our rules.

*It is time to go inward and repent and be ashamed.

*It is time to begin to under-stand (to stand under!) the suffering of Black people.

"I will make you mourn as if you had lost your only son ..." Eventually the point will come that we recognize Delrawn, Alton and Philando as our own kin, so we can mourn their deaths not "as if" but "because" we indeed we have lost three of our sons. But that point won't come until we repent and go inside the fear, pain and anger their families feel and recognize that it is very much like our own.

And after moving inward, we need to move outward and change the way we live with those we think are "the others". When we truly believe that we are one human family, the "us vs. them" stuff falls by the wayside. Then it is time to apologize to the people of color around us. Then it is time to ask Black people to teach us so we might "stand under" their pain.

Then our actions will be prayer made alive. Then it will be true for all of us that "Black lives matter".

Orlando Musings

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 30 Jun 2016 22:25:00 +0000

Orlando Musings.

I am a Lutheran pastor, and a shrink and a musician and a teacher ... but WAY before that I am a child of God, beautifully created as a gay man.

When I became a hospital chaplain in Brooklyn many years ago, my out-and-loud-and-proud baby sister was angry with me because I was connected with what she had experienced all her life as wounding and shaming and excluding: Church. And for years I kept Church at arm's length because I too wasn't sure I could trust it.

But then one day at the funeral of one of my patients who had died of AIDS, Jesus slipped into the shoes of a Puerto Rican man and called me to speak and to heal. It was then that I began to believe that there is space in God for a gay man ... and as I began the process to become ordained I said, "and if there is no space for me in Church, then Jesus will make space, for he just called me."

I've been ordained twenty-six years, and Jesus has indeed made space for me time and again, and I have tried to make space for my LGBT sisters and brothers.

I wasn't able to create space for my baby sister (she committed suicide during my early NYC years), but at least I was able to make space in my family for an ongoing conversation not just about her, but about what it means to be gay in our "churchy" sort of family.

-So, to my LGBT sisters and brothers who shake their head and say I betrayed them by being part of Church, I say, "I have known what you mean since my baby sister got mad with me. Church has a hard time with us, but Jesus always will make space for us."

-And to those who say, "Can't I just say I love you all without agreeing with your lifestyle?", I say, "No, because when you scratch underneath that sweet 'Christian' love of yours, there's no love, only bigotry. Being gay is not my lifestyle, but my biology. I am a gift from God to you just the way I am."

In one of many dream encounters with my baby sister (some of you read others), she said, "Don't ever forget it, big brother: there is no you and I any more, there's just one family. We are all one."

In the wake of the hate crime in Orlando that wiped out almost fifty beautiful people who celebrated their lives in the Pulse Nightclub, a space that was home and sanctuary to them where no one questioned their "lifestyle", it is time for repentance, especially in Church.

When Church wounded and shamed and excluded us LGBT people, it was usually in keeping with the suspicions and prejudices of the surrounding culture. (As one of my teachers used to say, It's always cheaper to stay unconscious!)

But if then it is true that Church should be counter-cultural, now is the time to repent and truly live what my baby sister said: "There's just one family. We are all one".

When we preachers start telling our churches that there is no "other", eventually they will only see sisters and brothers. Space for love and harmony will open up everywhere.

It won't be easy, but it will be right.

A Brief Break

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Sat, 22 Aug 2015 04:02:00 +0000

Dear Readers.

Some of you may have been disappointed about the fact that two of my recent psalm posts are still incomplete.

Not only is it summer (when everything slows down because it's so darn hot), but I also have moved this past July. Furthermore, since this afternoon I am officially on vacation.

Be patient, please.
Fritz

11.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 12

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Tue, 11 Aug 2015 16:42:00 +0000

Psalm 111

Once upon a time an old Sufi dervish set out to make the Great Pilgrimage to Mecca.

It was a difficult journey under any conditions. This particular year the trek was unusually demanding. The large crowds jostled one another and crowded him off the road. The path was rough and uneven. The sun beat down on the old man's head without mercy.

'I must stop for a while,' the holy one decided.

So he lay down by the side of the road, just outside of Mecca.

He was hardly asleep before he felt himself being shaken roughly awake. 'Sufi, get up,' the imam said. The voice was not kind. The hand was not gentle.

'Some Sufi you are,' the stranger went on. 'You're a disgrace!'

The imam circled around the old man, flailing his hands and shaking his head.

'How dare you lie down at the time for prayer,' he shouted, 'with head turned to the West and your feet pointed toward God in the holy shrine.'

The old Sufi stirred a bit, opened one eye, looked at the man, and smiled. 'I thank you, sir, for your concern,' the Sufi said.

Then he went on, a sly grin playing at the corner of his mouth, 'So before I go back to sleep, would you be so kind as to turn my feet in some direction where they are not pointing at God?'

V. 1

1 Hallelujah. I will give thanks to the Lord wholeheartedly / in the council of the upright and in the assembly.

VV. 2-4

2 Great are the deeds of the Lord, /

Sought out by all who delight in them. 3 Majesty and splendor are his work, / and his righteousness endures for all time. 4 A memorial he has made of his wondrous acts; / showing favor and merciful is the Lord.

VV. 5-9

5 Food he has given to those who fear him; / He will remember for all time his covenant. 6 The strength of his deeds he has made known to his people, / in order to give them the inheritance of the nations. 7 The deeds of his hands are faithful and just; / trustworthy are all of his precepts. 8 They are sustained throughout all time, / to be done in faithfulness and uprightness. 9 Deliverance he has sent to his people; / he has commanded his covenant for all time. / Holy and reverent is his name.

V. 10

10 The beginning of wisdom is

reverence of the Lord; / good understanding comes to all who do it. / His praise endures for all time (NICOT).

[Testing Psm 111; Psm 111 testing; testing]

The Good Muslim (When The One Who Saves You Is The One You Hate)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Sun, 02 Aug 2015 06:44:00 +0000

Sermon on Luke 10: 25-37,

preached by Fritz Wendt

on July 26, 2015 (Pentecost 9),

at Zion St. Mark's Lutheran Church,
New York City

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Let us pray ...

My friends,

Charlie Brown runs into Lucy Van Pelt and announces he has something to confess. “I did something stupid,” he says, “and now I hate myself.” “What's the matter?” she says. “I was sitting on the floor,” says Charlie Brown, “working a puzzle, and my little baby sister came crawling over.

She crawled right into my space and messed up the puzzle, so I yelled at her. She started crying, and now I hate myself.” He sighs and adds, “I shouldn't have yelled at her; she's only a baby; I feel terrible.”

Lucy moves a bit closer and says, with great warmth in her voice, “Charlie Brown, I understand what you're going through. Don't forget that my brother Linus was a baby once too. I had the exact same problem. I used to feel the same way about baby Linus the way you do about your baby sister.”

“Really,” says Charlie Brown, "I am so glad someone understands. But what did you do when your little brother got on your nerves?" “Well,” says Lucy, “I solved my problem."

Even as Charlie Brown asks, "But how?", Lucy's brother Linus walks by, reading a comic book. Lucy's voice instantly changes from sweet and compassionate to loud and demanding: “Hey young man, doesn't that comic book you are reading belong to me, your big sister?” As Linus turns around, startled, it is dawning on him that he is being scolded.

But Lucy doesnt give him a chance to respond: “How many times do I have to tell you to leave my things alone?” Linus looks as though he is going to to cry. Lucy roars at him, “If I catch you with another one of my comic books, I'll get you, Linus.” And then she adds with an even bigger roar, “I'll chase you clear out of the country. I hope I am making myself clear.”

As Linus walks off, quietly crying, Lucy turns back to Charlie Brown who's been watching the spectacle in disgust, turns on her smile and tells him sweetly, “As I was saying, I got over it.” As Charlie Brown starts walking away, Lucy shouts after him, “Believe me, I really got over it. Being mad with my brother is not an issue at all.”

The little vignette from the Peanuts cartoon illustrates that talking about love is one thing, and that acting out of love is quite another. Speaking about love and living love, that is the topic of my sermon text from Luke Chapter 10.

There Jesus encounters a man to whom our translations usually refer as a “lawyer”; the Greek term nomikos describes a scholar of Israel's religious law; it is fair to assume that this would put him into the company of the people who most often oppose Jesus and his teaching, the “Scribes and Pharisees”.

This religion scholar stands up with a question to test Jesus. “Rabbi”, he says, “what do I need to do to get eternal life?” Jesus' answer is simple: “What's written in God's Law? How do you interpret it?” Because this is what the scholar does for a living, he rattles it off instantly, and perhaps with some impatience in his voice, “Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence; love your neighbor as well as you love yourself.”

Again, Jesus' answer is simple, “Good answer! Do that and you'll live.” But the scholar is frustrated; he has wanted to engage Jesus in a public fight. So he comes back with a reply that would make any lawyer proud: "Who is my neighbor?" In other words: Love my neighbor, you say? ... but Rabbi, how do you define what that is, a neighbor?

Jesus replies by telling a story, a story so well known and so famous that many are tempted to stop listening when it's told once again:

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. [31] Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. [32] So likewise a Levite ..."

Unlike you and I, who are used to hearing it, for those listening to Jesus telling this story for the first time, it would have been very difficult to take. They didn't want to identify with the priest or Levite, who both seemed like cowards; their only choice would have been to put themselves in the place of the victim, presumably a Jewish man, bleeding and helpless in the ditch, beset by flies, under the killing sun.

As Jesus continues his story, the horror among the listeners only increases:

[33] But then a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. [34] He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. [35] The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.”

Jesus' audience is in dire straights now: they have been unwilling to identify with the priest or the Levite, but they were also not exactly willing to identify with the man in the ditch. Thus, their only hope has been that the savior of the robbed man might be a Jew. But to their utter shock, the hero in Jesus' story is not a well-respected Jew, but an enemy of the Jews: a Samaritan. The enmity between Jews and Samaritans went back hundreds of years. Well no, they say, we cannot possibly identify with a Samaritan hero. To do so would damage our reputation.

So just one option is left: to slip into the shoes of that wounded victim. And as it dawns on them that the one who saves them is the one they hate and despise, they look like they are going to be sick.

The Parable of the Good Samaritan is not a morality tale. Jesus is not telling us to be “good Samaritans”! Of course that always has seemed like the simplest reading, but it misses the mark; for that to work, the Samaritan should have been the victim.

We cannot even imagine how utterly shocking it must have been to first-century Jewish-Palestinian ears to hear of a Samaritan in the role of hero.

Jesus, as we see everywhere in the gospels, uses his parables to bring the Kingdom of God to us, in a language we understand but at the same time in a way that profoundly disorients us. We think we know, and then he pulls the rug out from under us.

Whenever Jesus tells a parable, we must be prepared to be told things that we have never thought possible before, things that fundamentally challenge our assumptions about who the good guys and bad guys are, about the way the world works.

The enemy as hero -- that is Jesus pulling the rug out from under us.

And you and I, who came to church this fine morning? I can see that some of you are quite uncomfortable as we are shown that God is making his divine presence felt in the world by making a hated man the hero.

In making us identify with the victim, Jesus forces us to put ourselves in the skin of the half-dead, the destitute, the despairing.

Before you protest (because you don't want to think such dirty thoughts on a fine Sunday morning), be honest for a moment: You and I, we know a time or two on our own journey between Jerusalem and Jericho where indeed we felt half-dead and destitute and desparate one way or another!

Martin Luther, in one of his sermons on our text, writes in his typical drastic style:

"The man who here lies half dead, wounded and stripped of his clothing is Adam and all mankind. ... We still struggle a little for life; but there lies horse and man, we cannot help ourselves to our feet, and if we were left thus lying we would have to die by reason of our great anguish and lack of nourishment; maggots would grow in our wounds, followed by great misery and distress."

Helpless even against the onslaught of maggots, at the mercy of a kind man who, as everyone says, is our enemy -- that's where Jesus places us in his story!

Jesus' parable wants to teach us that goodness and kindness come from our neighbors - regardless of whether or not the neighbor looks or believes or thinks the way we want them to.

Yes, it would be much easier had Jesus just told us to find enough grace and goodness in our hearts to love our enemy.

But Jesus knows that people use abstractions to seek safe ground. He aims to get us out of our comfort zone: We're supposed to identify with the helplessness of the wounded victim to overcome our pride, ... and to hope that those we dislike and detest will save us.

The Greek word our translations render as “compassion” is splanchnizomai; literally, it means “to be moved in one's gut”. The splanchna are the inner organs of the stomach.

The enemy, the Samaritan, was “moved, and felt the pain in his very gut”. At that very instant he saw through the illusion that each human being is separate from the other people in the world.

He overcame the barrier of self and other, and the pain of the wounded traveler became his very own. Jumping off the donkey, treating the wounds, making provisions for shelter and care were but the most natural kind of action to follow.

Compassion is something that happens to us when a fellow human being is shaken to the core to such a degree that she or he just has to help us ... and we are not in control. We are not in control when compassion happens to us.

Jesus then ends his story, reminding us that we are supposed to do this sort of kindness because we have experienced it ourselves.

[36] Which of these three do you think became a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” [37] The expert in religious law said, “The one who showed mercy to him.” So Jesus said to him, “Go and do the same.”

Compassion, seen this way, is a reflex, something we do inevitably, without much thinking involved. Let me give you an example of a reflex. Think for a moment of what happens when an itchy feeling arises in your right arm; without even thinking, your left hand will move in its direction, your left fingers will start scratching, and when they have done their job by relieving the itch, your left hand will go on back doing whatever it was doing before. And all this would happen without any conscious decision on your end.

In forcing us to see compassion as a reflex -- nothing less, nothing more --Jesus challenges our boundaries. He says that everyone is your neighbor. Everyone is charged with your well-being, and everyone is your charge. Jesus implies that the universe is one, and that all creation is one.

We are not to act like the priest and the Levite as they listened to their anxious ego which said, But what will happen to ME if I help him?
The Samaritan, on the other hand, had overcome the cravings of his ego and simply asked himself, What will happen to THIS MAN if I don't help him?

Each and every one of our fellow human beings is our neighbor. The universe is one, and everyone is our neighbor. That is a slap in the face of all the Pharisees during Jesus' days and all the Pharisees living today.

Now and then, you meet a Pharisee in church. He or she will say, “Pastor, we feel that she doesn't belong here. He is not like us. She just won't do. We don't like him to come any more.” Martin Luther talks about these “verdrießlichen Heiligen” (the miserable saints) who think they can rely on their holiness and therefore have chosen to avoid the suffering of their fellow human beings.

He says they are convinced that the Lord owes them, and that they don't owe anything to God or anyone. Luther concludes, “In our own affairs we are shrewd; how to scrape together money and goods, how to speak well of God before the people, and how to push ourselves ahead in a masterly manner. But what does God care for this?”

Many people find it odd, peculiar, yes: highly insulting, to have an enemy shoved in their faces as an example of someone they should trust and emulate.

And so, Jesus' Parable of the Compassionate Samaritan is not only a story about active compassion but also one about our habit to judge others.

We gather in church to be closer to God, but today we are getting so close that it's outright scary.

How do we like being close to a God who loves us enough not to pass by but lingers among us long enough to judge us, to measure us with a standard of judgment that is tougher than the standards by which we measure ourselves, and to tell us, "I expect more of you!"

With his Parable of the Samaritan Jesus indicts each of us. Deep down we know that Jesus has taken the masks off of our faces: we are all Pharisees.

My fellow Pharisees, it's not easy to bear God's closeness when God comes to judge ... yet we should feel loved and accepted, as we are sent to God's school of compassion. We are asked to learn to be shaken up. First, by being put into the role of the helpless victim. Second, by remembering the kindness we have received when we encounter suffering, despair and injustice, and to identify so deeply with those in misery that we simply need to act. Everyone can talk of love (especially when things are kept general and abstract), but putting love into action is a whole 'nother thing.

One of the problems with our story is that we don't have Samaritans in our society, and so the story has lost some of its bite.

In one medieval painting the Levite becomes a Catholic monk, and the Samaritan, a turk. The artist knew that the idea of a turk would conjure up fear and anger in those looking at the picture. He put the bite back in.

I think of Franklin Graham, son of Billy Graham, who suggested in all seriousness to put a stop to letting Muslims come into the US. He stated this practice should be continued "until the threat is over".

Despised, detested, feared -- a Samaritan during the days of Jesus, a Turk in medieval times, a Muslim in 2015.

There you have it: The bite of the parable is restored immediately when we imagine "The Good Muslim" as the savior of the wounded half-dead man. Now put you and me in that ditch, bleeding and near death. See, we are being saved by a compassionate Muslim; the bite is back.

In loving everybody, we only imitate our God's love for us. God's love is without conditions. "God's love is like the sun", we sang in youth group, "it's always there and everywhere".

As we can find a compassionate ear and someone to share our burden all around us, there are people out there who need our willingness to show compassionate hearts and offer our willing shoulders.

We're invited to connect with all God's people (and that's everyone), so others can reflect God's love to us, and so we can love others. The universe is one, and we are part of this beautiful wholeness.

All of creation is one, brimming with God's love and showing us the way of love.

The old German hymn comes to mind (the translation in blank verse is my own):

Whoever says, “I love my God”

yet hates his fellow humans,

is making fun of God's own truth

and tears it down completely.
Himself true love, God calls on me

to love all people as myself.

Practice compassion, my friends. Love until it hurts, until there is nothing left of you, until you don't know where you end and the rest of the universe begins. Amen.

And may the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

„Barmherzigkeit: Wenn der der uns rettet unser Feind ist”

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Tue, 28 Jul 2015 04:46:00 +0000

Predigt über Lukas 10, 25-37

gehalten von Fritz Wendt am

8. Sonntag nach Trinitatis, 26. Juli 2015, in der Deutschen St. Paulskirche,
New York City*

Gnade sei mit euch und Frieden, von Gott unserm Vater und dem Herrn Jesus Christus.

Lassen Sie uns beten ...

Liebe Gemeinde!

Charlie Brown kommt eines Tages zu Lucy Van Pelt und sagt ihr er hätte etwas zu beichten. Als sie ermunternd nickt, sagt er, „Ich hab etwas Dummes getan, und nun hasse ich mich selbst”.

Als Lucy nachfragt, sagt Charlie leise, „Ich saß auf dem Fussboden und war in ein Puzzle vertieft. Da kam meine kleine Schwester; sie kroch auf allen Vieren, und sie kroch genau auf mich zu und dann passierte es: Sie zerstörte das Puzzle an dem ich so lange gearbeitet hatte – und da schrie ich sie an. Dann fing sie an zu weinen, und nun hasse ich mich selbst.”

Charlie Brown seufzt und sagt, „Ich hätte sie nicht anschreien dürfen. Sie ist doch nur ein kleines Kind! In meinen Augen bin ich ein Schurke!”

Da kommt Lucy auf Charlie zu und sagt mit sehr viel Wärme in Ihrer Stimme, „Ach, Charlie Brown, du Armer, ich weiss doch genau wie das ist. Wie du weißt habe ich auch so ein Geschwisterchen: meinen Bruder Linus. Ich hatte genau dasselbe Problem wie du.”

Charlie Brown freut sich dass ihn wenigstens einer versteht. „Da bin ich aber froh, nur was hast du gemacht als dein Bruder dir auf die Nerven ging?” Lucy sagt, „Ich habe mein Problem gelöst.”

„Aber wie?” fragt Charlie Brown, und in demselben Moment kommt Linus vorbei, vertieft in ein Komik-Heft. Obwohl ihre Stimme noch vor einem Moment warm und freundlich war ist Lucy plötzlich laut und fordernd: „Junger Mann, liest du zufällig ein Heft das mir gehört, deiner großen Schwester?” Linus scheint nur langsam zu verstehen dass sie ihn ausschimpft.

Sie gibt ihm keine Gelegenheit zu antworten: „Wieviele Male muss ich es dir sagen: Lass meine Sachen in Frieden!”

Nun sieht es aus als wurde Linus anfangen zu weinen. Da fängt Lucy erst richtig an auf ihn einzuschreien: „Wenn das noch einmal passiert, dann passiert dir was, Bürschchen! Ich werde dich wegjagen, nicht nur aus dieser Stadt sondern aus dem ganzen Land. Ist das klar? Nun verzieh dich!”

Als der kleine Linus sich langsam entfernt, und beide ihn weinen hören, dreht sich Lucy wieder Charlie Brown zu, der das ganze Spektakel mit Widerwillen beobachtet hat.

Wie auf Knopfdruck erscheint Lucys Lächeln wieder und sie spricht mit so viel Süße das einer davon zuckerkrank werden könnte: „Wie gesagt, ich habe mein Problem gelöst." Als Charlie sich zum Gehen wendet, ruft Lucy ihm nach: „Mit meinem Bruder Linus böse sein – das ist überhaupt kein Thema mehr.”

Die kleine Szene von den „Peanuts" zeigt dass über Liebe zu reden nicht dasselbe ist wie aus Liebe zu handeln. Und darum geht es in meinem Predigttext aus Lukas 10.

Da trifft Jesus einen Mann der auf Griechisch „nomikos" heisst, was so viel meint wie „Schriftgelehrter”. Er gehört somit in die Gruppe die oft gegen Jesus und sein Lehren standen: die Schriftgelehrten und Pharisäer.

Dieser Schriftgelehrte baut sich vor Jesus auf. Um Jesus in Verlegenheit zu bringen hat er sich eine schlaue Frage ausgedacht: „Rabbi“, sagt er, „was muss ich tun, dass ich das ewige Leben ererbe?" Jesu Antwort ist einfach: „Was steht im Gesetz geschrieben? Was liest du?“

Weil es das Handwerk eines Schriftgelehrten ist so etwas zu wissen, kommt seine Antwort ohne Zögern, und vielleicht sogar mit ein bißchen Ungeduld: »Du sollst den Herrn, deinen Gott, lieben von ganzem Herzen, von ganzer Seele, von allen Kräften und von ganzem Gemüte, und deinen Nächsten wie dich selbst«

Und wieder ist Jesu Antwort kurz und bündig: „Du hast recht geantwortet; tu das, so wirst du leben.“

Da ist der Schriftgelehrte ärgerlich, denn er war darauf aus sich mit Jesus öffentlich zu streiten. So stellt er eine Frage die jeden Rechtsanwalt stolz machen würde: „Wer ist denn mein Nächster?“ Du sagst ich soll meinen Nächsten lieben, Rabbi, aber wer ist denn damit überhaupt gemeint?

Jesu Antwort auf diese Frage ist eine Geschichte so bekannt und berühmt dass wir oft der Versuchung verfallen nicht mehr zuzuhören.

30 Es war ein Mensch, der ging von Jerusalem hinab nach Jericho und fiel unter die Räuber; die zogen ihn aus und schlugen ihn und machten sich davon und ließen ihn halb tot liegen. 31 Es traf sich aber, dass ein Priester dieselbe Straße hinabzog; und als er ihn sah, ging er vorüber. 32 Desgleichen auch ein Levit ...

Die Leute die dieser Geschichte Jesu zum ersten Mal zuhörten müssen ziemlich perplex gewesen sein. Sie mochten sich nicht identifizieren mit dem Priester oder dem Leviten, denn diesen beiden war Sicherheit wichtiger als Mitgefühl. Da blieb noch eine andere Möglichkeit der Identifizierung: sich in die Schuhe des Mannes zu versetzen der hier das Opfer ist: es ist wahrscheinlich ein jüdischer Mann der da blutet und hilflos im Dreck liegt, von Fliegen umschwärmt und von der Sonne gestochen. Aber ... wer will denn schon ein Opfer sein?

Als Jesus fortfährt mit seiner Geschichte, da wird der Schrecken der Zuhörer sogar noch größer:

33 Ein Samariter aber, der auf der Reise war, kam dahin; und als er ihn sah, jammerte er ihn; 34 und er ging zu ihm, goss Öl und Wein auf seine Wunden und verband sie ihm, hob ihn auf sein Tier und brachte ihn in eine Herberge und pflegte ihn. 35 Am nächsten Tag zog er zwei Silbergroschen heraus, gab sie dem Wirt und sprach: Pflege ihn; und wenn du mehr ausgibst, will ich dir's bezahlen, wenn ich wiederkomme.

Der Held in Jesu Geschichte ist nicht ein angesehener Jude, sondern ein Feind der Juden: ein Samariter. Die Feindschaft mit Samaritern bestand schon seit hunderten von Jahren.

Die Zuhörer sind ratlos. Natürlich sind sie unwillig sich mit dem Priester und dem Leviten zu identifizieren, aber sie sind auch nicht sehr willig sich in der Rolle des blutigen Opfers zu sehen – deshalb haben sie inständig gehofft dass der Retter des beraubten Mannes vielleicht ein Jude ist.

Aber zu ihrem Schrecken ist der ein Samariter. Also nein, mit einem Samariter kann man sich nicht identifizieren. Das geht nicht!

So ist wirklich nur eine Möglichkeit übrig: die Zuhörer müssen sich hineinversetzen in den blutigen Mann … und dann, wenn sie sich überlegen dass der Retter ihr Feind ist, da wissen sie gar nicht mehr wo sie hingucken sollen.

Das Gleichnis vom Barmherzigen Samariter ist keine Moralgeschichte. Uns wird nicht gesagt wir alle sollten nun Samariter werden; obwohl das die einfachste Lesart ist, geht sie doch vorbei an der wirklichen Geschichte. Wir müssen uns vergegenwärtigen wie schockierend diese Geschichte gewesen sein muss fuer Jüdisch-Palästinensische Ohren im 1. Jahrhundert.

Wie wir überall im Evangelium sehen, benutzt Jesus seine Gleichnisse um uns das Reich Gottes nahezubringen, in einer Sprache die leicht zu verstehen ist, aber doch immer in einer Überraschung endet. Immer wenn wir gerade denken dass wir wissen wovon er spricht zieht Jesus plötzlich den Teppich unter unseren Füßen weg.

Wenn Jesus ein Gleichnis erzählt müssen wir bereit sein unsere vorgefassten Meinungen und Ideen aufzugeben. Wenn immer er sich neue Geschichten ausdenkt, müssen wir uns vorbereiten auf Dinge die wir noch nicht einmal denken können, und auch darauf: dass unsere Ideen von gut und böse revisionsbedürftig sind.

Und wir hier in der Kirche heute morgen?

Jesus zwingt uns, uns mit dem Opfer zu identifizieren. Er will dass wir hineinschluepfen in die Haut von halbtoten, bettelarmen und verzweifelten Menschen.

Gottes Gegenwart in der Welt mit so einem Gleichnis darzustellen, das mag schon den einen oder anderen von Ihnen skeptisch blicken lassen. Sie mögen ja jetzt sogar ein bißchen pikiert sein (denn es ist ja schließlich Sonntag und man will sich doch nicht dreckig machen mit solchen Gedanken!), aber seien Sie mal ehrlich. ...

Es ist doch wahr dass Sie und ich unsere eigenen Reisen zwischen Jerusalem und Jericho erlebt haben: jene gottverlassenen Momente in denen wir uns halbtot und bettelarm und verzweifelt gefühlt haben.

In einer seiner Predigten schreibt Martin Luther in seinem typischen groben Stil: „Der Mann der da am Boden liegt, verwundet and nackend, das ist Adam und die ganze Menchheit ... Das Leben bringt viele Plagen mit sich, aber hier liegen Mann und Pferd, und wir können uns nicht selbst wieder auf die Füße helfen. Wenn wir nun ohne Hilfe blieben, dann wurden wir vor Hunger und Furcht sterben; die Maden wurden in unsere Wunden kriechen, und dann würde unsere Not kein Ende haben.“

Hilflos den Maden ausgeliefert und auf Hilfe hoffend von einem den wir schon immer als Feind eingestuft hatten – da ist wo Jesus Sie und mich plaziert in diesem Gleichnis.

Das Gleichnis vom Barmherzigen Samariter will uns lehren dass Güte und Freundlichkeit von unserem Nächsten kommen – ohne dass es eine Rolle spielt ob dieser Nächste nun so aussieht oder glaubt oder denkt wie wir es gerne hätten oder nicht. Jeder von uns hat sich das Leben so zurechtgebaut dass wir bestimmte Leute außen vor lassen, Leute mit denen wir nichts zu tun haben wollen.

Ja, es wäre so viel einfacher wenn Jesus uns sagen wollte: findet die Stärke und Freundlichkeit eurem Feind zu helfen; aber darum geht es ihm nicht.

Wir sollen uns hineinversetzen in die Hilflosigkeit des überfallenen Opfers: unseren Stolz zu überwinden und darauf zu hoffen, ja: uns darauf zu verlassen! gerettet zu werden von ebenjenen Leuten die wir nicht ausstehen können.

Das griechische Wort für „barmherzig sein” bedeutet buchstäblich „es geht einem durch und durch”**. Die splanchna sind die inneren Organe des Bauches. Der Feind, der Samariter, war durchgeschüttelt mit Mitgefühl und wusste dass er handeln musste. In dem Moment wusste er was wir oft noch lernen müssen: dass die ganze Idee von „den anderen” eine Illusion ist. Keiner von uns ist separat – wir gehören alle zusammen, ob wir das nun mögen oder nicht.

Barmherzigkeit ist was uns widerfährt wenn es einem Mitmenschen durch und durch geht ob unseres Anblickes, und der dann so durchgeschüttelt ist dass er einfach helfen muss.

Barmherzigkeit ist etwas das uns widerfährt ... und Barmherzigkeit ist eben dann auch das was wir tun sollen. So endet Jesus seine Geschichte:

36 Wer von diesen dreien, meinst du, ist der Nächste gewesen dem, der unter die Räuber gefallen war? 37 Er sprach: Der die Barmherzigkeit an ihm tat. Da sprach Jesus zu ihm: So geh hin und tu desgleichen!

Barmherzigkeit soll ein Reflex werden, etwas das wir wie selbstverständlich tun, ohne viel darüber nachzudenken.

Stellen Sie sich für einen Moment vor dass Sie jetzt einen Juckreiz in ihrem rechten Arm verspüren. Ohne dass Sie jemals darüber nachdenken wird Ihre linke Hand sich auf den rechten Arm zubewegen sodass die Finger der linken Hand Ihren rechten Arm kratzen können.

Wenn der Juckreiz dann weniger schlimm ist, wird Ihre linke Hand automatisch an ihren gewohnten Platz zurückkehren – und all dies wird geschehen ohne dass Sie je einen Gedanken darüber verschwenden.

Indem er uns zwingt Barmherzigkeit als Reflex anzusehen stellt Jesus unsere Grenzen in Frage. Er sagt dass jeder andere Mensch uns ein Nächster ist. Er sagt dass alle anderen Menschen für mich verantwortlich sind, und dass ich verantwortlich bin für das Wohlergehen jedes anderen Menschen. Er sagt dass das Universum eins ist, und dass alles in diesem Universum eins sein soll.

Wir sollen uns nicht benehmen wie der Priester und der Levit; sie hörten auf ihr Ego und das sagt ihnen, „Wenn ich jetzt helfe, könnte ich dabei nicht selber in Gefahr kommen?” Auf der anderen Seite wurde der Samariter seines Egos Herr; er fragte sich nicht wie es ihm dabei gehen würde, sondern wie es dem Überfallenen gehen würde ohne seine Hilfe.

Jeder unserer Mitmenschen ist unser Nächster. Für die Pharisäer damals und heute ist das ein Schlag ins Gesicht. Es ist doch so viel einfacher wenn man alles gut abgeriegelt hat mit Grenzen und Warnschildern – dann braucht man sich mit gewissen Leuten eben nicht abzugeben.

Ab und an trifft man auch einen Pharisäer in der Kirche – eine Person die allen Ernstes sagt, „Herr Pastor, diese Dame gehört hier nicht her; sie ist einfach nicht wie wir; sie ist hier fehl am Platz; wir mochten dass sie uns verlässt.”

Martin Luther spricht von den „verdrießlichen Heiligen” die meinen sich in ihrer Heiligkeit ausruhen zu können, and daher sich von allem Leid abwenden. Luther sagt diese Leute sind überzeugt dass Gott ihnen etwas schuldet, und dass sie Gott nichts schulden weil sie doch sooo gut sind. Luther sagt von diesen verdrießlichen Heiligen dass Gott sich um sie sorgt weil sie so verblendet sind.

Und so ist das Gleichnis vom Barmherzigen Samariter nicht nur eine Geschichte über das Erbarmen sondern auch eine Geschichte über unsere Angewohnheit über andere zu Gericht zu sitzen. Es gibt überall Leute denen unser Gleichnis auf die Nerven geht, so wie jenem Schriftgelehrten der versuchte Streit mit Jesus anzufangen.

Bibeltreue Leute, professionelle Gläubige gehen vorbei an dem Opfer – vielleicht denken Sie gerade heute morgen: nun ja, der Priester und der Levit, die mögen gute Gründe haben sich nicht einzumischen!

Aber dann, … dann wird das Opfer gerettet von einem Feind. Und wir sollen uns ein Beispiel an diesem Mann nehmen! Da hört sich doch wohl alles auf!

Indem die professionellen Gläubigen einen Bogen um den Überfallenen machen und nur der verachtete Samariter das richtige tut, kommt das Gericht zu uns: da fängt Gott an über uns Gericht zu halten.

Wir sind heute morgen zur Kirche gekommen um Gott näher zu sein. Aber nun kommt er so nah dass es manchem unheimlich wird.

Wie geht es Ihnen mit diesem Gott der Ihnen so nahekommt dass er über Sie zu Gericht sitzt und Ihnen sagt, „Ich erwarte mehr von dir"?

Mit seinem Samaritergleichnis hat Jesus uns alle überführt.

Sie uns ich, wir sind eine Schar von Pharisäern und Schriftgelehrten, voll von Selbstgerechtigkeit und Selbstzufriedenheit.

Es ist nicht einfach diese Nähe Gottes auszuhalten -- und doch dürfen wir uns geliebt und angenommen fühlen, denn wir sollen ja lernen von dieser Erfahrung: dass die Barmherzigkeit die wir brauchen oft von unerwarteten Ecken kommt, und dass wenn wir durch und durch geschüttelt werden von dem Leiden und der Verzweiflung unter unseren Mitmenschen wir gar nicht mehr anders können als zu handeln.

Von Liebe reden kann jeder, aber Liebe zu tun das ist eine Aufgabe.

Gottes Liebe kommt zu uns heute morgen in Gericht und Herausforderung. Gottes Liebe kommt zu uns in der Aufforderung uns helfen zu lassen von unseren Mitmenschen, und wirklich da zu sein für die die uns brauchen. Aber unten drunter ist es alles Liebe.

Eins der Probleme mit unserer Geschichte ist dass wir keine Samariter in unserer Gesellschaft haben; das Gleichnis hatte mehr Stoßkraft fuer Jesu Zeitgenossen weil sie Samariter vor Augen hatten, Menschen die gehasst und verabscheut wurden.

In einem mittelalterlichen Bild wird der Levit zum Mönch, und der Samariter zum Türken; weil die Zeitgenossen des Malers vor den Türken Angst hatten, war die Stoßkraft des Gleichnisses wiederhergestellt.

Denken Sie an die Kontroverse um Franklin Graham, von der man sogar in deutschen Zeitungen lessen konnte. Als der Sohn von Billy Graham neulich vorschlug die Einwanderung von Muslimen in die USA völlig zu stoppen sagte er wörtlich dies sollte geschehen „bis die Bedrohung durch den Islam sich beruhigt hat”. Da haben wir’s.

Die Stoßkraft des Gleichnisses ist sofort wiederhergestellt ... wenn wir uns einen Barmherzigen Muslim vorstellen. Sie und ich am Wegrande, nahe am Verbluten ... und dann die Rettung, durch einen barmherzigen Muslim!

Wenn wir jeden Menschen als unseren Nächsten ansehen, dann lieben wir so wie Gott liebt. Gottes Liebe ist unbedingt, also ohne Bedingungen. „Gottes Liebe ist wie die Sonne", sangen wir in der Jungschar, „sie ist immer und überall da" ...

Wir sind eingeladen uns einzulassen auf die ganze Menschheit – damit andere an uns Gutes tun können wenn wir in Not sind, und damit wir anderen Gutes tun wenn sie uns brauchen.

So jemand spricht: Ich liebe Gott!
Und haßt doch seine Brüder,

Der treibt mit Gottes Wahrheit Spott,

Und reißt sie ganz darnieder.

Gott ist die Lieb, und will, daß ich
Den Nächsten liebe, gleich als mich.

Das Universum ist eins, und wir sind Teil von diesem wunderschönen Ganzen. Und dieses Ganze kann immer schöner werden wenn wir Barmherzigkeit üben.

Üben Sie, tun Sie Barmherzigkeit als wenn heute die Welt unterginge. Lieben Sie Ihren Nächsten -- jeden Menschen den Sie treffen. Geben Sie Liebe weg bis Ihnen die Arme wehtun und bis Sie so heiser sind dass Sie kaum noch reden können.

Sie mögen eines Tages feststellen dass Sie gar nicht mehr wissen wo Sie aufhören und wo das Universum anfängt. Denn wir sind ja alle eins -- so hat Gott die Schöpfung gewollt. Amen.

Und der Friede Gottes,

der höher ist als alle Vernunft,

der bewahre eure Herzen und Sinne

in Christus Jesus. Amen.

...

* An English version of this sermon will appear in a few days in a new post.

**Das griechische Wort ist σπλαγχνίζομαι („splanchnizomai").

8.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 9

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 23 Jul 2015 06:06:00 +0000

Psalm 145

Saint Francis of Assisi lay on his deathbed. He was singing, and singing so loudly that the whole neighborhood heard about it.

Brother Elias, a pompous but prominent member of the Franciscan order, came close to Saint Francis and said, ‘Father, there are people standing in the street outside your window.’ Fearing that the last moment of Francis’ life had come, many who loved him had gathered together around the house.

Said Brother Elias, “I am afraid nothing we might do could prevent them from hearing you singing. The lack of restraint at so grave an hour might embarrass the order, Father. It might lower the esteem in which you yourself are so justly held. Perhaps in your extremity you have lost sight of your obligation to the many who have come to regard you as a saint. Would it not be more edifying for them if you would, er, die with more Christian dignity?”

Brother Elias was worried. But not about Saint Francis. He worried about lack of decorum. He worried about himself and the order. We can almost guess his thoughts: “It will be very embarrassing for us later on. How are we going to respond when the crowds demand to know what happened in the saint's last moments?”

Brother Elias was concerned with public opinion. He wanted to prove his master to be the greatest master, to be the greatest of saints, and he knew only one way to prove it — that he should be dignified in his death. Singing in his mind was as frivolous, as ordinary, as dancing.

But Francis had different priorities. He was a man of the people. Like it always has been with God's mystics, Francis had conquered his ego; once the ego is disempowered, there are no more dualisms. For Francis there was no distinction between "dignified" and "ordinary". As he had been "melting into God" for many years (Sr. Joan Chittister has used that phrase to describe mystics), he had no use for silly quibblers like Brother Elias.

So, Saint Francis said, “Please excuse me, Brother,” “but I feel so much joy in my heart that I really can’t help myself. I must sing!”

And he died singing. There can be no better death. If you can die singing, that proves that you lived singing, that your life was a joy, and that death was the crescendo of it, the culmination.

The voice of the individual psalmist (VV. 1-2)

Āleph 1 I will exalt you, my God the king, / and I will bless your name for all time and beyond. Bêt 2 Every day I will bless you, / and I will praise your name for all time and beyond.

Declarative statements
by the individual psalmist (VV. 3-9)

Gîmel 3 Great is the Lord and exceedingly praiseworthy; / for his greatness there is no searching out. Dālet 4 Generation to generation will glorify your doings, / and your mighty works they will make known. Hê 5 On the splendor of the glory of your majesty, / and on the words of your wondrous works I will meditate. Wāw 6 And the might of your awesome deeds they will tell, / and your greatness I will recount. Zayin 7 The memory of your great goodness they will utter forth, / and of your righteousness they will sing aloud. Ḥêt 8 Showing favor and compassionate is the Lord / slow to anger and great of hesed. Têt 9 Good is the Lord to all, / and his compassions are over all his works.

The voices of the individual
psalmist and the hesed ones (V. 10)

Yôd 10 All of your works will give thanks to you, O Lord, / and your hesed ones will bless you.

Interlude: God’s kingdom
is for all time (VV. 11-13)

Kāp 11 The glory of your kingdom they will tell, / and of your mighty works they will speak, Lāmed 12 in order to make known to the children of humanity his mighty work / and the glory and the splendor of his kingdom. Mêm 13 Your kingdom is a kingdom for all times, / and your dominion is for all generations.

Descriptive statements
by the individual psalmist
and the hesed ones (VV. 14-20)

Sāmek 14 The Lord supports all who are falling / and lifts up all who are bent down. Ayin 15 The eyes of all look to you, / and you give them their food in its time, Pê 16 opening your hand / and satisfying for every living thing its desire. Ṣādê 17 Righteous is the Lord in all his ways / and hesed in all his doings. Qôp 18 Near is the Lord to all who cry out to him, / to all who cry out to him in truth. Rêš 19 The desire of the ones who reverence him he fulfills, / and their cry for help he hears and helps them. Šîn 20 The Lord watches over all who love him, / but all the wicked he will destroy.

The voices of the individual
psalmist, the hesed ones, and all flesh (V. 21)

Tāw 21 The praise of the Lord my mouth will speak, / and all flesh will bless his holy name for all time and beyond (NICOT).

Psalm 145 ... Testing formatting ... Testing

To be continued.

Being Honest with God (7.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 8)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 16 Jul 2015 00:33:00 +0000

Psalm 89

There once was a King who lived in the far east. He was growing old and it was time for him to choose a successor. He had no children and he did not like his senior officials, so he decided to do something different. He called for all the youths in the land to gather outside the palace on a certain day.

When that day came, all the young girls and boys gathered outside the palace and the King came out and said, “I have decided to choose one of you to be my successor.” The children were all shocked. “I am going to give each of you a seed. You will take this seed home with you, plant it, water it and care for it and in one year from this day bring the plants back here. I will then look at all the plants and choose one of you to rule the kingdom.”

One boy named Ling received a seed from the King, like everyone else. Ling ran home and told his mother. She helped him get a pot and some soil, and they planted the seed. Ling watered the seed carefully and waited for a plant to grow.

After three weeks of watering and caring for the seed, nothing yet had grown out of Ling's pot. Yet, other children were all talking about the shoots that had sprout already in theirs. After four and five weeks the other children were talking about how tall their plants were and yet Ling’s pot still showed not even one sprout. After six months Ling was sure he had killed his seed while the others bragged about having tall trees and plants.

The year quickly passed and the day came for all the children to bring their plants before the King. Ling was saddened and decided he was not going to go at all.

Ling's mother said that he should go before the King and be honest with him. What if the King become angry because Ling didn’t show up, it could be very disrespectful. So Ling sighed and said he would take his empty pot to the King. He went to the palace with his head hung low.

Upon arriving, Ling saw how all the children had plants, trees, bushes and flowers in their pots. Ling hid behind the tallest person he could find so as to not be noticed. Just then the King came out and everyone clapped. The King walked around and looked at all the plants, smiling. “My, what lovely trees, flowers and plants there are here today.”

Just then the King saw Ling and his empty pot. The king ordered his guards to bring Ling to the front. Ling was terrified.

When Ling got to the King, the King asked him his name and he replied, “Ling.” All the others were laughing and heckling with whispers and chatter.

The King ordered everyone to be quiet. The crowd got quiet. The King then spoke, “Behold your new emperor.” Ling was stunned. He said to himself, "How could I rule a kingdom when I can't even grow a plant?

“One year ago today,” the King began. “I gave you all seeds and asked you to go home and plant that seed and water it and bring it back in one year.

I gave you all boiled seeds, which cannot grow. All of you brought me plants and flowers that you got from another seed because the first seed did not grow.

Only Ling here came forth with the exact seed that I gave him a year ago. Ling was the only one who came here with honesty, and the courage to be honest with his King. Welcome Ling. He is your new King.”

The story about Ling, the new king, is a good introduction to the theme of Psalm 89: Being Honest with One's King.

The relationship of old (VV. 1–4)

1 Of the hesed of the Lord forever I will sing; / generation to generation I will make known your faithfulness with my mouth; 2 for I will declare, “Your hesed is built to last; / the heavens, your faithfulness is established in them.” 3 “I cut a covenant with my chosen; / I have sworn to David, my servant. 4 I will establish your descendants forever; / and build your throne for generations.” Selah

Hymns to the Lord (VV. 5–12)

5 The heavens praise your wonders, O Lord, / also your faithfulness in the assembly of holy ones; 6 for who in the clouds can be compared with the Lord? / Who is like the Lord among the divine beings? 7 God is feared in the council of the holy ones, / great and fierce above all surrounding him. 8 O Lord, God of hosts, who is like you? / O Mighty Lord, your faithfulness surrounds you. 9 You rule over the surging sea; / when its waves rise, you still them. 10 YOU crushed Rahab like a corpse; / with your mighty arm, you scattered your enemies. 11 The heavens are yours and so is the earth; / the world and all that is in it, you founded them. 12 North and south YOU created them; / Tabor and Hermon joyfully praise your name.

The relationship of the recent past (VV. 13–18)

13 You have a mighty arm; / your hand is strong, your right hand is lifted. 14 Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne; / hesed and faithfulness go before you. 15 Happy are the people knowing the festal shout, O Lord; / in the light of your face they walk. 16 In your name, they rejoice all day; / in your righteousness, they are raised up, 17 for the glory of their strength is you, / and by your favor our horn is exalted; 18 for our shield belongs to the Lord / and to the Holy One of Israel, our king.

God’s covenant with Israel (VV. 19–37)

19 Then you spoke in a vision to your beloved ones and you said: / “I have given help unto a warrior.

I have raised up a chosen one from the people. 20 I found David, my servant; / with my holy oil I anointed him, 21 whom my hand will sustain continually; / also my arm will strengthen him. 22 An enemy will not mistreat him, / nor a child of unrighteousness humble him. 23 I will crush his foes in front of his face; / I will strike down those hating him. 24 My faithfulness and hesed are with him, / and in my name his horn is exalted. 25 I will set his hand on the sea / and on the rivers, his right hand. 26 He will declare of me, / ‘You are my father, my God, and the rock of my salvation.’ 27 Also I will make him the firstborn, / most high of the kings of the earth. 28 Forever, I will keep my hesed for him; /my covenant will stand firm with him. 29 I will establish his offspring forever; / his throne will be like the days of the heavens. 30 If his children forsake my torah / and do not walk with my justice, 31 if my statutes they profane / and my commandments they do not keep, 32 I will punish their transgressions with a rod / and their iniquities with plagues. 33 My hesed I will not remove from him, / nor will I betray my faithfulness. 34 I will not defile my covenant / nor alter the words from my lips. 35 Once and for all, I have sworn by my holiness; / I will not lie to David. 36 His descendants will continue forever / and his throne as the sun before me. 37 Like the moon, it will be established forever, / and as a witness in the clouds it is established.” Selah

The current situation

and God’s reversal (VV. 38–45)

38 But [now] you have rejected, refused, / and become very angry with your anointed. 39 You have renounced your covenant with your servant; / you have defiled his crown in the land. 40 You have broken through all his walls; / you have made his strongholds ruins.

41 All those passing by plunder him;

/ he has become a revulsion to his neighbors. 42 You have exalted the right hand of his foes; / you have caused his enemies to rejoice. 43 Moreover, you have turned back the edge of his sword; / you did not support him in battle. 44 You have put an end to his splendor; / you have thrown down his crown on the ground. 45 You have cut short the days of his youth; / you have wrapped him in shame. Selah

Seeking relationship with God (VV. 46–51)

46 How long, O Lord? / Will you hide forever? / Will your anger burn forever? 47 Remember how brief my time is; / for what futility have you created humans? 48 What human can live and not see death? / Who can escape from the hand of Sheol? Selah 49 Where is your hesed of old, O Lord, / which by your faithfulness you swore to David? 50 Remember, O Lord, the reproach of your servant, / which I am carrying in my bosom, from all the many peoples, 51 with which your enemies reproach, O Lord, / with which they taunt every step of your anointed.

Editorial addition (V. 52)

52 Blessed be the Lord forever. /

Amen and Amen. (NICOT)

There is a stretch of almost forty verses that, if reading Psalm 89 were a ride in a car, could be passed through rather pleasantly, with many familiar sights (themes and words) to be admired along the way.

Summarizes Beth Tanner: "The first thirty-seven verses ... offer praise to God for God's steadfast love"; she goes on to say that the psalm's themes "of control of the universe and creation are common in texts that proclaim God's kingship".

But just as we as passengers are tempted to fall asleep, V. 38 makes for a rude awakening. The car crashes. As we emerge, bruised and disoriented, we find that the real message of Psalm 89 is announced with an angry "but":

38 But you have rejected, refused, / and become very angry with your anointed. 39 You have renounced your covenant with your servant; / you have defiled his crown in the land. ... 44 You have put an end to his splendor; / you have thrown down his crown on the ground. 45 You have cut short the days of his youth; / you have wrapped him in shame.

The people around the Psalmist are wondering just how much longer God will be angry. They feel as though God has abandoned them and withdrawn his promises:

V. 49
אַיֵּ֤ה חֲסָדֶ֖יךָ הָרִאשֹׁנִ֥ים אֲדֹנָ֑י
’ay·yêh ḥă·sā·de·kā hā·ri·šō·nîm ’ă·dō·nāy;
Where is your hesed of old, O Lord,

נִשְׁבַּ֥עְתָ ּ לְ֝דָוִ֗ד בֶּאֱמוּנָתֶֽךָ
niš·ba‘·tā lə·dā·wid be·’ĕ·mū·nā·te·kā
which by your faithfulness you swore to David?

The verses leading up to V. 49, in the paraphrase by Eugene Peterson, give us a good idea of the passion with which the Psalmist hurls her words at God:

"How long do we put up with this, God? Are you gone for good? Will you hold this grudge forever? Remember my sorrow and how short life is. Did you create men and women for nothing but this? We'll see death soon enough. Everyone does. And there's no back door out of hell. (VV. 46-48)

As Beth Tanner puts it, the words of the Psalmist are directed not just TO God, but also, pointedly, AGAINST God.

Things are tough; the Psalmist has decided to stop being nice; her words are bold, harsh and abrasive. She holds God accountable! She is honest with God. Radically Honest.

Continues Tanner: "This psalm speaks of powerful faith, faith that is strong enough to demand that God hear our pain ... that we can accuse God of not living up to God's promises when that is the way we truly feel ... It shatters the way we often 'do' church and says that pain and disillusionment are part of our lives and also a part of our relationship with God".

As you let that sink in for a minute, you know that this is a chance to review your own relationship with God!

Because it stops right before V. 38, the section assigned for this Sunday completely misses the point of Psalm 89. That is unfortunate, as the church is in dire need of Biblical laments, which are, as Walter Brueggemann said in a recent interview, "... an insistence that things cannot remain this way and they must be changed".

He continues, "Such prayers are partly an address to God, but they are also a communal resolve to hang in and take transformative action. Unless that kind of grief and rage and anger is put to speech, it can never become energy".

Biblical laments are leading the way to being honest with God. As Brueggemann says, when grief and rage and anger are not spoken, when we are afraid of being honest with God, then their power is lost ... to ourselves, and to our relationship with God.

In the field of mental health we know that when grief and anger are not spoken, they will find another way to express themselves, often in medical problems.

Perhaps the modern church, by having become so "nice", is on the way to get sick.

We need to lament more. We need to be more honest with God.

Think of Ferguson, think of Staten Island, think of Charleston.

We need to lament. We need to learn to take God seriously and to remind God of God's promises. With great honesty (once we take that risk!) comes the gift of closeness, of intimacy, of a real relationship.

Just like Psalm 88, Psalm 89 provides no answers, but both psalms model how to stay in relationship with God no matter how rough it gets in our lives.

Beth Tanner cites Elie Wiesel who said this when asked whether he ever lost his faith:

“I have never renounced my faith in God. I have risen against His justice, protested His silence and sometimes His absence, but my anger rises up within faith not outside of it.”

Dreaming of Perfect Balance (6.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 7)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 09 Jul 2015 03:45:00 +0000

Psalm 85

Zankei, the son of a samurai, journeyed to Edo and there became the retainer of a high official. He fell in love with the official’s wife and was discovered. In self-defense, he slew the official. Then he ran away with the wife.

Both of them later became thieves. But the woman was so greedy that Zenkai grew disgusted. Finally, leaving her, he journeyed far away to the province of Buzen, where he became a wandering mendicant.

To atone for his past, Zenkai resolved to accomplish some good deed in his lifetime. Knowing of a dangerous road over a cliff that had caused the death and injury of many persons, he resolved to cut a tunnel through the mountain there.

Begging food in the daytime, Zenkai worked at night digging his tunnel. When thirty years had gone by, the tunnel was 2,280 feet long, 20 feet high, and 30 feet wide.

Two years before the work was completed, the son of the official he had slain, who was a skillful swordsman, found Zenkai out and came to kill him in revenge.

“I will give you my life willingly,” said Zenkai. “Only let me finish this work. On the day it is completed, you may kill me.”

So the son awaited the day. Several months passed and Zenkai kept on digging. The son grew tired of doing nothing and began to help with the digging. After he had helped for more than a year, he came to admire Zenkai’s strong will and character.

At last the tunnel was completed and the people could use it and travel in safety.

“Now cut off my head,” said Zenkai. “My work is done.”

“How can I cut off my own teacher’s head?” asked the younger man with tears in his eyes.

Forgiveness is one of the main themes of Psalm 85.

Orientation: Past Forgiveness (VV. 1-3)

1 Lord, you favored your land; / you truly turned toward Jacob*. 2 You lifted the iniquity of your people; / you covered all their sin. Selah 3 You withdrew all your fury; / you turned back from your fierce anger.

Disorientation: Asking Forgiveness (VV. 4-7)

4 Restore us, O God of our salvation! / Break off your anger toward us! 5 Will you be angry with us forever? / Will you stretch your anger from generation to generation? 6 Will you not turn and give us life, / so your people will rejoice in you? 7 Show us your hesed, O Lord! / Give us your salvation!

Reorientation: Restored Vision (VV. 8-13)

8 May I hear God the Lord speak, /

for he speaks peace unto his people, unto his faithful ones; / but let them not return to stupidity. 9 Truly, his salvation is near to those fearing him, / for glory is dwelling in our land. 10 Hesed and faithfulness will meet; / righteousness and peace will kiss. 11 Faithfulness will sprout up from the earth, / and righteousness will look down from heaven. 12 Indeed, the Lord will give what is good, / and our land will give its produce. 13 Righteousness will go before him / and prepare a way for his steps. (NICOT)

Psalm 85 is one of the Korah Psalms (42–49; 84–85; 87) which are "assumed to have emerged from and been used at the ancient sanctuary at Dan in the north of Israel" (Craigie).

Orientation, disorientation and re-orientation -- all three of the categories introduced into psalm scholarship by Walter Brueggemann can be found in Psalm 85 (see outline above).

The first half of the psalm is characterized by a word play on the Hebrew word שׁוּב (shub; turn).

V. 1

רָצִ֣יתָ יְהוָ֣ה אַרְצֶ֑ךָ

rā·ṣî·tā Yah·weh ’ar·ṣe·kā;

Lord, you favored your land;

שַׁ֝֗בְתָ ּ שְׁבוּת יַעֲקֹב

šūbə·tā šə·būt Yaaqob

you truly turned toward Jacob.*

The word שׁוּב basically means to return to a point or area where one has been before. In V. 1, the Psalmist uses a cognate accusative to intensify the meaning of shub; literally she says, “you turned with a turning [toward] Jacob.”

When שׁוּב came up in Seminary for the first time, we learned to translate it as "repent" and while that is one of its meanings, שׁוּב has many more uses throughout the Old Testament. Our psalm shows off a few of them:

V. 3

You withdrew all your fury; you turned back (שׁוּב) from your fierce anger.

V. 4

Restore us (שׁוּב), O God of our salvation! Break off your anger toward us!

V. 6

Will you not turn (שׁוּב) and give us life, so your people will rejoice in you?

V. 8

May I hear God the Lord speak, for he speaks peace unto his people, unto his faithful ones; but let them not return (שׁוּב) to stupidity.

The order in which the various shades of shub show up is important as it shows the theological "flow" the Psalmist is pursuing: "It is the ‘turning, repentance’ of Yahweh that enables the future to become the present" (Howard Wallace).

Put another way, the Psalmist looks back on the history of salvation (VV. 1-3) in order to show what is now needed (VV. 4-7): "The people’s only hope is that God will turn around ... and restore the people ... There is no explanation offered or reasons for God to turn, except God’s own history of doing so. The words are direct. The only way back to a relationship is for God to forgive." (Beth Tanner).

In the third section (beginning with V. 8), the Psalmist changes her tone. Whereas in VV. 4-7 she has pleaded with God based on the past, in VV. 8-13 she develops a grand vision of the future. She introduces her bold dream by speaking of God's שָׁלוֹם (shalom; wholeness, V. 8), יֵ֫שַׁע (yesha; salvation, V. 9) and כָּבוֹד (kabowd; glory, V. 9).

V. 10

חֶֽסֶד וֶאֱמֶ֥ת נִפְגָּ֑שׁוּ

he·sed we·’ĕ·met nip·gā·šū;

Hesed and faithfulness will meet;

צֶ֖דֶק וְשָׁל֣וֹם נָשָֽׁקוּ

ṣe·deq wə·šā·lō·wm nā·šā·qū

righteousness and peace will kiss.

And the vision continues:

Faithfulness (אֱמֶת) will sprout up from the earth, / and righteousness (צֶ֫דֶק) will look down from heaven (V. 11).

Says Walter Brueggemann: "The use of the familiar covenantal vocabulary of steadfast love, faithfulness, righteousness, and peace, however, does not remain focused simply on the relationship, but turns promptly to matters of produce, blessing, and fertility ... The practice of justice bespeaks the full restoration of the generosity of creation".

Indeed, the Lord will give what is good (טוֹב) / and our land will give its produce. Righteousness (צֶ֫דֶק) will go before him / and prepare a way for his steps. (V. 12-13).

When heaven and earth are in perfect balance, that is truly שָׁלוֹם, shalom, wholeness.

This is Matthias Jorissen's summary of the third part; the English translation in blank verse is my own.

Die Güte wird der Treu entgegengehn,

Gerechtigkeit und Friede küssen sich.

Du, Erde, wirst die Treue blühen sehn,

vom Himmel schaut Gerechtigkeit auf dich.

Gott ist uns gut und gießt Gedeihen aus,

das Erdreich bringt den Segen uns ins Haus.

Seht, vor ihm her geht die Gerechtigkeit,

die unser Land mit jedem Schritt erfreut.

So goodness and truth will go to be together,

and justice draws peacefulness into a beautiful kiss.

Then faithfulness springs from the earth with sprouts and blooms,

while justice from heaven looks down and watches the earth.

The goodness of God will abundantly pour out his blessings,

so that our land with its produce might feed us all.

Then justice will walk before the Lord our God,

and bless our land with every step it makes.

...
* The translation of V. 1b is my own.

Desiring God As Much As Air (5.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 6)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Wed, 01 Jul 2015 21:17:00 +0000

Psalm 123

A hermit was meditating by a river when a young man interrupted him. "Master, I wish to become your disciple," said the man. "Why?" replied the hermit. The young man thought for a moment. "Because I want to find God."

The master jumped up, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, dragged him into the river, and plunged his head under water. As he was kicking and struggling to free himself, the master held him there for a minute (or three). Then he pulled him up out of the river.

The young man coughed up water and gasped to get his breath. When he eventually quieted down, the master spoke. "Tell me, what did you want most of all when you were under water."

"Air!" answered the man. "Very well," said the master. "Go home and come back to me when you want God as much as you just wanted air."

Just as in the story, the theme of Psalm 123 is Desiring God.

1 To you I lift up my eyes, / O the one who dwells in the heavens.
2 Behold, as the eyes of the
servants (look) to the hand
of their lord, / As the eyes of the
maid servants (look) to the hand
of her mistress, / Thus our eyes
(look) to the Lord our God, /
until he shows favor to us.

3 Show favor to us, O Lord, /
show favor to us, / for we are

overwhelmed with contempt.

4 Our inmost being is

overwhelmed with the mockery

of the ones who are at ease, /

the contempt of the proud. (NICOT)

Beginning with Charles Spurgeon commentators have noted a common theme linking psalms 120 through 123: whereas in Psalm 120, the psalmist looks up from despair, in Psalm 121, she looks up to the hills. Then, in Psalm 122, she looks up to the Temple. Finally, in Psalm 123 she looks up to God.

Samuel Cox admires our psalm for its "charm of unity". "It limits itself to one thought, or rather it expresses a single mood of the soul -- the upward glance of a patient and hopeful faith."

The pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem (Psalm 123 is one of the Songs of Ascent) compare their trust in God to the relationship of trust between servants and their masters and mistresses.

Behold, as the eyes of the servants look to the hand of their lord, as the eyes of the maid servants look to the hand of her mistress, thus our eyes look to the Lord our God, ... until he shows favor to us (V. 2).

Just like obedient servants look up to their masters and mistresses for nurture and protection, masters and mistresses "show favor" to them.

The word translated here as "show favor", שֶׁיְּחָנֵּֽנוּ, comes from the Hebrew verbal root חָנַן (ḥānan; mercy, graciousness).

Matthias Jorissen's Metric Psalter* aptly summarizes V. 1-2:

Zu dir im Himmel, HERR, zu deinem Licht

erheb ich mein Gesicht.

Wie auf die Hand des Herrn die Knechte schauen

und seiner Güte trauen,

wie sich die Augen einer Magd nicht wenden

von ihrer Herrin Händen,

so sehen wir in unsers Lebens Not

allein auf dich, o Gott.

To you in heaven, Lord, up to your light
I lift my countenance.
As servants firmly look to their lord's hand
and trust his charity,
and as a maiden sees her mistress' hands
in patience and in hope,
we look to you in our own distress,
to you alone, oh God.

The second half of the psalm (V. 3-4) repeats the phrase "show favor", but now in a much more urgent tone:

V. 3
חָנֵּ֣נוּ יְהוָ֣ה חָנֵּ֑נוּ
ḥān·nê·nū Yah·weh ḥān·nê·nū;
Show favor to us, O Lord, /
show favor to us,

כִּֽי רַ֝֗ב שָׂבַ֥עְנוּ בֽוּז
kî-rab śā·ba‘·nū buz
for we are overwhelmed with contempt.

The word שָׂבַ֥עְנוּ in Line 2 is from the Hebrew root שָׂבַע (saba; become satisfied, being satisfied, drink their fill, have in plenty; have it in excess, become weary).

Even though the word is usually used with food, here what the singer and her contemporaries are fed excessively is בּוּז (buz; contempt, that which makes people despised or a laughingstock).

In using "satisfaction" in such unusual way, the Psalmist employs hypocatastasis, an elegant figure of speech that "declares or implies a resemblance, representation or comparison" and "has more force than a metaphor or simile, and expresses ... a superlative degree of resemblance" (Wikipedia).

As contempt is being pushed down the throats of the Psalmist and her contemporaries, they simply cannot "stomach it" any more.

In V. 4, the hypocatastasis figure of speech is repeated: Our inmost being is overwhelmed (literally: satisfied) with the mockery of the ones who are at ease. In addition, בּוּז (buz) is used with the article ha to paint the character of the contemptuous people around the Psalmist: the proud.

This is how Jorissen* renders the second half of our psalm:

Erbarm dich, HERR, wie du es stets getan,

und sieh uns gnädig an.

Wir mußten ja seit ungezählten Tagen

der Menschen Wut ertragen.

Wie wurden wir mit Spott und Hohn betrachtet,

entwürdigt und verachtet!

Zu lange schon erleiden wir den Tod.

Erbarm dich unser, Gott!

Be gracious, Lord, as you have always been,
show mercy to us now.
For endless days we suffered constantly,
endured the people's rage.
How we were treated with immense contempt,
dishonored and despised!
Too long already we have suffered death.
Be gracious to us, Lord.

"Come back when you want God as much as you want air" -- the hermit's advice points the way for all of us servants of God:

"Lifting our eyes to God" is more than just good advice for days when we are in trouble. As Clifford (as referenced by Nancy deClaissé-Walford) reminds us, such looking up is an act of defiance, in that we defy all the other "gods" around us that lay claim to our lives.

...
* The translations in blank verse are my own.

A Wondrous Imbalance (4.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 5)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Wed, 24 Jun 2015 05:42:00 +0000

Psalm 130

Les Riches Heures du duc de Berry,

Folio 70r - De Profundis.

(The Musée Condé, Chantilly)

In the 17th century there was a Zen monk named Master Hakuin who was well respected for his work among the people.

A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near Hakuin. One day, without any warning, her parents discovered she was pregnant. This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Master Hakuin.

In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say.

After the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. By this time he had lost his reputation, which did not trouble him, but he took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbors and everything else the child needed.

A year later the girl could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth - the real father of the child was a young man who worked in the fish market.

The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back.

Hakuin willingly yielded the child, saying only: "Is that so?"

Not unlike those of a certain Rabbi Jesus, Master Hakuin's actions fly in the face of all common sense. His curt response “Is that so?” seems to turn upside down every sense of justice:

When he is accused of being responsible for the girl's pregnancy, he gives what amounts to a verbal shrug. And as he is vindicated, and the mortified parents come to apologize and to take back their grandchild, his reaction is the same: “Is that so?”

You may not think so from the story, but Master Hakuin was a wise man. His paradoxical refusal to get angry or to seek justice opens up new ways of thinking about forgiveness.

What enables Hakuin to remain so even-tempered in the face of great injustice is his unconditional regard for others and himself.

The theme of Psalm 130 is forgiveness.

Crying Out to The Lord.

1 From the depths I cry to you, O Lord. / Lord, listen to my voice. 2 Let your ears be attentive / to the voice of my entreaties.

Trusting in The Lord.

3 If iniquities you keep account of, O Lord, / Lord, who could stand? 4 But there is with you forgiveness / so that you may be revered.

Waiting for The Lord.

5 I am confident in the Lord, my inmost being is confident, / and for his word I wait expectantly. 6 My inmost being (waits expectantly) for the Lord, / more than those watching for the morning, / those watching for the morning.

Call to Trust The Lord.

7 Wait expectantly, O Israel, for the Lord, / for with the Lord is hesed, / and abundantly with him is deliverance. 8 And he will deliver Israel / from all of its iniquities. (NICOT)

My most recent memory connected with Psalm 130 goes a few years back: singing Cantata 131 by a famous contemporary of Hakuin, J.S. Bach, with the Cornerstone Chorale under its Music Director Richard Stout.

Even though this work is one of Bach’s earliest cantatas (he composed it as 22 year old organist) and even though it doesn’t have all the formal elements his later cantatas do, I think it’s hauntingly beautiful.

I distinctly remember being annoyed with the quirky habit of pronouncing “Aus der Tiefe” as “Aus der Tiefe-e”. Yet it seems as though choirs all over the world do it that way, and at least one scholar claims that this pronunciation adds to the “haunting” quality of the “depths” the psalm's first word denotes.

V. 1

מִמַּעֲמַקִּ֖ים קְרָאתִ֣יךָ יְהֹוָה

mim·ma·‘ă·maq·qîm qə·rā·tî·kā Yah·weh

From the depths I cry to you, O Lord.

אֲדֹנָי֮ שִׁמְעָ֪ה בְק֫וֹלִ֥י

’ă·dō·nāy šim·‘āh bə·qō·w·lî

Lord, listen to my voice.

The first word in Psalm 130 is מַעֲמַקִּים (maamaqqim) with the preposition "mim" (from) added in front. The word is a plural form of עָמַק (amaq) and means "depths".

The second word, קְרָאתִ֣יךָ, is from the Hebrew root קָרָא (qara; cry, call, shout).

The third word is יְהֹוָה (Yahweh), one of the two words for God used in our psalm. (The other is אֲדֹנָי֮, Adonai, see Line 2).

As you can see above by counting the words, a powerful statement like Line 1 can be done in three words in Hebrew -- the English translation needs nine.

But what are those depths the Psalmist speaks of?

Most commentaries agree that the Psalmist employs here an ancient metaphor for chaos well-known to her contemporaries: the depths of the sea.

She cries "from the depths of the sea" because someone or something makes her feel alienated. As she cries out to Yahweh, we feel her anguish, her sense of abandonment, her sense of deep sadness.

The Message Bible renders V. 1, "Help, God—the bottom has fallen out of my life! Master, hear my cry for help!"

Walter Brueggemann muses about the tone of the Psalmist, reflecting on the fact that in the Songs of Ascents (of which our psalm is part) God is addressed as King:

"From where should the ruler of reality be addressed? One might think it should be from a posture of obedience, or at least from a situation of prosperity and success, indicating conformity to the blessed order of creation. One ought to address the king suitably dressed, properly positioned, with a disciplined, well-modulated voice. But this psalm is the miserable cry of a nobody from nowhere."

He then reminds us of Exodus Chapter 2, the beginning of Israel's liberation story:

The Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out. Out of the slavery their cry for help rose up to God. God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. (Ex 2:23b-24)

If you and I heard V. 2 for the first time, this might very well the point where we would worry about our audacious Psalmist: Let your ears be attentive / to the voice of my entreaties.

But ... apparently she is not smashed to smithereens, as she presses on in V. 3 with a rhetorical question: If iniquities you keep account of, O Lord, / Lord, who could stand?

Then we get to the theological center of Psalm 130:

V. 4
כִּֽי עִמְּךָ֥ הַסְּלִיחָ֑ה
kî- im·məkā has·sə·lî·ḥāh;
But there is with you forgiveness,
Denn bei dir ist die Vergebung,

לְ֝מַ֗עַן תִּוָּרֵֽא
lə·ma·‘an tiw·wā·rê
so that you may be revered.
daß man dich fürchte.

The Hebrew word translated with "forgiveness" is סְלִיחָה (selichah), a seldom-used noun derived from the verb סָלַח (salach; to forgive, pardon, spare).

But there is with you forgiveness so that you may be revered.

Notice the odd pairing of forgiveness with fear/reverence.

Björn Schwenger suggests that we let V. 4 sit on our tongue so we can taste its sweetness. He then spells out what a lot of people might expect the Psalmist to have said instead: "With you there is judgment and punishment, so that people fear you."

This is a stunning revelation about God: that forgiveness is there before anything else ("ex nihilo" as Brueggemann puts it), and that reverence follows from it.

It can be said, then, that reverence is born in the marvelous experience of God's forgiveness.

A phrase often used by German theologians comes to mind: "die vorauslaufende Gnade Gottes" -- literally "the Grace of God that runs ahead of us". It's God's version of unconditional regard; his love wins out no matter how badly we mess up. What wondrous imbalance indeed.

In his hymn "Aus tiefer Not schrei ich zu dir" (Out of the depths I cry to Thee) Martin Luther perfectly matches the "wondrous imbalance" proclaimed by the Psalmist:

Ob bei uns ist der Sünden viel,

Bei Gott ist viel mehr Gnade.

[Although our sins are manifold,

God’s mercy is more powerful.]*

...

*the translation in blank verse is my own.

"Don't Get Old. It's a Bad Idea!" (3.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 4)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Mon, 15 Jun 2015 15:27:00 +0000

Psalm 103

For material on Psalm 107, parts of which are assigned for June 21 in the RCL, see my post dated 3/11/15. This post is on Psalm 103, assigned for this Sunday in the German lectionary; in the RCL, portions of this psalm are assigned to Epiphany 8B.

“There is not enough room,” the people were crying. “There is not enough room.” It was true.

The plants of the plain grew so high and thick and close that no hook or knife was able to clear a path through them. Thick hedges of weed and bramble threatened to choke the trees that towered over them and locked them in an eternal shade of leaves.

Food was scarce for there were few places to grow it. But that was only a part of the problem. A far greater threat hung over the people. Death had never yet visited the world. So everything lived and multiplied, growing bigger and bigger, never growing old, threatening to crush the earth itself under the weight of all that teeming life. The cries of the people grew louder and louder. “There’s not enough room. We need more room,” they pleaded.

High on her mountain-top, Kali, the goddess of death, sensed the cries of the people and stirred in her sleep. The pleading was insistent and demanded a response. It wakened Kali, angered that she had been disturbed. She rushed from her bed, throwing a robe around her shoulders, and flung open the bedroom window.

The sight that met her eyes softened even her hard heart and soothed away her anger. Piled below her were crowds of people, their arms a forest reaching out to the sky. They were hemmed in by a thick avenue of trees, so tall that they blotted out the sky. Birds filled their branches, singing shrilly. Animals of every kind threaded their way warily through the throng. The stench of sweat and the shrill, panicky pleading were everywhere.

Kali gazed at the misery, pondering what to do. Then she turned from the window and called urgently for her servant Time. “The conditions below must not continue for a day longer. Bring me my cloak,” she ordered. “Then harness the horses and hitch up the chariot. You and I are going on a long journey.”

So Kali wrapped herself in her long, red garment. Then with long fingers she eased the key of her treasure chest into its lock and, when the lid was opened, pulled parcel after parcel from its dark interior until the whole of the room, from floor to ceiling, was piled high with them, each gleaming in the gold wrapping that covered them.

When Time brought the chariot to the door, Kali ordered that he fill it with her gifts. All the time, her seven black stallions pawed the ground, nervous, excited, eager to move. At last, all was ready and Kali mounted the chariot where Time was waiting. He handed her the reins.

A single crack of the whip and the horses raced across the face of the sky, carrying them ever downwards to the earth and all its misery.

Kali made sure she didn't miss anyone. She visited every house, every town and village. At each stop she ordered Time from the carriage, his arms full of gifts for all who lived or grew there.

Eagerly, the gold wrapping was torn apart to reveal Kali’s gifts. But there was no excited response. For them, Kali brought decay, mold, dust, rust, dry, withered shells, wrinkles, coldness, ageing.

For the first time that day, leaves changed their color and began to fall. The stems of plants grew dry and cracked and turned back downwards to the earth.

On that day too, the people knew first the mark of wrinkles on faces, a stiffness of limbs and joints and eyes that no longer saw clearly. Soon, too, they discovered death and its pain of loss, at first amongst the animals and then amongst the people themselves. The elders were leaving, moving aside to make space for the children.

Kali returned from earth, exhausted from her long journey. Since then, she returns often to greet each one who moves aside to make space for others. But now she sends Time ahead of her to warn that Kali is on her way and present his own special gift. For Time brings the gift of white hair and he covers it in the golden wrapping of wisdom.

Kali, the Hindu goddess, is meant to symbolize the wholeness of life: life and death, beauty and ugliness, motherliness and destructiveness. In the story above she introduces humanity to death and decay, in order to restore balance. Psalm 103 covers almost every topic the People of God discuss; one of those topics is death and decay ...

Call to praise (VV. 1–2)
1 Praise the Lord, O my soul! / All that I am—praise his holy name! 2 Praise the Lord, O my soul! / Do not forget all of his benefits!

Stanza 1: The Individual's Perspective (VV. 3–8)
3 The one who forgives all your sins, / who heals all your diseases, 4 Who redeems your life from the pit, / who crowns you with hesed and mercy, 5 Who satisfies your life with good, / so that your youth is renewed like an eagle. 6 The Lord accomplishes vindication / and justice for all who are oppressed. 7 He made known his ways to Moses, / his deeds to the children of Israel. 8 The Lord is merciful and gracious, / slow of anger, but abounding in hesed.

Stanza 2: The Community's Perspective (VV. 9–16)
9 He does not always accuse; / he does not maintain his grievance forever. 10 He does not deal with us according to our sins / he does not repay us according to our iniquities. 11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth, / so great is his hesed toward those who fear him — 12 As distant as the rising is from the setting, / so has he distanced our sins from us. 13 As a father has mercy upon children, / the Lord has mercy on those who fear him— 14 For he knows how we were formed; / he remembers that we are dust. 15
A human being—like grass are its days, / like a wildflower, so it flowers. 16 But a wind blows against it and it is no more, / and its place acknowledges it no longer.

Stanza 3: Humanity's Perspective (VV. 17–19)
17 But the hesed of the Lord — / it is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, / and his righteousness is for the children’s children, 18 To those who keep his covenant, / to those who remember to do his commandments. 19 The Lord has established his throne in the heavens; / his kingdom rules over all.

Call to praise (VV. 20–22)
20 Praise the Lord, O his angels, / O mighty ones who do his bidding, / who obey the sound of his word! 21 Praise the Lord, all his hosts, / his ministers who do his will! 22 Praise the Lord, all his works, in all the places of his dominion! / Praise the Lord, O my soul! (NICOT)

The lyrics of two musical versions of our psalm don't just show the variety of styles; they also show a discrepancy in the translation of the first word:

Bless the Lord, my soul,

and bless his holy name,

bless the Lord, my soul,

he rescues me from death.

(Taizé)

Lobsinge Gott, erwecke deine Kräfte,

mein Geist, sein Lob sei immer dein Geschäfte.

O bet ihn an, sein Nam ist Majestät.
Lobsing dem HERRN, erheb ihn, meine Seele!

Er sorget treu, daß dir kein gutes fehle.

Vergiß den nicht, der dich durch Huld erhöht.

(Matthias Jorissen, Metric Psalter)

The phrasing of the Taizé chant ("bless the Lord") follows the majority of English Bible translations, while the Jorissen Psalter follows Martin Luther's translation by using "lobsinge Gott" (praise the Lord).

Here's the Hebrew original:

V. 1
בָּרֲכִ֣י נַ֭פְשִׁי אֶת־יְהוָ֑ה
bā·ră·kî nap̄·šî ’et-Yah·weh;
Praise the Lord, O my soul!

וְכָל־קְ֝רָבַ֗י אֶת־שֵׁ֥ם קָדְשֽׁוֹ
wə·kāl qə·rā·bay, ’et-šêm qodhsho.
All that I am — praise his holy name!

The question is how the first Hebrew word of the psalm, בָּרַך (barak), should be translated. It is true that the word's chief meaning is "to bless", but standard dictionaries offer as a secondary definition "to bless God as an act of adoration: to praise".

The translation I use (from the NICOT commentary, written by Rolf Jacobson) renders בָּרַך as "praise". Jacobson explains that the word in this context carries "the sense of declaring God to be the source of blessing, and thus should be translated as praise or perhaps 'worship'."

The combination of נָ֫פֶשׁ (nephesh, soul, living being, life, self, person) and קֶ֫רֶב (qereb, inward part, midst, here translated as "all that I am") suggests that the Psalmist begins the psalm with a self-exhortation: She instructs her soul, her inner being, to praise Yahweh. By extension, we are instructed to enter into a similar dialogue with our own inner beings.

Though Psalm 103 covers many topics, the key to the entire psalm is God's חָ֫סֶד (chesed)*: "The message of the psalm is that if one wants to know God’s heart, the very center of the Lord’s character, one needs to wrap one’s mind around the concept of hesed." (Rolf Jacobson)

As if moving in concentric circles, the Psalmist praises God's chesed from an individual's, a community's and finally humanity's perspective.

In the first stanza, she praises Yahweh for forgiveness, health, rescue, honor, satisfaction, renewal, vindication and justice; in the second she is grateful for Yahweh's patience, mercy and forgiveness, culminating in a beautiful metaphor about God's grace: "As distant as the rising is from the setting, so has he distanced our sins from us" (V. 12). So great is God's chesed that he has decided that our sins are taken to the direction exactly opposite from where we are.

Amanda K. Gott talks about the power and passion contained in Yahweh's chesed: "The God that embraces us lovingly, holding us tenderly like a parent or a lover, is also indomitable. God’s chesed involves pillars of smoke and fire and whole new lives being brought up out of dust, ashes and ruins. ... It is a loyalty so un-breakable that it defies human reason and human ways. Merciful, yes, but also very mighty, very powerful, with a grip that holds us relentlessly."

I am especially intrigued by the section at the end of the second stanza, which indeed speaks of death and decay: "As a father has mercy upon children, the Lord has mercy on those who fear him — For he knows how we were formed; he remembers that we are dust. A human being—like grass are its days, like a wildflower, so it flowers. But a wind blows against it and it is no more, and its place acknowledges it no longer." (VV. 13-16)

Human life, reminds us the Psalmist, is short. And then one day, nobody will remember us.

When I was a young pastor, one of my elderly parishioners told me, "I tell you, Pastor, don't get old; it's a bad idea."

Some twenty years later I am starting to see what she meant. When I visit my family these days, I find myself pointing at teenagers I cannot recall seeing before. They are the kids of my many cousins, almost all of whom I remember only as little kids.

"A human being — like grass are its days," says the Psalmist. And, "A mortal, born of woman, few of days and full of trouble, comes up like a flower and withers, flees like a shadow and does not last", says the Book of Job.

I know this to be true.

I know it deep down in my bones: I am more forgetful. I need more sleep. My joints ache sometimes. Gone are the days when I could go through a day of work after two or three hours of sleep.

And when I try to read the small print on medication bottles, my eyes remind me that I am getting old.

"A human being — like grass are its days" -- what does this mean?

Of the two possible answers, the first one is from Shakespeare's Macbeth.

Our lives flee like a shadow.

Or like an hour on a stage.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: It is a tale told

by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

An idiot ... signifying nothing. The first answer leaves no hope. It is awful and depressing.

The second answer comes from our psalm:

A human being — like grass are its days, like a wildflower, so it flowers. But a wind blows against it and it is no more, and its place acknowledges it no longer. But the hesed of the Lord -- it is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness is for the children’s children. (VV. 15-17)

Even though the first half of that section almost sounds like Shakespeare's somber and depressing words, the second half turns it all around: "But the hesed of the Lord".

In other words, human lives are meaning-filled because of God's grace: because God wants them to have meaning. Our lives have meaning because our heavenly parent has given so much chesed, so much love, ever since he called us each by our names (Isaiah 43:1) all the way to where we are today.

One day he will come for each of us, as the one who planted his trees many years ago and who has decided it's time to transplant us to a place where our leaves cannot wither any more.

The people who know us might not know you or me one day, but God in his chesed won't forget any of us. The quote above comes to mind, that we find ourselves in a "grip that holds us relentlessly."

Because of God's love, we shall live.

Another illustration of that "grip" of God is a well-known statement from the Song of Salomon: "For love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave". (8:6b)

---
*The translation above leaves the word untranslated (see VV. 4, 8, 11, 17), taking into account that scholars think no single English word can capture the spectrum of meanings it encompasses.

Weary Skeptics Welcome (2.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 3)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 11 Jun 2015 01:07:00 +0000

Psalm 92

There was once a woman who had heard of the Fruit of Heaven. She coveted it.

She asked a certain dervish, who was known as Sabar: 'How can I find this fruit, so that I may attain to immediate knowledge?'

'You would best be advised to study with me', said the dervish. 'But if you will not do so, you will have to travel resolutely and at times restlessly throughout the world.'

She left him and found another, Arif the Wise One, and then found Hakim, the Sage, then Majzup the Mad, then Alim the Scientist, and on and on.

She passed thirty years in her search. Finally she came to a garden. There stood the Tree of Heaven, and from its branches hung the bright Fruit of Heaven.

Standing beside the Tree was Sabar, the dervish she had begun her search with.

'Why did you no tell me when we first met that you were the Custodian of the Fruit of Heaven?' she asked him.

'Because you would not then have believed me. Besides, the Tree produces fruit only once in thirty years and thirty days'.

The woman in the story above has a strong desire to get the Fruit of Heaven, but finds herself searching for thirty years until the joyful moment when she "gets it". Joy is the theme of Psalm 92.

Praising God (VV. 1–5)

1 It is good to give thanks to the Lord, / to make music to your name, O Most High; 2 to declare in the morning your hesed, / and your faithfulness in the night 3 upon a harp and upon a stringed instrument, / upon the melody of a harp. 4 For you, O Lord, cause me to rejoice in your deeds; / in the works of your hands I shout for joy! 5 How great is your work, O Lord; / how deep are your thoughts.

Victory Over the Wicked (VV. 6–11)

6 A stupid one does not know, / a fool cannot understand this; 7 though the wicked grow like grass and all the evildoers bloom, / they will be destroyed forever. 8 You are on high forever, O Lord. 9 For surely your enemies, O Lord, / surely your enemies, O Lord, will perish; / all evildoers will be scattered. 10 You have raised my horn like that of a wild ox; / you anoint me fresh oil. 11 My eyes have looked (in triumph) on my enemies; / As evil ones rise against me, my ears hear ——.

God’s Care for the Righteous (VV. 12–15)

12 The righteous bloom like a palm tree; / and like a cedar in Lebanon they grow. 13 They are planted in the house of the Lord; / in the courts of our God, they vigorously bloom. 14 They still bear fruit in old age; / they are full and green; 15 proclaiming that the Lord is upright, / my Rock, and there is no wrongdoing in him. (NICOT)

The first time I encountered Psalm 92 was when we learned Rolf Schweizer's jazzy 1966 tune in children's choir; the text is straight from Martin Luther's translation, which, after all its many revisions, still (and ingeniously) gives the Hebrew word ט֗וֹב (tov, good) a culinary twist by rendering it as "köstlich" (delicious or tasty):

Das ist ein köstlich Ding, dem Herren danken und lobsingen deinem Namen,

das ist ein köstlich Ding, dem Herren danken und lobsingen deinem Namen, du Höchster.

The Psalmist clearly tries to inspire us to joy ... and she insists that this joy is appropriately expressed not just occasionally, but at all times:

Des Morgens deine Gnade und des Nachts deine Wahrheit verkündigen

auf den zehn Saiten und Psalter, mit Spielen auf der Harfe.

In Hebrew, V. 2 looks like this:

לְהַגִּ֣יד בַּבֹּ֣קֶר חַסְֽדֶּ֑ךָ
lə·hag·gîd bab·bō·qer ḥas·de·kā;
to declare in the morning your hesed

וֶ֝אֱמֽוּנָתְךָ֗ בַּלֵּילֽוֹת
we·’ĕ·mū·nā·tə·kā, bal·lê·lō·wt
and your faithfulness in the night

Once again, chesed is found in a prominent place; this time it isn't combined with emeth (truth, see my last post) but another word that, like emeth, is derived from the Verb אָמַן (aman, believe); that word is אֱמוּנָה (emunah, faith, steadfastness, fidelity, firmness).

The Psalmist begins by saying that it is "delicious" to thank God and to proclaim God's lovingkindness and faithfulness, and to do so morning and night.

Thanking God at all times. That sounds good, but ... we all know those days and weeks and months when life is tough, when we drag ourselves out of bed in the morning, run through our day as best as we can and then fall into bed at night, only to start the whole thing over a few hours later. My whole last week has felt that way.

Were there moments of joy and thanksgiving in that week now past? Yes, but they were few and far between.

After the week I've had, the words of the Psalmist (about how giving thanks is "delicious") seem odd and shrill somehow, as if from another world.

As I immersed myself into this psalm, I realized that it belongs to a cluster (90-92) meant to respond to "the theological crisis posed by the exile" (Walter Brueggemann). That suggests that the Psalmist is quite familiar with skeptical reactions like my own; Psalm 92 in all its boisterous joy is a response to those who were bone-weary (tired to their bones), not only physically but also emotionally and spiritually.

How does the Psalmist deal with a weary skeptic like me? She invites me to sing with her!

She sings a song of God's chesed and emunah, a song about God's saving deeds; reluctantly I begin to follow her. She grabs my hand and starts dancing ahead of me (V. 4):

כִּ֤י שִׂמַּחְתַּ֣נִי יְהוָ֣ה בְּפָעֳלֶ֑ךָ
kî śim·maḥ·ta·nî Yah·weh
bə·pā·‘o·le·kā;
For you, O Lord, cause me to rejoice in your deeds

בְּֽמַעֲשֵׂ֖י יָדֶ֣יךָ אֲרַנֵּֽן
bə·ma·‘ă·śê yā·de·kā ’ă·ran·nên
... in the works of your hands I shout for joy!

But even as she drags me into her dance, I am still hesitant, saying to her, "But the history of salvation is history. It was way back when God walked our mothers and fathers through the Red Sea; it isn't now!"

The Psalmist says, "Then and now matters little to God. Time's a human thing." She adds, "Now come, stubborn one", even as she walks me past the first part of the psalm.

As I mumble that her psalm, like many others, uses the contrast between wicked and righteous, she says, "Get out of your head, you need your heart for this". She keeps pulling at me until she makes a sudden stop, at the eighth verse.

"Here we are," she says, "this is the center of my psalm, and it is the answer to many of your questions. It is the reason for the joy of which I sing. Use your heart, and really listen."

V. 8
וְאַתָּ֥ה מָר֗וֹם לְעֹלָ֥ם יְהֹוָה
wə·’at·tāh mā·rō·wm,
lə·‘ō·lām Yah·weh
You are on high
forever, O Lord.

"You see," says the Psalmist, "in the midst of our national catastrophe we discovered that God is not a local god as we had thought; we found him to be quite mobile: the God of the Universe. When we were dragged into exile, he was right there; not knowing that he was mobile, we were afraid he had abandoned us."

"He is God for all people, for every place, for every time", she says. As I shrug, she grins and says, "I think it's time you drop your scowl and realize that God is everywhere you are, even when you feel lost in your various exiles." Then she says, "And now you need to sing my song with me: The righteous bloom like a palm tree; / and like a cedar in Lebanon they grow." (V. 12)

Stephen Mitchell chose to change metaphors in his rendition of Verse 13:

"[The Righteous] are planted in the dark soil of God, and their leaves keep turning to his light."

I love the sound of that. My friends, may our lives be so: that we keep turning our leaves to the light, always remembering that we are planted in the dark soil of God!

And when, some time soon on your journey, you get bone-weary and don't quite know just where God has gone, remember the old line, "'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home".

Weary Skeptics Are Welcome.

As Sure As Day Follows Night / So sicher wie das Amen in der Kirche! (1.So.n.Trin. / Pentecost 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Wed, 03 Jun 2015 14:34:00 +0000

Psalm 138

It was a cool evening in ancient China. Chuang Tzu's friend went looking for him at the local inn. He found Chuang Tzu sitting at a table, sipping his drink in a contemplative mood.

"There you are!" Chuang Tzu's friend greeted him. "I thought by now you would be telling everybody another one of your stories. Why so quiet?"

"There is a question on my mind," said Chuang Tzu, "a question about existence."

"I see. Would you like me to leave you alone to your thoughts?"

"No, let me share it with you. Perhaps you can provide me with your perspective."

"My perspective is of little value, but I would be glad to listen." He pulled up a chair.

"I was out for a stroll late in the afternoon," said Chuang Tzu. "I went to one of my favorite spots under a tree. I sat there, thinking about the meaning of life. It was so warm and pleasant that I soon relaxed, dozed off, and drifted into a dream. In my dream, I found myself flying up above the field. I looked behind me and saw that I had wings. They were large and beautiful, and they fluttered rapidly. I had turned into a butterfly! It was such a feeling of freedom and joy, to be so carefree and fly around so lightly in any way I wished. Everything in this dream felt absolutely real in every way. Before long, I forgot that I was ever Chuang Tzu. I was simply the butterfly and nothing else."

"I've had dreams of flying myself, but never as a butterfly," Chuang Tzu's friend said. "This dream sounds like a wonderful experience."

"It was, but like all things, it had to end sooner or later. Gradually, I woke up and realized that I was Chuang Tzu after all. This is what puzzles me."

"What is so puzzling about it? You had a nice dream, that's all there is to it."

"What if I am dreaming right now? This conversation I am having with you seems real in every way, but so did my dream. I thought I was Chuang Tzu who had a dream of being a butterfly. What if I am a butterfly who, at this very moment, is dreaming of being Chuang Tzu?"

"Well, I can tell you that you are actually Chuang Tzu, not a butterfly."

Chuang Tzu smiled: "You may simply be part of my dream, no more or less real than anything else. Thus, there is nothing you can do to help me identify the distinction between Chuang Tzu and the butterfly. This, my friend, is the essential question about the transformation of existence."

Just like the butterfly in this classic Taoist story is flying free of the limitations imposed by gravity, we are invited to find joyous freedom: a liberating spiritual state in which we transcend our fears.

Psalm 138 describes the joyous freedom the People of God experience when they surrender their need to control, and put their trust in God.

In the presence of gods (VV. 1-3)

1 I give thanks to you with all my heart; / in the presence of the gods I make music to you. 2 I bow down toward the temple of your holiness, / and I give thanks to your name / because of your hesed and your faithfulness. / For you have made your name and your word great. 3 In the day that I cried out, you answered me; / you have made me courageous; / in my inmost being is strength.

In the presence of kings (VV. 4-6)

4 All the kings of the earth will give thanks to the Lord, / for they have heard the words of your mouth. 5 And they will sing in the paths of the Lord, / for great is the glory of the Lord. 6 Though the Lord is exalted, / the lowly he sees / and the haughty from a distance he knows.

In the presence of enemies (VV. 7-8)

7 If I walk in the midst of oppression, / you cause me to live in spite of the anger of my enemies. / You send forth your hand and your hand delivers me. 8 May the Lord do favorable things on my behalf. / O Lord, your hesed is for all time; / May the doings of your hands not come to an end. (NICOT)

Psalm 137, the psalm preceding this week's, expresses the bitterness of the captives in Babylon:

By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ (Psalm 137: 1-3)

The implicit question is: "How could we sing our songs here? Won't we just set ourselves up for more scorn and ridicule?" Psalm 138 is often thought of as an answer to that question. Writes Nancy DeClaissé-Walford:

"In the aftermath of the Babylonian exile, the Israelites questioned their very identity and future as the people of God." She goes on to say that Psalm 138 and the psalms following it celebrate "a new realization by the people that they can continue to exist as a specially called people by acknowledging God as their sovereign and worshipping faithfully."

After she speaks of giving thanks and making music, the Psalmist continues:

V. 2
אֶשְׁתַּחֲוֶ֨ה ֶ אֶל הֵיכַ֪ל קָדְשְׁךָ֡ 1
'eš·ta·ḥă·weh ’el- hê·kal qād·šə·kā
I bow down toward the temple of your holiness

וְא֘וֹדֶ֤ה אֶת שְׁמֶ֗ךָ 2
wə·’ō·w·deh ’et-šə·me·kā,
and I give thanks to your name

עַל חַסְדְּךָ֥ וְעַל אֲמִתֶּ֑ךָ 3
‘al- ḥas·də·kā wə·‘al- ă·mit·te·kā;
because of your hesed and your faithfulness.

Rolf Jacobson reminds us that the Hebrew word translated in line 2 as "and I give thanks", וְא֘וֹדֶ֤ה, is a form of יָדָה. (yadah, to know), and that the grammatical form it takes here means to "cause someone else to know."

While at least one commentary suggests to translate yadah in this context with "confess", I would suggest "testify" or (better yet), "bear witness".

Jacobson concludes that "... giving thanks Old Testament style has less to do with some internal feeling of gratitude and more about sending God a thank you note. And the thank you note that God desires is to tell others what God has done."

We are to be witnesses of the Good News not just to those in our congregations. As the Psalmist includes gods, kings and enemies, we are sent to testify in our neighborhoods, towns and countries, and ultimately in the whole world "what God has done", and what God can do.

But it is line 3 above that brings us to the center of what the Psalmist wants to communicate, in the hendiadys ("two for one") figure of speech formed by the words חָ֫סֶד (chesed) and אֱמֶת (emeth).

While חָ֫סֶד is often translated with kindness, lovingkindness, mercy, goodness, or steadfast love (see my post on February 4), אֱמֶת means truth, firmness, or faithfulness. The word emeth is derived from the Hebrew word אָמַן (aman), meaning to “be firm, reliable, permanent.” We use a participle of this verb after every prayer as we say אֹמֵן, Amen.

The Hebrew words chesed and emeth describe God's character as trustworthy. This means, says Jacobson, "that the promises God makes can be trusted ... that the laws that God ordains are good ... that the guidance and providence that the Lord offers are better for us in the long run than our own wills for our own lives."

Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
there is no shadow of turning with thee;
thou changest not,
thy compassions, they fail not;
as thou hast been thou forever will be.

When we surrender our need to control people, places and things, and trust our faithful God instead, we will experience joyous freedom.

God is faithful. This is "As Sure As Day Follows Night", or as Germans might say, "So sicher wie das Amen in der Kirche."

אֹמֵן -- Amen.

Our God Grants Shalom, Not War (Trinitatis/The Holy Trinity)

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Thu, 28 May 2015 00:53:00 +0000

Psalm 29

Once upon a time, an angel came to Earth to see human beings and their world, because he had heard so many stories of the planet's splendor. The beauty of the world pleased him: sunlit mountain peaks and and rainbow-colored valleys, dark forests and mighty rivers, animals both fierce and gentle.

Everywhere there was such beauty. But when the angel saw human beings, he was truly awed, for he heard the music of the human heart and the song of the human soul. He deeply fell in love with the human mystery. Earth and its inhabitants had so moved the angel that he hesitated to leave. But finally it was time for him to go.

Since he felt so enchanted and so enriched by his experience on Earth, he decided that before going back to his own world, he would help some human beings on their way. He looked about, and saw four persons walking together.

He approached them and said, “I have come to grant one wish to each of you.” As luck would have it, they all were spiritual seekers.

The first one spoke up, “I have striven incessantly to pursue divine truth, but it has been nothing but struggle, struggle, struggle. Give me spiritual peace!”

“But struggling is one of the joys of life,” said the angel, not understanding the first seeker’s wish. “Give me peace!” insisted the man. So the angel shrugged and changed the youth into a cow that chewed the grass of a distant pasture, slowly and contentedly.

A bit disturbed, the angel turned to the next aspirant. “God is pure but I am not,” she said. “Please rid me of all impurities, of passions, emotions, desires.”

“But they are the very fount of life!” said the angel. “But I don’t want life, I want purity!” insisted the second person. She then closed her eyes and waited. In a split second she disappeared, and in a faraway temple, a marble statue appeared in her likeness.

The third one said, “Make me perfect; anything less will simply not do.” He vanished but did not reappear anywhere, for nothing on earth is perfect or can be perfect.

Just as he thought that human beings were oddly frustrating, the angel turned to the fourth seeker. He said to the woman , “And what is your wish?” “I have no wish,” she said. “No wish at all?” “None except to be human, fully human and alive.”

A near-smothered joy began to stir within the angel. He looked longingly upon this blessed woman. As he embraced her with deep love, the angel said, "A human being fully alive -- that's the Glory of God." The fourth seeker continued on her way singing the glory of life and dancing the joy of the universe.

When the angel reached heaven, God asked him, “What were you doing on Earth? Tinkering with my creation?” The angel said, “I am sorry, but those four people had such deep longings; I simply helped them out.” God said, “That’s right. I was just inquiring. But talking of longings, do you have any wish for yourself?”

The angel said, “Make me like the fourth seeker. Send me back and make me the way she is. Like her, I want to be fully human and fully alive. The Glory of God."

The major theme of Psalm 29 is the Glory of God.

Call to praise (VV. 1–2)

1 Acknowledge the Lord, you heavenly beings, / acknowledge the Lord’s majesty and power! 2 Acknowledge the majesty of the Lord’s reputation! / Worship the Lord in holy attire!

God’s glory in the storm (VV. 3–9)

3 The Lord’s shout is heard over the water; / the majestic God thunders, / the Lord appears over the surging water. 4 The Lord’s shout is powerful, / the Lord’s shout is majestic. 5 The Lord’s shout breaks the cedars, / the Lord shatters the cedars of Lebanon. 6 He makes Lebanon skip like a calf

/ and Sirion like a young ox. 7 The Lord’s shout / strikes with flaming fire. 8 The Lord’s shout shakes the wilderness, / the Lord shakes the wilderness of Kadesh. 9 The Lord’s shout bends the large trees / and strips the leaves from the forests./ Everyone in his temple says, “Majestic!”

God’s reign and promise of blessing (VV. 10–11)

10 The Lord sits enthroned over the engulfing waters, / the Lord sits enthroned as the eternal king. 11 The Lord gives his people strength; / the Lord grants his people security. (NET)

Scholars seem to agree that Psalm 29 is one of the oldest parts of the Psalter, and that (given the many parallels with the hymns among Israel's neighbors) it is likely that the psalm makes use of a hymn about the Canaanite storm and fertility deity Baal-Hadad.

Clearly, a thunderstorm is being described when we hear this: "Your voice is the voice of the waters / When they thunder as foaming towers. / Those plunging waters, those swelling words / Your voice booms out its power. / It sings with majesty / Breaking the cedars to splinters /And the cedars of Lebanon shiver to hear it." (V. 3-5, as rendered by Norman Fischer)

Baal, the weather god, was said to carry seven arrows of lightning, and when he went to war, thunder would be heard. As if to snub the old Canaanite myth, the phrase ק֥וֹל יְהוָ֗ה (qō·wl Yah·weh = “the voice of the Lord”) rumbles through our psalm exactly seven times.

Even though we detect echoes of the old Baal mythology in our psalm, the Psalmist affirms that instead of believing in a pantheon (which among others included the weather god) Israel believed in just one God, the God of Creation. For the Psalmist, the thunder was simply the voice of majestic and glorious Yahweh, who rules over all things.

V. 1
הָב֣וּ לַֽ֭יהוָה בְּנֵ֣י אֵלִ֑ים
hā·bū lə·Yah·weh bə·nê ’e·lîm;
Acknowledge the Lord, you heavenly beings,

הָב֥וּ לַ֝יהוָ֗ה כָּב֥וֹד וָעֹֽז
hā·bū lə·Yah·weh kā·bō·wd wā'oz
acknowledge the Lord’s majesty and power!

In VV. 3-9 Yahweh is shown to be so powerful that he can twist the immense cedars of Lebanon. The powerful "voice" of Yahweh in various natural phenomena is a display of what V. 1 calls Yahweh's "majesty and power" (כָּב֥וֹד וָעֹֽז).

The word translated here as “majesty”, but more often with "glory", is כָּב֥וֹד (kabod) in Hebrew, a word derived from a root with the basic meaning of “heavy.”

In its literal sense, the word is used to describe the weight of many every-day things; one example is the weight of Absalom's big head of hair (you might remember from Sunday School that Absalom was David's third son!).

Beyond the literal, kabod took on extended meanings. Thus a rich person could be said to be “heavy in wealth” -- much as we might say someone is "loaded". Thus people could be said to be loaded with great power or honor -- and it is this extended use of kabod that leads to the sense of God's kabod, as in majesty and glory.

There isn't much talking going on in our psalm: while Yahweh speaks only in the mighty voices of nature, the people gathered in the temple exclaim but one word, כָּב֥וֹד (kabod): Everyone in his temple says, “Majestic!"

When in Isaiah 6 the cherubim are crying: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts", they don't continue, "the whole earth is full of his holiness”; instead they exclaim, "the whole earth is full of his glory (כָּב֥וֹד)".

While those believing in Baal might well respond to the voice of their god by shouting "Danger Ahead!" or "Watch Out!”, those believing in Yahweh only cry kabod -- "majesty" or “glory”.

Even though the Psalmist states that her God is kabod, "loaded" with majesty and glory, and conveys that he is to be respected, she doesn't continue by demanding submission. Rolf Bouma writes, "There is no mention of spoils of war or conquering armies or triumphant parades".

While a god of war only grants war to his subjects, the last word of the whole psalm shows that Yahweh cares for and loves his people. The God of Israel, majestic and glorious as he is, grants שָׁלוֹם (shalom):

V. 11
יְֽהוָ֗ה עֹ֭ז לְעַמּ֣וֹ יִתֵּ֑ן
Yah·weh ‘ōz lə·‘am·mōw yit·tên;
The Lord gives his people strength;

יְהוָ֓ה יְבָרֵ֖ךְ אֶת עַמּ֣וֹ בַשָּׁלֽוֹם
Yah·weh yə·bā·rêk ’et-‘am·mōw
bə-šā-lō-wm;
the Lord grants his people security.

Walter Brueggemann, Old Testament scholar, explains just what sort of security shalom brings:

"The biblical vision of shalom functions always as a firm rejection of values and life-styles that seek security and well-being in manipulative ways at the expense of another part of creation, another part of the community, or a brother or sister. The vision of the biblical way affirms that communal well-being comes by living God’s dream and not by idolatrous self-aggrandizement."

One more thing. The exclamation "Majestic" by the People of God gathered in the temple (V. 9b) is immediately followed by Yahweh's enthronement (V. 10).

Having tamed the chaos of the ancient floods, he has firmly established his throne atop the flood, symbolizing that the conquest is final.

As Matthias Jorissen (in his metric version of our psalm) celebrates Yahweh's enthronement, it becomes clear once more just how little Israel's Yahweh has in common with Canaan's Baal.

Herrlich ist der HERR!, ruft aus
jede Stimm in seinem Haus.
Auf der Urzeit Fluten wohnt
Dort der HERR, der ewig thront.
Er ist König aller Zeiten,
herrscht bis in die Ewigkeiten.
Er wird seinem Volke geben
Heil und Frieden, Kraft und Leben.

(Glorious is the Lord!, proclaims
every voice that's in his house.
There atop the ancient floods
lives the Lord enthroned forever.
He is King of every time,
reigning in eternity.
He will grant to all his people
peace, salvation, strength and life)

Canticle for Pentecost

noreply@blogger.com (Fritz) — Fri, 22 May 2015 14:31:00 +0000

Psalm 104. Acts 2.

Refrain:

Send, O God, your Holy Spirit,

give us new life,

come, transform us, Holy Spirit,

come like a storm and fill this house.

Lord, our God, accept our praises,

All that we see

tells the story of your Spirit.