Contemporary
Word
“I would say,
if God didn’t want you to
be so inquisitive, then why did God give you so much curiosity? Can you trust the
Map-Maker a little more? Because I feel like the fear that comes from not
wanting to examine your beliefs looks an awful lot like a lack of faith. …[I]f
your faith is so strong, then it shouldn’t be a problem to, you know, think about it…So I think
that it shows an absence of trust in your Creator who created you exactly as
you are, you know? If God wanted you to be narrow minded and uninterested, you
wouldn’t even be asking questions to begin with.
So trust the One who made you and behave as you were made.”
---Elizabeth Gilbert
Ancient Word
Isaiah 43:16-21
This is what God says—
the One who made a way through the sea,
a path through the mighty waters,
who drew out the chariots and horses,
the army and reinforcements together,
and they lay there, never to rise again,
extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:
“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
The wild animals honour me,
the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
the people I formed for myself
that they may proclaim my praise.
the One who made a way through the sea,
a path through the mighty waters,
who drew out the chariots and horses,
the army and reinforcements together,
and they lay there, never to rise again,
extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:
“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.
The wild animals honour me,
the jackals and the owls,
because I provide water in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland,
to give drink to my people, my chosen,
the people I formed for myself
that they may proclaim my praise.
John 12:1-8
Six days before
the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised
from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honour. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those
reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an
expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house
was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.
But one of his
disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?
It was worth a year’s wages.” He
did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as
keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.
“Leave her
alone,” Jesus replied. “It was intended that she should save this perfume for
the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not
always have me.”
***
Will you pray
with me? Holy one, open our hearts to recognise your presence; to forgive
others as freely as you have forgiven us; and give us grace to love as
completely as you do. In all your names, amen.
Lent Five! One
more Sunday in the season of Lent—and I always feel like next Sunday doesn’t entirely count, being Palm/Passion Sunday, after
all. So we are still in Lent, still in a place of reflection and
self-examination—still asking ourselves those questions. Or maybe we are still
stuck back a week or two, not sure if we should be asking these questions;
afraid of what the answers might be; afraid of not finding an answer right
away. But Elizabeth Gilbert, in our contemporary reading, has it right, I
think. We were created with a brain and a spirit that question, that wonder,
that want to know more. Otherwise, we would still be living in caves and eating
meat raw, right? We wondered, or one of our ancestors way back when did, what
would happen if--- Or they noticed that when they did something, this other
thing happened—if they protected the young plants they found growing in a
field, and watered them, they grew and became grain that was good to eat. And
if they saved some of the grain and planted it the next year, they had more
grain to eat. But someone asked the question—“what if we saved some of these
seeds and planted them in the spring?” They asked the question, and dared to
look for an answer. They dreamed of enough grain for everyone. Dreams are what
move us forward. Far from being a useless waste of time, our dreams are where our
imaginations run free, where we can say, "what if--?"
Being in the
middle of Lent doesn’t mean we can’t dream. The warmer weather, the return of the birds,
the flowers and trees beginning to bud and push up from the ground—these are
encouraging us to dream--of new possibilities, of new options, of new life--to
imagine things that haven't been done yet, to think, as they say, outside the
box.
The comic strip
Pearls Before Swine is sometimes pretty dark. Recently, though, there’s been a series on Larry the crocodile trying to find
a religion that will, as he puts it, let him drink beer and get mad at stupid
people. His latest attempt is a
jack-in-the-box god, but his friend Bob, watching as Larry cranks the handle,
points out that it only plays music—what kind of god is that? Until the lid on
the box jumps open, and the jack-in-the-box springs out at them. They decide
that this terrifying god is not for them, either. Well, I could have told them
that’s what happens when you try to put God in a
box—God always gets out!
When we dream,
we dream of better things, of course—not worse. We want peace and plenty and
harmony, love and hope. And we want these not only for ourselves, but for
everyone—because if our neighbours, whether across the street or across the
river or across the ocean, aren’t experiencing
that same plenty and hope, then they will come and try to take some of ours,
won’t they? And it’s not merely a selfish wish to protect what we hope to
have, but it’s a genuine
desire for everyone to have what he or she needs for health and happiness.
It can be hard
to create that dream, though—there are so many options. All the political
systems and economic systems of the world, ones that have been put into
practice and ones that were only imagined, were formed with the idea of making
the world into what it should be, what it ought to be. Whether capitalism,
socialism, social democracy, communism, a republic, a democratic monarchy—they
each have an idea of the ideal form of the world.
So Isaiah
dreamed of a realm where even the animals, the jackals and owls, which are
generally symbols of death, praise God, who is doing something new and
unprecedented. “I am doing a new thing!” God proclaims--paths in the
wilderness, water where there was a desert.
And that
certainly how Spring feels, isn’t it? Every
spring feels like the very first one—as if the grass had never been green
before, the trees never spread out green leaves, the daffodils and crocuses and
forsythia and irises never bloomed before. Of course they have—but never in
exactly this way, in these circumstances, in this year, when we have certain
feelings and thoughts and hopes and fears. It is always something new for us.
Mary dreamed of
something new. She anointed Jesus with precious oil as an honoured guest at her
table, in her home, out of gratitude for the life Jesus restored to Lazarus,
her brother. And yet, that was not the new thing. Jesus had brought others back
to life—the widow’s son, the
daughter of the synagogue leader, the soldier’s companion—so while it
was a wonderful miracle, it was not something new. Others beside Jesus had
brought others back to life, too--Elisha, for example.
So what, then,
was Mary dreaming of? Maybe of a time when people would do more than pay lip
service to the words of Jesus. Maybe she hoped to see a world in which Jesus’ teachings were actually the standard by which people
lived, and not empty words. Mary was so hopeful for this dream that she gave
Jesus the most precious thing she had—this bottle of rare and expensive
perfume.
What is your
favourite smell in the whole world? Is it fresh-cut grass? Or maybe roses in
bloom in the summer sun; coffee on a sunny morning; sandalwood and jasmine on a
warm summer night; woodsmoke and sausages at a campfire? I love the smell of
lavender, and of a spice cake with mocha frosting.
Think of that
smell—close your eyes and imagine that scent all around you, drifting up around
you, up to the ceiling, spreading out to fill the space around you. Bathe yourself
in that scent.
That is what it
was like in that house at Bethany, when Jesus visited his friends Mary and
Martha and Lazarus. The scent filled the house—like a dream. I can see Jesus
and the disciples and their friends closing their eyes, breathing in the
wonderful scent, smiling; dreaming of something better.
And here comes
Judas, stamping in and smashing the dreams to bits, throwing cold water on
their reveries and their dreams. “We could have sold that perfume for a lot of
money!”
I don’t know where this comes from for Judas. We’re told he’s an embezzler, that he steals from the money that was
supposed to be shared with all the disciples. And maybe it is as simple as
that. But I wonder if it is also that Judas has forgotten how to dream. He sees
the others wrapped up in dreams, in hopes—but he can’t share in those dreams. Perhaps he prides himself on
his practicality, on being down-to-earth, a numbers man, bottom line and end of
the day sort of person. No flights of fancy for him! And yet, here are all the
others, caught up for a moment in their own beautiful dreams—and he can’t stand it.
Judas
retaliates with a very practical and charitable suggestion—instead of using all
the perfume on one person, they should have sold it, and given the proceeds to
the poor. It certainly wakes Jesus and the disciples from their reverie, but it
does not have the intended result for Judas. Instead of Jesus’ agreement with him, Judas is rebuked.
There will
always be poor people, Jesus says, and always an opportunity to do good. But he
won’t always be with them, so it is right to
seize and enjoy and bless that moment when he is there.
Our
God-moments, our times of blessing and joy, are not to be ignored or minimized
or pushed aside. They are to be seized and enjoyed as the blessing they are. We
have all the rest of time to study and think and work—but for these moments
when we are so keenly aware of God’s presence, we
can let go of those other things and just be.
I want to leave
you with a thought? A poem? Not sure what to call it, but it goes like this.
Be still and
know I am God.
Be still and
know I am.
Be still and
know.
Be still.
Be.
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