Lent #12: Destiny

 Jesus set his face

   to go to Jerusalem. (Luke 9:51)

Near Passover, while ministering in his native territory of Galilee, “Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.” There was no stopping him. It was his appointed destiny. He takes the direct route that leads through Samaria—about a four day journey. He had been that way before when he met the woman at the well who asked him about Mount Gerizim and how “you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem.” The question of which mountain, among other things, caused centuries of a deep division between Jews and Samaritans. Jesus assured her that “a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem” (Jn 4). That time has come.

Right off, Jesus and his followers get hassled in a Samaritan village “because Jesus was heading towards Jerusalem.” They resented Jews traveling through their land towards Festival in Jerusalem. James and John told Jesus to “call fire down from heaven to destroy them.” But, of course, “Jesus rebuked them, and headed toward the next village” (Lk 9:51-56). Along the way Jesus told the story of the “Good Samaritan.” A little further along, at another village, Jesus healed ten leprous Samaritans.

Jesus’ destiny has to do with those whom James and John thought worthy of destruction. Jesus’ journey towards Holy Week has to do with God’s love for all people: “Red and yellow black and white, they are precious in His sight,” as the song goes.

Lent #11: Heavenly Treasures

 Store up for yourselves

   treasures in heaven;

where moth and rust do not destroy.

    and thieves cannot steal. (Matthew 6:20)

I thought of this while reading William Berry’s list of ten “dominate traits of mainstream society.” Here’s the tenth:

Marriage without love; sex without joy; drink without conviviality; birth, celebration, and death without adequate ceremony; faith without doubt or trial; belief without deeds; manners without generosity…

It caused me to think, as most things do, of the Book of Ecclesiastes (9:7-9):

Eat your bread with enjoyment, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has long ago approved what you do. Let your garments always be white; do not let oil be lacking on your head. Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your fleeting life that are given you under the sun, because that is your portion.

Maybe that’s what Jesus has in mind when he speaks of heavenly treasures: To eat with enjoyment; to drink with a merry heart, to dress up from time to time, and to love those whom we love. I just finished a call with a guy friend; and, I can’t believe this, but I think it ended with “I love you.” Thieves cannot rob us of such treasures.

Lent #10: The Complex Good

Astonishingly, each of us

   hear in our own

   native language. (Acts 2:-8)

Adam, our youngest grandchild, proudly showed us, via video, his model of mission Santa Barbara and told us the story about how the mission taught the Native Americans how to farm and raise cattle. It was a good story. I wonder how long schools will allow such “good stories.”  The San Francisco School board recently removed “mission” from Mission High School; because “All California missions are sites of slavery and colonization.”  

Those in power to do such things tell us that our good stories are actually bad stories—so hurtful that even the word must now be erased from our schools and streets. This side of Eden, there are hurts and vanities in every human story. Maybe “good” is not the best word. When a political leader addressed Jesus as “Good teacher;” Jesus would have none of it: “Why do you call me good?” Jesus responded, “No one is good except God alone” (Lk 18:18-19—a theological nightmare, but that’s Jesus). For us, as our Lord teaches, “good” is always a “complex good” (Lewis).

During Lenten Season, some years back, Linda and I took a road trip to visit Rachel’s family in Austin. We took the I-40 route so we could stay a few nights in Santa Fe, New Mexico. A few hours out from our Santa Fe destination we pulled into Navajo Nation to eat and play a few slots at their Casino. The next morning, waking up in Santa Fe, we walked through the old town and ended up meandering into San Miguel Chapel, a mission church like Santa Barbara, yet near two centuries older—the oldest church in the U.S.A. Native Americans were all about preparing their beautiful church for Holy Week. Their art and song, worship and praise came out of their honored culture. It is a complex good; but it struck me that day in San Miguel Chapel, that there was immeasurably more Native American goodness in that church than we ever experienced the day before in that Navajo Casino.

Maybe we can ask the powerful to be tolerant of fourth grade mission projects. They will discover soon enough that all stories are complex.

 

Lent #9: Training

 

Physical training is

     of some value. (First Timothy 4:8)

 We get our word “gymnasium” from the Greek word "gymnasia" which  the N.T. usually translates as “training.” While the Apostle doesn’t want us to overrate physical training, it is of “some value.” Each of our children had their children, for the first time during pandemic, take to the court (volleyball) or to the pool (swimming) or to the links (golf) or to the field (football) to compete for their school. There’s something beautiful about it—the putting on of the school uniform and taking the court/pool/links/field to put their training to the test—to represent their school.

Youth has something to do with it. Linda and I try to exercise just so we can continue to make it out the door. It’s the beauty of youth that takes our breath away—how their bodies work with such grace and ease. As the wisest of mortals observes: “Enjoy your youth, and let your heart cheer you… Banish anxiety form your mind, and put away pain from your body; for youth is fleeting” (Ecc 11:9-10).

Lent #8: Getting Along

 Do not pronounce judgment before its time,

    when the Lord comes… (First Corinthians 4:5)

Lent is a time to see if we can forgo something, like food, for example. It’s not that food is bad—it’s good. But, sometimes we forgo something good in hopes that it will reveal something better. Forgoing judgment came to mind. Making judgments about things is like food, we need it to live. But sometimes we over judge something, like over eating or over drinking, and we make things worse.

When the Apostle Paul gets in a fuss with Apollos, with church folks picking sides, he suggests they forgo making judgments and see how things turn out. I’ll let Paul speak for himself (1Cor 4:4-6):

I do not even judge myself. I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart. Then each one will receive commendation from God. I have applied all this to Apollos and myself for your benefit, brothers and sisters…

Maybe forgoing judgment, particularly of another, will grant surprise benefits for ourselves and for others.

 

Lent #7: Repentance

 The Comforter will convict

      the world of guilt and sin. (John 16:7-8)

Among other things, like contriteness and forbearing, Lent is a season of repentance. My professor friend brought it up in relation to racism—seen and unseen. It seems the more people are told to repent, the less they are inclined to acknowledge any need for repentance. It is something you can’t talk people into.

Even the best of us have a hard time repenting. We can’t help but fudge. “We’re actually not that bad;” we think to ourselves. Or, I’ll want it known that it’s not altogether my fault. And other forms of “slip sliding away,” as Paul Simon sings it. True repentance is a gift of the Holy Spirit. As Jesus promised: “The Comforter will convict the world of guilt and sin” (Jn 16:7). That’s comforting.

Lent #6: Wound

The wound of my people,

   wounds me as well. (Jeremiah 8:21).

 My ATF (Actual Theologian Friend) suggested I read The Hidden Wound by Wendell Berry. The suggestion came after my reading of White Fragility when I complained that I’m too fragile for such shrilled pronouncements. My ATF was right—Berry is the one for me. “Wound” is a good word. It’s a Bible word—a Lenten word.

It’s Berry’s literary tone that draws me in. Like the Prophets, Berry speaks to us poetically: “The wound that hurts the daughter of my people/wounds me as well/Is there no balm in Gilead?/Is there no physician there?” (Jer 8). Our national wound of slavery hurts us all. The wound is too deep to be healed in any mechanistic way—by some sort of political policy or by a training certificate. Whatever we say or do seems trite: “They heal the wound of my people superficially” (Jer 8).

Even the Prophet hesitates to provide a solution: “Is there no balm in Gilead?” Berry takes us to a spiritual place that begins with lament: “My heart is wounded within me” (Ps 109); and moves to confession, “Her wounds are ever before me” (Jer 6). Somehow, the Cross gets us to healing: “By his wounds we are healed” (Is 53 = 1Pt 2:24).