Saturday, September 26, 2015

Enfolding Love

Enfolding Love
Sunday, October 4
Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Focus Theme
Enfolding Love
Weekly Prayer
Sovereign God, you make us for each other, to live in loving community as friends, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, wives and husbands, partners and companions. Teach us to choose love when it is committed and devoted; teach us like little children to wonder and to trust, that our loving may reflect the image of Christ. Amen.
Focus Scripture
Mark 10:2-16
Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?" He answered them, "What did Moses command you?" They said, "Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her." But Jesus said to them, "Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, 'God made them male and female.' 'For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate."
Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them, "Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery."
People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it." And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.
All readings for this Sunday
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
Focus Questions
1. How can the church hold up the ideal of marriage without inflicting further pain on those who are divorced?
2. Would you rather skip reading this passage from the Bible? If so, how do you decide which ones to skip?
3. How is marriage a justice issue?
4. Do you believe that some bonds can't be broken, even by divorce?
5. Why do you think the reign of God belongs to the children? What do you think Jesus meant by "receiving the kingdom as a little child"?
Reflection by Kate Matthews (Huey)
We might be tempted to avoid the reading from Mark's Gospel this week, and choose instead to reflect with Job on why the good suffer, which may appear at first to be an easier problem than how to approach this passage about divorce. It's hard to imagine a family or a congregation today that doesn't include a number of people who have come through the painful experience of divorce (as spouses who have divorced, or as their children), and the possibility of hurting them is good reason to choose another text from the lectionary offerings for our reflection this week. However, we might also explore the question of whether it's possible to read this text for a meaning that is sensitive to the experience of those who have been divorced, and yet also appropriately challenging to our culture's attitudes and practices around relationships, especially marriage. An unexpected benefit might be a deeper commitment to wrestling with, rather than avoiding, difficult passages that require more time, more thought, and perhaps more movement of our hearts. Jesus, after all, was known to ask us for all three of these: our time, our thoughts, our hearts--our whole lives.
In any case, the focus text has been given to us, and it is the story of Jesus responding to another trap laid by the religious authorities. As we struggle with Jesus' surprisingly hard words about divorce and remarriage, let's keep in mind that last week's lectionary text from Mark 9:38-50 speaks about cutting off our hand or foot, or tearing out our eye, if it makes us "stumble." If that's not enough, next week's passage, which in the Gospel of Mark immediately follows this week's text, tells the story of the rich man who thought he had "all his ducks in a row," having obeyed all the laws since his youth. Instead of hearing that he had sealed the deal on eternal life, he's told by Jesus to sell everything he owned and give the money to the poor, and come, follow him. Shock and grief weren't only his reaction; the disciples too were taken aback, and asked, "Then who can be saved?" (10:26). On his way to Jerusalem, to his suffering and death, Jesus speaks hard words to his followers, but he promises that "for God all things are possible" (10:27).
The challenge before us is not unlike that presented by passages about money and possessions, for example, in a congregation that includes people who are struggling mightily with finances (and no one knows it), sitting right beside others who need to hear a word that will jar them out of complacency about their consumption of material things, or their dependence not on God but on money, or their lack of generosity toward those in need, or their failure to support God's mission in the church. (It's probably more fair to say "our" rather than "their" in that sentence.) And this doesn't even begin to address the question of economic injustice in our systems and institutions, a debate that rages now among North American Christians who would rather avoid many, many passages in the Bible that make most of us feel quite uncomfortable. And yet, wouldn't Jesus have something to say about all of these things, even if he does so lovingly? After all, we'll hear next week that Jesus looked at the rich man "and loved him" as he encouraged him to do the very thing the man felt he could not do.
Divorce and remarriage?
The preoccupation of churches with questions around sexuality dominates our debates about morality, and yet divorce and remarriage appear to be settled issues for most mainline (and members of many other) churches, even though Jesus speaks quite clearly here and in the Gospel of Matthew (19:1-12) against divorce and remarriage. It may very well be that the improved economic and social status of women in our culture has contributed to a higher rate of divorce, as more women, for example, are able to leave abusive marriages. A growing number of religious leaders grasp the reality of harmful relationships that ought to end, and fewer women, we trust, are hearing from their pastors, "What did you do to make him hit you?" While marriage is no longer as much a question of property transfer as it was in ancient times (women, of course, were part of the property), there are many important financial and other issues that require a legal agreement in order to end a marital relationship. Like our ancient ancestors in faith, we appear to have made reluctant peace with the sad necessity of divorce, and have shown compassion and understanding for those who seek to marry again.
So what do we do with all of this, as we shine the light of this Gospel text on the attitude of our culture and our church toward divorce? Can it be that the secular culture around us is somehow more compassionate than the gospel, giving victims a chance to escape unbearable situations, or those who feel that they are dying in relationships that starve their souls a chance to enter into a life-giving, grace-filled second marriage? These are thorny questions, but not ones to be avoided.
Scripture in conversation with Scripture
A little background is helpful in understanding what is happening here, on the road to Jerusalem, when the crowds gather and the religious leaders try to set Jesus up with a trick question. His answer, one way or the other, will offend the faction that doesn't agree with him. Although it seems that divorce itself was a given, some teachers allowed it under more conditions than others. We have to go back to Deuteronomy 24:1-4 to understand where the Pharisees are coming from when they ask Jesus whether it's lawful for a man to divorce his wife. When he asks them what Moses said (that is, the Law), they quote from Deuteronomy, and we might wonder why they even ask, if it's right there in the Law. Or are they asking for Jesus' interpretation of the text, which is where religious people start disagreeing, back then just like today?
If we read that Deuteronomy text, we're immediately struck by the marked difference between a patriarchal culture thousands of years ago and the one we live in today, where women are rarely if ever referred to as "defiled," and it's not acceptable for a man simply to get rid of a wife if "he finds something objectionable about her" (24:1-2). Jesus acknowledges that the Mosaic Law permitted divorce, but only because of the "hardness of heart" of the people. But he then puts Scripture in conversation with Scripture, holding up the ideal of God's intention so beautifully expressed in Genesis, for two people to be faithful, lifelong companions in an intimate, committed relationship that should not be severed. As many commentators observe, the Pharisees ask about divorce and Jesus changes the subject to marriage instead. John and James Carroll write, "Jesus deflects concern from escape clauses to an embracing of the unity of partners that reflects the creative design of God."
Bonds not easily broken
That's the public part of the conversation. Later, in private, "in the house," that is, when it's just Jesus and his followers, he expands on the Law, calling remarriage "adultery." We know that "in the house" is the way Mark records the conversation that was going on in the early church. That observation is confirmed here when Mark has Jesus speaking of something that wasn't practiced in ancient Judaism, a wife divorcing her husband. Mark's church is wrestling with the Greco-Roman culture around them which allowed such things, and that debate is reflected in the way they "record" Jesus' private conversation.
A Bible study provides an excellent opportunity for discussion of the many interesting approaches to this text, and the small but important points that might inform our perspective. For example, Lamar Williamson, Jr. notes that the words "against her" in the text suggest that these were personal rather than legal matters that are important even after the marriage ends; Williamson focuses with keen insight on the bonds that can persist between two people who have been one and then separate. In a society like ours that permits divorce and remarriage, we might acknowledge that these bonds are not always easily or completely broken, despite all the legal agreements we might create. Other scholars remind us that Paul himself re-stated the prohibition against divorce, but added a dispensation that endures in some churches to this day.
Jesus as law-giver?
Jesus is asked a legal question, a technical, down-to-earth, question about everyday, lived reality, and he answers with an ideal that is, to be honest, almost impossible to achieve, at least by everyone. As we have said, Jesus has been known to speak this way before, and he will again. But John and James Carroll wonder if it's appropriate to see Jesus as laying such a heavy burden on his followers, including the death penalty that Leviticus 20:10 prescribes for adultery. Or could this be Jesus once again exaggerating in order "to challenge beliefs and practices which we take for granted? A hard saying to be taken seriously, but not to be pressed literally"? In our hearts, we sense that Jesus was not about ordering people to be put to death because they had disobeyed the Law, even if the Law seems to call for it. What then is the lesson here? What do we hear in this passage?
At first, it might sound too easy just to say that Jesus was holding up the ideal of marriage in response to the Pharisees' preoccupation with divorce. But isn't that exactly what needs to happen in our own time: don't we need strong voices that lift up the ideal, the intention of God from the very beginning, of two people joined together for life, faithfully loving each other? It didn't take long (in Genesis itself) for things to change, and for men (revered patriarchs included) to start collecting multiple wives, with no word of judgment from the Scripture. Yes, divorce came along, too, because of "hardness of heart," a mysterious phrase that might bear reflection. As in every subject he addressed, Jesus seems to wrench our attention from the technicalities to the heart of the matter.
There are ways for us in the church to focus more energy on the ideal of lasting, faithful, loving unions that are a sign of God's love in the world. We could strengthen our support systems for married couples and our marriage preparation programs, and perhaps even consider a measure of holy hesitation before marrying every couple that asks. In some cases, it might require an extraordinary degree of courage on the part of a pastor to decline to marry a couple he or she knows is not ready for marriage. Are we even spending time in the church wrestling with how quickly pastors agree to preside at weddings that perhaps should never occur? Or are we spending too much time thinking about other ways to "defend" marriage?
Marriage as sacramental encounter with God
Is it possible, in the life of the church, to speak about marriage in encouraging and hopeful ways that also affirm those who have had to leave a marriage in order to seek wholeness and healing? If salvation is about healing and wholeness, then the possibility of remarriage seems not only a matter of compassion but a question of justice. James J. Thompson suggests that it's a matter of "whether the human was created for marriage, or marriage for the human?" Richard Swanson has also written evocatively of marriage "as a field on which we encounter God....at the heart of human life," not "on the edges of existence, in retreat from ordinary life" so much as "in the midst of the ordinary rituals of daily life." In this sense, then, marriage is sacramental, a means of God's grace in our lives. Of all people, then, faithful followers of Jesus should take marriage seriously, and should hesitate before denying anyone this means of encountering God.
Speaking of grace: the second part of the passage may seem at first disconnected from the first, when Jesus once again uses children as an illustration of how to receive the reign of God. We remember that only a few verses earlier Jesus urged his disciples to become the servant of all, and to receive even little children, who had no standing in the world, as they would receive him (9:36-37). In this week's story, we picture parents bringing their children for a blessing; children may not have had status or power in that culture, but these parents obviously loved their own. Maybe the scene was chaotic, or maybe the disciples were in a bad mood after the divorce discussion. They "spoke sternly" to the parents, and/or the children, probably figuring that Jesus had more important business to tend. That's the moment that Jesus chooses to enlighten them once more; like us, they seem to need that a lot. Douglas Hare contrasts the innocent openness of the little children with the striving of the adult disciples and religious leaders: the "lowly" children receive God's reign as the unearned, "pure gift" of God's grace, while grown-ups need to "submit themselves humbly to God's sovereign grace."
The bigger question of how we read the Bible
"Struggling with Scripture" is a little book of speeches by several great Bible scholars who help us approach difficult texts such as this one from Mark. In his introduction, William Sloane Coffin reassures us that our struggle with a text like this one reflects "religious faithfulness"; after all, what is more important than the Bible? Walter Brueggemann calls the Bible a "script" that respects our freedom but also "insist[s] that the world is not without God, not without the holy gift of life rooted in love." We don't make moral decisions apart from God, and God's grace. William Placher claims that religious practices that reject people and limit God's grace, "rather than marvel at its superabundance," contradict the way of Jesus.
And Brian K. Blount reflects on listening for guidance from the Stillspeaking God; he challenges the church today in a way that might shock many contemporary Christians, when he says that, instead of conforming to a past culture, we should "speak to it! Speak from it, yes, but also speak to it in a way that values human living now, before God, just as human living before God was valued in the first century." Like slaves in the 19th century American South, and women, and the poor in Latin America, those who turn to the Bible in hope find that the Word of God liberates rather than oppresses in their own time; Blount writes that taking the Bible literally, on the other hand, "does a disservice to the power of the living Word to confront, challenge, and liberate us in the places where God's Holy Spirit of Christ meets us today." (Struggling with Scripture is a very helpful little book for students of the Bible.)
A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) can be found at www.ucc.org/worship/samuel.
The Rev. Kathryn Matthews (Huey) serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).
You're invited to share your reflections on this text on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.
For further reflection
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, 19th century
"Love children especially, for they too are sinless like the angels; they live to soften and purify our hearts and, as it were, to guide us."
Karl Menninger, 20th century
"Love cures people--both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it."
Lily Tomlin, 21st century
"If love is the answer, could you rephrase the question?"
Joseph Campbell, 20th century
"When people get married because they think it's a long-time love affair, they'll be divorced very soon, because all love affairs end in disappointment. But marriage is a recognition of a spiritual identity."
Oscar Wilde, 19th century
"The world has grown suspicious of anything that looks like a happily married life."
Robert Anderson, 19th century
"In every marriage more than a week old, there are grounds for divorce. The trick is to find and continue to find grounds for marriage."
Audrey Hepburn, 20th century
"If I get married, I want to be very married."
About Weekly Seeds
Weekly Seeds is a United Church of Christ resource for Bible study based on the readings of the "Lectionary," a plan for weekly Bible readings in public worship used in Protestant, Anglican and Roman Catholic churches throughout the world. When we pray with and study the Bible using the Lectionary, we are praying and studying with millions of others.
You're welcome to use this resource in your congregation's Bible study groups.
Weekly Seeds is a service of Local Church Ministries of the United Church of Christ. Bible texts are from the New Revised Standard Version, © 1989 Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Prayer is from The Revised Common Lectionary ©1992 Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Courage for Community


Courage for Community
September 27, 2015
Written by Daniel Hazard
Sunday, September 27
Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Focus Theme
Courage for Community

Weekly Prayer
O God, our guide and help in alien and contentious places: as Esther worked courageously for the deliverance of your people, strengthen us to confront the oppressor and free the oppressed, so that all people may know the justice and unity of your realm. Amen.

Focus Scripture
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22

So the king and Haman went in to feast with Queen Esther. On the second day, as they were drinking wine, the king again said to Esther, "What is your petition, Queen Esther? It shall be granted you. And what is your request? Even to the half of my kingdom, it shall be fulfilled." Then Queen Esther answered, "If I have won your favor, O king, and if it pleases the king, let my life be given me--that is my petition--and the lives of my people--that is my request. For we have been sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be killed, and to be annihilated. If we had been sold merely as slaves, men and women, I would have held my peace; but no enemy can compensate for this damage to the king." Then King Ahasuerus said to Queen Esther, "Who is he, and where is he, who has presumed to do this?" Esther said, "A foe and enemy, this wicked Haman!" Then Haman was terrified before the king and the queen.

Then Harbona, one of the eunuchs in attendance on the king, said, "Look, the very gallows that Haman has prepared for Mordecai, whose word saved the king, stands at Haman's house, fifty cubits high." And the king said, "Hang him on that." So they hanged Haman on the gallows that he had prepared for Mordecai. Then the anger of the king abated.

Mordecai recorded these things, and sent letters to all the Jews who were in all the provinces of King Ahasuerus, both near and far, enjoining them that they should keep the fourteenth day of the month Adar and also the fifteenth day of the same month, year by year, as the days on which the Jews gained relief from their enemies, and as the month that had been turned for them from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday; that they should make them days of feasting and gladness, days for sending gifts of food to one another and presents to the poor.

All readings for this Sunday
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50

Focus Questions

1. What reversals of fortune have you witnessed in your life?

2. What do you believe that God is calling you to do "in such a time as this"? How do you recognize God's call?

3. What do you think Esther meant when she said, "If I perish, I perish?"

4. How can we remain who we are as followers of Jesus in a culture that preaches very different values?

5. Why does community require courage?

Reflection by Kate Matthews (Huey)

It's unusual enough that a book of the Bible bears the name of a woman; it's even more unusual that a book from the Holy Scriptures never mentions God. There are plenty of things about the Book of Esther that make it a fascinating read, so the short excerpts provided this week by the lectionary hardly do justice to this rich and complex story. The Book of Esther explains the origins of the Jewish Feast of Purim, a celebration with feasting, drinking, and sharing gifts, not just with one another but also, of course, remembering the poor. Purim is not one of the major feasts of Judaism, but Jewish writers recount vivid childhood memories of hearing the story of Esther read aloud and of play-acting the roles of its main characters. As adults, they continue to enjoy this festive commemoration of their people's deliverance long ago from death at the hands of Haman, the wicked advisor to the Persian king.

The short story of Esther is full of all sorts of things we find in the most entertaining movies: irony and intrigue, a thickening plot, clever wits and evil villains, royal splendor and a weak ruler, and, of course, the hero who rises to the challenge and saves the day. Only this time, the hero is a heroine, and not at all a likely one. We read, for example, in the first chapter, about the earlier queen, Vashti, who stood up to the king and paid the price for her disobedience: the king's legal experts and sages were appalled that her actions might cause the women of the kingdom to "look with contempt on their husbands," too (1:17). No wonder that Vashti was banished from the king's presence, and no wonder that feminist commentators enthusiastically see her as a little-known heroine in the story. On the other hand, they seem uncertain about what to do with Esther, who goes about things in a somewhat different way. Esther uses her power for good, and her place for the protection of her people, even though she risks her own life by "coming out" as one of them. For this, we say that she had "Courage for Community."

In a Bible full of male prophets and priests, military leaders and kings, it's refreshing to have a courageous heroine at the center of the story, even if she has to work the system, or go against it, as women have done for so long in order to do what needs to be done (think, for example, of the midwives in the Exodus story of saving the infant Moses). Esther's power does not come from her but derives from her husband, the king of Persia. However, instead of being unnamed, or relegated to the margins (from which women still manage to play key roles in biblical narratives), Esther is at the center of the book that bears her name. Ironically, the story still contains bloodbaths of vengeance and executions of enemies that strike our ears harshly, especially at the end, when Esther participates in exacting vengeance. Still, this is a tale of survival in the face of overwhelming power: Esther finds herself, Sidnie White Crawford writes, "locked in a life-and-death struggle not of her own making." That simple phrase is good for us to keep in mind when we read that the Jews were allowed to "lay hands on those who had sought their ruin" (9:2).

Adding what isn't there

Scholars note in the Book of Esther the absence not only of God's name but of prayer, and the Law, and most of the other practices we associate with observant Judaism. (Even the fasting that Esther calls for, Crawford observes, "is not explicitly directed by God and seems to have no purpose beyond communal solidarity.") These omissions disturbed ancient writers so much that they later added 107 more verses to the original Hebrew text, but these Greek "Additions to Esther" are part of the Apocrypha, a collection of books not considered canonical by Judaism or Protestant Christianity, although the Roman Catholic Church does give them such authority. The Additions are full of prayer and talk of God, and make the story of Esther seem more religiously appropriate.

However, we might experience the Book of Esther as a kind of "Where's Waldo?" exercise; looking at the entire story closely, we know God is there even if that isn't obvious at first glance. Throughout the story (which reflects, in many ways, the larger story of Israel), God provides and protects. That is, Providence runs through the story as a thread of evidence pointing to God's abiding presence with God's people. The New Oxford Annotated Bible finds God at the center of this drama, if not on center stage, but able to accomplish a lot while "standing in the wings, following the drama and arranging the props for a successful resolution of the playÖ.Providence can be relied upon to reverse the ill-fortunes that beset individuals or the nation--provided that such leaders and their followers do their part, acting wisely and courageously."

God works through human beings

Unlike several other books of the Bible (for example, Daniel or Exodus), God's deliverance of the people in this Book of Esther is not accomplished through amazing, miraculous events but through the actions of flawed but courageous human beings who were probably never sure they were doing the right thing. And yet, as Ted Kennedy said at the funeral of his deceased brother, Robert, they "saw wrong and tried to right it." It isn't always easy, however, to know how to go about righting wrongs, and we're not always confident that we're the ones who are called to do so, at least in a particular situation, and we're often unsure about how to proceed. The most familiar line from Esther, "for such a time as this" (4:14b), comes from Mordecai's message urging her to step out of her safety zone and to consider that she was made queen expressly for this moment when she could save her people. Again, Sidnie White Crawford writes that humans are limited in their knowledge of God's purposes and their own role in them, but "must act, with profound hope that they are thereby participating in the divine scheme."

While some feminist commentators have turned away from Esther, others have found deep meaning in her story. Perhaps Esther was, at first, just one more young girl trying to survive by using whatever gifts she has, including her great beauty. But we learn that Esther has many more gifts that are called forth by this crisis. In a remarkable show of courage, she seems to take a leap toward her responsibility "in such a time as this," and she talks herself out of her anxiety: "If I perish, I perish," she says (4:16b), and we wonder what she means. Is her life meaningless in the face of thousands dying? Does she turn herself over to Providence? Does she feel that a failure to act that brings on the destruction of her people, even if she herself survives because of her position as queen, would make life unbearable?

In any case, like so many women before and since, she has to work the patriarchal system to the benefit of her people, for even as queen she is marginalized and limited in her power. She has to depend on "The Man" of the story, the weak and malleable king. In this regard, Esther is like many women throughout history, Crawford writes, who know how to maneuver in a male-dominated world in order to accomplish what needs to happen, and this provides inspiration and "a model" for the people of Israel, who struggle, from below, powerless in the land of exile. Perhaps Crawford recognizes in Esther a wisdom and strength and courage that remind her of another woman, for she dedicates her commentary to her mother, "also a heroine."

A community that remembers who they are

It may be that the story of Esther omits mention of the core practices and institutions of Judaism precisely in order to paint a picture of how much the Jewish community had been assimilated into the Persian empire around them. Indeed, it was probably written, three or four centuries before Christ, for the very people it describes, Jews residing in the Persian Empire, in the diaspora (the scattered Jews living outside Israel, often because of exile and other calamities). Wouldn't it be easy, under such circumstances, to forget who you are? One of the many good effects of spiritual practices in any faith is the way they remind us of who we are, and to Whom we belong.

Kenneth H. Carter, Jr., calls us to reflect on the situation of the Jews in Persia during the time of Esther, and, before judging them, to compare their assimilation to our own. Yes, they had adapted to some extent to the culture surrounding them in exile (although, in 3:8, Haman does tell the king that the Jews obey their own laws; that doesn't sound so much like full assimilation). However, Carter challenges North American Christians' own ways of fitting in with the surrounding culture and its "patriotic observances, sporting championships, musical festivals, celebrity obsessions, and economic forecasts." How do we establish and nurture a sense of identity, and what is our primary identity: as sports fans, shoppers, and shrewd financial planners, or as disciples of Jesus and children of God? Carter suggests that the liturgical year of the church might offer a different kind of "rhythm," a different pattern, a different set of values for our lives that will remind us that we belong to God, and we follow Jesus.

To what values have we adapted?

If Carter's challenge makes us at all uncomfortable, might that discomfort reflect our own degree of assimilation and how much we have forgotten that we follow a Teacher who taught us to love our enemies, turn the other cheek, and lay down our lives for one another? A Teacher who observed how difficult it is for a rich person to enter heaven, and encouraged the earnestly religious to "sell everything and give it to the poor"? We've somehow managed to let ourselves feel quite at home with very different values, even as we claim to follow Jesus. How many of us Christians find a way to justify any number of contradictions to the teachings of Jesus? Suddenly this colorful little story of vengeance and intrigue becomes much more about us than we might like to think.

For so long, Christendom has given Western Christians (that would be us) a sense of place and privilege that is now fading, and that may not be so bad. Perhaps now we can, in our shared life, think about what it really means to be Christians, and to subvert and dissent from every power that would exterminate the good news that we bear. We can learn, obviously, from the long history of the Jews, who live in the tension between what is, and what they hope and imagine they might be. Walter Brueggemann recalls the words of Jacob Neusner: "We are more than we seem, other than we appear to be."

In fact, a most helpful commentary on this passage is found in Brueggemann's book, An Introduction to the Old Testament: The Canon and Christian Imagination, which unlocks the richness of the text for us in the Christian church today. Like many discussions by scholars such as John Dominic Crossan about Paul's writings being set in the midst of the Roman empire and contrasting Christian discipleship with the values of the empire, Brueggemann focuses on this story's setting, whether historical or fictional, in the midst of the Persian empire. It doesn't matter, he says, whether the empire was Persian or Greek--and we might say Roman or modern--we still have to deal with the powers-that-be over our lives.

Living in the empire in any age

While we may seem far away in place and time and, to an extent, in circumstance, we share the ancient Jewish longing to be a faithful people in the midst of values and pressures foreign to who we are. How then can we, like those ancient Jews, live where we live, not withdrawing into a separate culture, and yet remain distinctly true to who we are and what we believe, true to the One to whom we belong?

Another theme in this little story full of themes is that of the reversal of fortunes. In yet another of many biblical reversals of fortune, the seventy-five-foot-high scaffold prepared for Mordecai is used, ironically, to execute the mortal enemy of his own, and Esther's, people. The people without hope or power suddenly have both power and hope. Fear and sorrow turn into joy, and prompt the establishment of a regular celebration that expresses the sheer relief of being delivered from death, narrowly, and at the very last minute. Even that celebration is decreed by Mordecai, who went from being a condemned man to being the king's trusted right hand man.

Reading in the shadow of the Holocaust and the pogroms

How can we read this story without remembering the Holocaust of our modern history, only seventy years ago? When Haman works his evil ways, he uses oddly, painfully familiar words to do what advisors to despots have done for centuries, describing the Jews in a way that bothers the surrounding culture by being "different": "There is a certain people scattered and separated among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom; their laws are different from those of every other people, and they do not keep the king's laws, so that it is not appropriate for the king to tolerate them. If it pleases the king, let a decree be issued for their destruction" (3:8-9a). Haman, of course, is most incensed by Mordecai's (possibly religious) refusal to bow to him. That anger sets the story in motion. What angers, misunderstandings, fears and prejudices have set in motion similar purges and orders of destruction in our own time, or made individuals feel somehow justified in taking matters into their own hands? This is not just a story of "long ago and faraway," but a warning to us, in every age. This Sunday is also American Indian Ministry Sunday, and the painful echoes of this story in the history of our own country are hard to miss and provide more material for reflection by the church on this text.

What then is the Stillspeaking God saying to us today, in such a time as this, through the story of Esther? Karen Jobes claims that this story is ours, too, for we also trust in a God who has delivered us from death, a deliverance we recall as a resurrection people who in turn share our joy with the world around us by acts of generosity and compassion. Next Sunday, on World Communion Sunday, our churches, like our Hebrew ancestors in faith, will hold a day "of feasting and gladness," a day to break bread, share the cup, and remember God's works and God's promises from of old. Within that same verse is a reminder to send "gifts of food to one another and presents to the poor"; as we come to the table on that great day, will we too remember those who are hungry, and make sure we share with them, too, as our Teacher instructed us? Like Esther, are we speaking on their behalf and using the power we have for their good as much as our own, no matter the cost? Do we, indeed, have courage for community, and not just for ourselves?

An unnamed God can still be known

A beautiful line of commentary on this text comes from H. James Hopkins, who observes the power in this story, "the hope that though God is not named, God can still be known." In stories and places and experiences that are not explicitly religious, the Stillspeaking God finds ways to reach us, and to show us that God can be known, and heard, and trusted with our lives and the lives of those we love. It is ours to step out in faith, courageously, on behalf of our community, and to say with Esther, in those supplementary verses in Additions to Esther, where she does indeed pray: "Save me from my fear" (14:19b, Addition C). Save us, indeed, from our fear.

A preaching version of this commentary (with book titles) can be found at www.ucc.org/worship/samuel.

The Rev. Kathryn Matthews (Huey) serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).

You're invited to share your reflections on this text on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.

For further reflection

Harriet Beecher Stowe, 19th century
"All serious daring starts from within."

Eleanor Roosevelt, 20th century
"You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

Marian Wright Edelman, 21st century
"Whoever said anybody has a right to give up?"

Nora Ephron, 21st century
"Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, 19th century
"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
"'I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.'" (Atticus Finch)

Anaïs Nin, 20th century
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."

Audre Lorde, 20th century
"When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid."

About Weekly Seeds

Weekly Seeds is a United Church of Christ resource for Bible study based on the readings of the "Lectionary," a plan for weekly Bible readings in public worship used in Protestant, Anglican and Roman Catholic churches throughout the world. When we pray with and study the Bible using the Lectionary, we are praying and studying with millions of others.

You're welcome to use this resource in your congregation's Bible study groups.

Weekly Seeds is a resource of Local Church Ministries of the United Church of Christ. Bible texts are from the New Revised Standard Version, © 1989 Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Prayer is from The Revised Common Lectionary ©1992 Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Gratitude, too, is a divine calling:


Gratitude, too, is a divine calling: Uwe Siemon-Netto
Foreword for Thanks: Giving and Receiving Gratitude for America's Troops; 
A Soldier's Stories, A Veteran's Confessions and A Pastor's Reflections
 
Edgar Shirley Welty, Jr. is a minister in the United Church of Christ, a
Reformed denomination.  He has also served two Lutheran parishes as a pastor, and
this, I posit, is reflected in the present book. For one of the most compelling
Lut heran doctrines holds that every Christian has a divine calling to serve his
neighbors in all his worldly endeavors. If he does so in a spirit of love, Luther said,
the Christian renders the highest possible service to God and is therefore a member
of the universal priesthood in His secular realm where He reigns in a hidden way
through His masks, namely us.

“Glorious works He does through us,” Luther exulted in his commentary on
Genesis 29:1-31, explaining man’s many divine vocations, “all completely secular and
heathenish works.” By that Luther meant any of the tens of thousands of callings in the
temporal realm, from milking cows and plowing fields to performing household chores
and raising children, from learning, teaching, engineering, and doing research, from
governing communities and nations to fighting wars on behalf of a government that owes
its authority to God (Romans 13).

In his treatise, Whether Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved, 2 Luther compared the combatant’s chores with those of surgeons.3 He went on, In the same way I think of a soldier fulfilling his office by punishing the wicked, killing the wicked, and creating so much misery, it seems an un-Christian work completely contrary to Christian love. But when I think how it protects the good and keeps and preserves wife and child, house and farm, property and honor and peace, then I see how precious and godly this work is; and I observe that it amputates a leg or a hand, so that the whole body may not perish.4

In the summer of 1987, I was a middle-aged seminary student fulfilling
my Clinical Pastoral Education requirement at the VA Hospital Center in St.
Cloud, Minn. I asked to work as a chaplain intern primarily with Vietnam
Veterans, because I had covered the Vietnam War as a staff correspondent of
West German newspapers over a period of five years. I had accompanied U.S.
soldiers into combat. I had been with them when they were wounded or killed.

Yes, there were dysfunctional units like the platoon led by Lt. William Calley that
slaughtered unarmed civilians in My Lai, but such units ere not representative of
the mass of American military men in Vietnam. Luther had harsh words for
rowdy killers such as Calley’s: and strike and kill of a soldier. There are some who abuse this office needlessly simply because they want to. But that is the fault of the
persons, not of the office… They are like mad physicians who would
needlessly amputate a healthy hand just because they wanted to.5

Half millennium ago, then, Luther described precisely what happened in Vietnam
in the nineteen sixties. Many times I saw GIs risking and often sacrificing their lives to
protect civilians. I was with them when they chased Vietcong fighters who by massacring
entire families had executed a well-defined strategy of a totalitarian regime. Almost all
the soldiers I accompanied into combat exercised their “office,” as Luther called it, in a
manner that was “godly and as needful and useful to the world as eating and drinking or
any other work.”

Then my editors posted me to New York and Washington. At virtually every
fancy cocktail party I attended in these cities I heard the cliché: “Vietnam veterans, my
least favorite minority.” Across the country, I covered huge demonstrations of young
Americans chanting “Ho-Ho-Ho-Chi-Minh,” and waving the Vietcong flag: red and blue
with a yellow star in the center. This banner was as offensive to me as the swastika was
to those who witnessed Nazi atrocities in Germany, for it reminded me of the bodies of
hundreds of women and children in a mass grave in Hué, all slaughtered because they
belonged to a class that could not be expected to welcome a Communist revolution.

The veterans I ministered too told me even worse stories: Every one of them was
accosted as a baby killer, usually by women, within the first 24 hours after their return
home. Most of these former soldiers in my pastoral care groups had lost their wives or
girlfriends to the self-serving pacifist zeitgeist. One was even kicked out of the church he
was baptized and confirmed in. “Before you come back, get yourself some civilian
clothes and wait until your hair has outgrown your crew cut,” his pastor shouted at him
from the pulpit.6

Now, by Luther’s light, if these cruel and self-righteous peace activists were
Christians they, too, had divine vocations, which they did not fulfill because they were
not looking “at the office of the soldier… with the eyes of an adult,” as Luther phrased it.7

They were U.S. citizens and therefore voters, and as voters they were the sovereigns of
this republic. As sovereigns they were called to inform themselves well before taking any
civic action, and this means: inform themselves thoroughly about who these Vietnam
Veterans were, why and by whom they were sent to Vietnam, and how they conducted
themselves there. As sovereigns, too, it was their vocation to give thanks to their soldiers

– yes, their soldiers – for sacrificing so much in the Vietnamese jungles and rice paddies.

By the logic of the Lutheran doctrine of vocation the veterans, too, have important
callings: to lovingly serve their neighbors by informing them about their experiences, but
also, as an act of neighborly love, accept the gratitude they received from those who did
not reject them, most likely a majority of their fellow citizens. I leave it to Rev. Welty to
tell us the rest of the story, but in the same manner Luther taught us that soldiers, too, can
be saved, let me be adamant: They deserve our gratitude. And gratitude, too, is a vocation
instituted by God.

Uwe Siemon-Netto, 78, is an international journalist and Lutheran lay theologian.
He earned his Ph.D. in theology and sociology of religion from Boston University.
He is the author of eight books, including The Fabricated Luther: Refuting Nazi Connections and Other Modern Myths (St. Louis, 1993, 2007), and Triumph of the Absurd: A Reporter’s Love for the Abandoned People of Vietnam (Corona, Cal. 2015)
1 Jaroslav  Pelikan and Helmut T. Lehmann, eds., Luther’s Works, American Edition,
(St. Louis, MO: Concordia Publishing House, 1955), 5:266ff. Hereafter LW.

2 LW, 46:93-137.
3 LW,46:96.
4 LW, 96.
5 LW, 97.
6 q.v., Siemon-Netto, Uwe. The Acquittal of God: A Theology for Vietnam Veterans.
Eugene, Ore., Wipf and Stock, 2008.

First in Caring


First in Caring
September 20, 2015
Written by Kathryn Matthews (Huey)
Sunday, September 20
Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
Focus Theme
First in Caring
Weekly Prayer
God of unsearchable mystery and light, your weakness is greater than our strength, your foolishness brings all of our cleverness to naught, your gentleness confounds the power we would claim. You call first to be last and last first, servant to be leader and ruler to be underling of all. Pour into our hearts the wisdom of your Word and Spirit, that we may know your purpose and live to your glory. Amen.
Focus Scripture
Mark 9:30-37
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, "The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again." But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, "What were you arguing about on the way?" But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, "Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."
All Readings For This Sunday
Proverbs 31:10-31 with Psalm 1
Wisdom of Solomon 1:16-2:1, 12-22 or Jeremiah 11:18-20 with Psalm 54
James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37
Focus Questions
1. What do you do to avoid things you would rather not know?
2. How would you have felt if you had been one of the disciples in this scene?
3. Do you think children are valued in today's society? Why or why not?
4. How would you describe greatness? Is it different in the reign of God?
5. What does it mean to you to be "the servant to all"?
Reflection by Kate Matthews (Huey)
Away from the crowds (at least for the time being), here in the seclusion of a house, the disciples are getting a private lesson from Jesus. They need some quality time with their teacher, because things have been rather up and down for a while now. There have been mountaintop experiences, like seeing a blindingly radiant Jesus standing right next to Moses and Elijah, and other wonders as well: another crowd fed on a few loaves of bread (with leftover abundance), more healings, and still another bright, shining moment when Peter boldly recognized Jesus as the Messiah. On the other hand, there have been some perplexing, even disturbing, moments. Jesus and his followers, it seems, are not on the same page. He speaks more than once about his coming suffering and death, and scolds Peter harshly when he balks at such unpleasant talk, while the disciples continue to be absorbed in measuring their own greatness, especially in relation to one another (some things cross boundaries of place, time, and culture). Peter, James, and John must be wondering, for example, whether they're somehow more important because they were up on that mountaintop with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Who could blame them for feeling just a little bit special?

And then Jesus turns and asks them what they're talking about. They must be embarrassed, because their awkward silence is palpable, or, as Eugene Peterson translates it in The Message, "deafening." We would probably feel similarly uncomfortable in their place; Harry B. Adams suggests that we, too, might be silent in the face of such a question from Jesus, or if we examined how consistent our own lives are with our identity as disciples of Jesus. Talk about a lesson in humility! We do well, then, to heed Richard Swanson's caution as we read this story that is not, he says, about their flaws in contrast to our supposed superiority. We could find ourselves distracted by measuring our own righteousness against that of the disciples, and somehow judging ourselves greater, more aware, more faithful.
We know something important is coming when Jesus sits down, like a traditional Jewish teacher. This isn't just a casual conversation but something critical, something profound, that he hopes his followers will remember long after he has died and risen again. At this point, they seem to suffer short-term memory loss when it comes to Jesus' words about suffering and dying. They would rather think about glory, but then, who wouldn't? However, many of us learn, as we read the Gospel of Mark from beginning to end, that this journey toward Jerusalem and the cross is a long one, and understanding does not come easily to these disciples. We have a sense from the larger New Testament narrative that they never do "get it" until Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit fills them with the understanding that eludes them throughout the Gospels. In the meantime, they're human, just like us, and their sights are set much lower, on the high places of honor.
Jesus uses visual aids
As he so often does, Jesus uses more than words to teach his lesson. He likes earthy illustrations: mustard seeds, lamps on stands, and even dogs eating crumbs under the table. But he has also taught through his encounters with human beings, touching them in order to heal (even spitting on the eyes of one man), feeding them when they are hungry, and bringing them, as promised, the good news that will liberate them from every kind of bondage, including sin. He's healed Jews and those outsider Gentiles, men and women, rich and poor. This time, his illustration (today we might say his "visual aid") is a little child who happens to be nearby.
When I read that this part of Mark's Gospel is taking place privately, away from the crowds, I wonder where that child came from and why he or she has been allowed to hang around a group of men who are wandering through town. (Some scholars say that Jesus had a house in Capernaum, the setting for this passage, but in any case he hasn't been around much, and he always brings a band of strangers with him.) But such a question occurs to a 21st-century mother who thinks children should be watched over constantly and carefully.
However, John Pilch sheds helpful light on the customs and culture reflected in Jesus' actions and words. A child in our culture is deeply valued and put first in our priorities (at least, we insist this is so, in spite of the number of children in poverty). However, in the time of Jesus, a child was lowest on the priority list - no "women and children first" here. Even in medieval times, Pilch writes, Mediterranean cultures put a low value on children: "Thomas Aquinas taught that in a raging fire a husband was obliged to save his father first, then his mother, next his wife, and last of all his young child."
A tender scene, or a perplexing teaching?
Our own Western culture would reverse that order, so it's tempting for us to sentimentalize the action of Jesus in picking up a small child and exhorting his followers to welcome "one such child" in his name as a way to welcome him. Isn't it a sweet scene, when Jesus tenderly cuddles a child and, we imagine, appeals to the soft hearts under the tough exterior of these big, rough men? It is indeed a sweet scene that we imagine, but that's not what's going on here. Jesus is once again saying something not sweet, not sentimental, but perplexing, even disconcerting, and certainly provocative.
Those poor disciples are experiencing one more boat-rocking paradox, one more radical up-ending of the way they think things ought to be, and hope they will be, when Jesus comes into their idea of glory. He's already told them that if they want to gain their life, they should lose it (8:35). Now, when they want to find their way to the top, to claim greatness, he's telling them to lay claim instead to the last and lowest place. To illustrate his point, he takes a child in his arms and tells them that when they welcome this little one, they welcome him, and they even welcome the One who sent him.
This latest command makes no sense in the world of the disciples. Wait. What? Welcome someone who doesn't have the power or ability or place to welcome us in return? No expectation of reciprocity? We might say, no return on our investment? No quid pro quo? First, our Teacher/Messiah keeps talking about suffering and dying instead of victory and glory, and now we have to welcome and even value small, insignificant, powerless people?
A long list of the "devalued"
Children in the culture that shaped the disciples' worldview weren't the only ones who were devalued; they shared space on the margins with many others in their society who were both powerless and vulnerable. Megan McKenna provides a long list of such people who didn't "count": people "who were old, handicapped, sick, illiterate, cast out as unclean. This group included peasants, farmers, shepherds, widows, slaves, the unemployed, aliens, immigrants, prisoners, homeless." How many of these people still don't count in our own society? But what a wonderful illustration for Jesus in this setting - someone (literally) small and probably not aware of what was going on around him or her.
In Barbara Brown Taylor's sermon on this text, "Last of All" (in her book, Bread of Angels), she calls these ancient-world children "fillers, not main events." Their value was in their potential, that is, if they even survived to adulthood, and the odds were against them. At this point, however, they're more like servants. In fact, the Greek words for "child" and "servant" have the same root, and both, Peter Marty writes, "live life on the receiving end of things," not the giving end, and that, Marty claims, is where the power to control lies. In our culture, we organize our structures with a diagram that charts the power, where it comes from and where it goes (usually in a triangle, which neatly depicts a hierarchy with a few at the top and many below). However, Marty says that Jesus up-ends that flow-chart and puts children at the top. Ironically, Marty makes the provocative claim that Jesus is fine with "rank" just as long as that system of ranking has been reversed, with the lowest at the top, and the high and mighty brought low, with the first being last, and the last first. As always, when Jesus talks about the reign of God, he reverses a whole bunch of our expectations and assumptions.
How much do we really value our children?
While we might think that things have dramatically improved since those long-ago days when the lives of children were devalued, we are still hard-pressed to defend the suffering of children today whose lives and well-being have not been put at the top of our communal priority list. In our own families, we may love and cherish our children, but can we say the same about the children in our communities, especially our cities and rural areas, and in nations in the developing world? Do the children of South Sudan, or the Syrian children fleeing their homeland, or the children in our most poverty-sticken neighborhoods, rank high on our priority list? And even in our youth-obsessed culture where many children are indulged materially, do we still think of children as, in Marty's word, "apprentices" who are not yet fully persons? Do we appreciate them for who and what they are today, rather than seeing them only in terms of what they will become someday?
Taylor would respond by describing our children as already "full-fledged citizens of God's realm." She suggests that we spend some time with them in order to spend some time in God's presence. Not to imitate them (that's not what Jesus said, she reminds us), because they're human like us, so they, too, can be "noisy, clinging, destructive, self-centered, and surprisingly cruel." In this sermon, "Last of All," and elsewhere (see her book, An Altar in the World: A Spiritual Geography), Taylor writes about what is good for our souls, and here she advises us to attend to our own growth toward "greatness" by tending to our behavior when we are alone, to our treatment of the little ones of every kind, those "who [do] not count" in our society and the circles we run in.
This passage from Mark's Gospel is both short and powerful. Jesus' teaching is clear, but Marty notes that Jesus speaks of "requirements" rather than "desire," of "a new community with altered priorities" in which "the least of humankind would count....[and] be embraced." Or, as Taylor puts it, Jesus didn't just tell them but showed them who was greatest: "twenty-six inches tall, limited vocabulary, unemployed, zero net worth, nobody. God's agent." In other words, "there is no one whom we may safely ignore." No one whom we may safely ignore.
"From rejection to welcome"
Focusing so closely on children in any culture should not distract us from an even larger truth. Richard Swanson sees "the operative flow in the passage" as "something more like from rejection to welcome." After all, Jesus began this passage by warning his disciples that he would be betrayed and killed and then would rise again. How much more rejection could there be? And yet the passage ends by describing a welcome that extends not only to the little ones but also to him, and to the One who sent him. It also describes a welcome that is an expression of service.
We might not consciously think about aspiring to greatness, let alone claim it openly among our friends and colleagues, but many of us long to see ourselves as faithful, and righteous, in the eyes of God. Dianne Bergant thinks most people, however, are more concerned with success, beauty, strength, confidence, and fame, and those who enjoy all these things, the people "who have made a name for themselves, those who entertain us." All of these, it seems, are more important than "righteousness," that is, being "gentle and merciful, faithful and sincere...lovers of peace....willing to take the last place." The righteous will be the ones who are first in caring for others.
Taking the message to heart
The road to Jerusalem is a long one, and there is plenty of time for lessons, but the disciples still don't grasp the meaning of what Jesus is saying. David Watson observes that while Jesus instructs his disciples to be the servants of all, the word "diakonos here in 9:35 and in 10:43" is not used to describe them later; perhaps, Watson suggests, they never did grasp that part of Jesus' message. As usual, the first disciples of Jesus resemble us in many ways. For us, too, the way of discipleship is long and much is expected of us, and we too would rather think and talk about our reward than the price that will be exacted.
Jesus laid down his life for us, and we are asked to offer our lives, our priorities, our gifts, our very selves, along with the honor, the power and place and prestige that we long for. The repetition throughout Mark of where all of this is leading - to Jesus' suffering and death - reflects the deep human resistance to the transformation to which we are called, the gift of radical transformation of our lives that is offered to us. Please, we ask, let us contemplate honor and glory, not the cross. And yet, how else can we ever experience the resurrection and new life that is promised? How else can we experience true joy?
A preacher's version of this commentary (with book titles) can be found on www.ucc.org/worship/samuel.
The Rev. Kathryn Matthews (Huey) serves as dean of Amistad Chapel at the national offices of the United Church of Christ in Cleveland, Ohio (https://www.facebook.com/AmistadChapel).
You're invited to share your reflections on this text on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SermonSeeds.
For further reflection
Bill Watterson, 20th century
"It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept."
Ralph Waldo Emerson, 19th century
"A great [person] is always willing to be little."
Helen Keller, 20th century
"I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble."
Carson McCullers, The Square Root of Wonderful, 20th century
"The closest thing to being cared for is to care for someone else."
William Shakespeare, 15th century
"[One] is not great who is not greatly good."
Fyodor Dostoyevsky, 19th century
"The soul is healed by being with children."
C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 20th century
"True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less."
Madeleine L'Engle, 20th century
"Humility is throwing oneself away in complete concentration on something or someone else."
About Weekly Seeds
Weekly Seeds is a United Church of Christ resource for Bible study based on the readings of the "Lectionary," a plan for weekly Bible readings in public worship used in Protestant, Anglican and Roman Catholic churches throughout the world. When we pray with and study the Bible using the Lectionary, we are praying and studying with millions of others.

Monday, September 7, 2015

Gun Maker Creates 'Crusader' Assault Rifle



Gun Maker Creates 'Crusader' Assault Rifle With Bible Verse On It
"I'd like to have a gun that if a Muslim terrorist picked it up a bolt of lightning would hit and knock him dead."
A Florida gun manufacturer is facing criticism for creating an assault rifle with a Bible verse on it that's meant to stop "Muslim terrorists" from using it.
Images of the AR-15 Crusader rifle posted online by Spike's Tactical in Apopka show an emblem of a cross inside a shield similar to those used by the Knights Templar during the Crusades on one side.
The other side features Psalm 144:1:
"Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle."
Ben “Mookie” Thomas, a former Navy Seal and spokesman for Spike’s Tactical, told the Orlando Sentinel he wanted a rifle that no devout Muslim would touch.
"Off the cuff I said I'd like to have a gun that if a Muslim terrorist picked it up a bolt of lightning would hit and knock him dead," Thomas told the newspaper.
The gun, which retails for $1,395, features three settings on the safety selector: "Peace," "War" and "God Wills It."
The Florida chapter of the Council for Islamic Relations points out there have been more than 250 mass killings in the United States this year, and only one involved a self-proclaimed Muslim.
"Sadly, this manufacturer’s fancy new gun won’t do anything to stop the real threat in America: the escalating problem of gun violence," the organization said in a statement cited by WTSP. "This is just another shameful marketing ploy intended to profit from the promotion of hatred, division and violence."
Earlier this summer, the chapter filed a federal lawsuit against a Florida gun store that declared itself a "Muslim-free zone." In addition, the parent organization has asked the Department of Justice to address the growing number of "Muslim-free" businesses.

Pope Calls On Every European Parish To Take In One Migrant Family



Pope Calls On Every European Parish To Take In One Migrant Family
Francis said taking in migrant families was a "concrete gesture" to prepare for the extraordinary Holy Year on the theme of mercy.
Reuters
Posted: 09/06/2015 07:23 AM EDT | Edited: 09/06/2015 12:54 PM EDT
VATICAN CITY, Sept 6 (Reuters) - Pope Francis called on Sunday on every European parish and religious community to take in one migrant family each in a gesture of solidarity he said would start in the tiny Vatican state where he lives.
"I appeal to the parishes, the religious communities, the monasteries and sanctuaries of all Europe to ... take in one family of refugees," he said after his Sunday address in the Vatican.
The pope's call goes out to tens of thousands of Catholic parishes in Europe as the number of refugees arriving over land through the Balkans and across the Mediterranean to Italy and Greece hits record levels.
There are more than 25,000 parishes in Italy alone, and more than 12,000 in Germany, where many of the Syrians fleeing civil war and people trying to escape poverty and hardship in other countries say they want to end up.
The crowd in St. Peter's Square applauded as the pontiff, himself the grandson of Italian emigrants to Argentina, said: "Every parish, every religious community, every monastery, every sanctuary of Europe, take in one family."
The Vatican's two parishes will take in a family of refugees each in the coming days, said Francis, whose first trip after his election was to the Italian island of Lampedusa, halfway between Sicily and Tunisia, where many migrants arrive by boat.
The Italian coast guard said on Saturday it had coordinated the rescue of 329 migrants who made distress calls from their rubber boats.
Francis said taking in migrant families was a "concrete gesture" to prepare for the extraordinary Holy Year on the theme of mercy which is due to begin on Dec. 8.
(Reporting by Isla Binnie; Editing by Raissa Kasolowsky)