You are not God: The reason for Sabbath

Text: Luke 6:1-16

            A few weeks ago I had what I thought were some good thoughts on the Sabbath… and then somebody went and read them Sunday morning at Grace when I was off in Moorhead—so much for recycling those thoughts! Nonetheless, since we do a particularly poor job of taking Sabbath rest, I’m not just going to skip over it. You lucky folks just get a second sermon on the same subject!

Today, I'm going to start in a different place, namely with the question of what Biblical laws are supposed to do. In order understand why Jesus is willing to violate the Sabbath we first need to understand what the law is. If I were to guess, I bet most people who don’t take the Sabbath seriously do so because the idea of Sabbath seems like general guidelines for a good life. The law, however, is much more than guidelines, and, anyway, the “good” life that scripture would have you live is the one where you take up the cross and follow Jesus to the crucifixion. I’m guessing that’s not the good life for which you were hoping: it’s counter-cultural and downright scary. It's scary also because the law always convicts you. You can never be good enough according to the law. That is, after all, why Jesus came. Only when you understand that you are not going to live up to God’s standards can you begin to understand the importance of Sabbath.

Art and the Probable-Impossible: Thoughts on miracles and Madeleine l'Engle

"That which is probable and impossible is better than that which is possible and improbable."-Aristotle in Poetics

Madeleine l'Engle is a hero of mine. In fact, I count her on a very short list of authors, alongside Wendell Berry, who have influenced my perspective on God and the world more than any others. So, when l'Engle wrote that she had been pondering this Aristotle quote from the time she was in college until near the end of her life I set it aside as something worthy of my own time and interest. Today, as I prepare to lead a discussion on miracles with our 9th-grade confirmation students, I find myself returning again to what this means for me and for all of us trying to understand this world.

I recognize firstly that both Aristotle and l'Engle were writing on art, but if you've read much of l'Engle you also should know that she believes art is not a discipline of escapism but a primary means of truth-telling. She is a scientist, an artist, and a poet, but you don't get a sense in her work that the three are separate; they are, in fact, equal, integrated and integral to the whole picture she is painting. So, when l'Engle talks about her favorability towards the probable-impossible it is in the sense of making good art but also telling something that is fantastic and true in the world, something that can't be told with such ruthless efficiency as we might like. The probable-impossible is for her (and for me) a world where miracle and God are the ultimate reality, while the possible-improbable is this world that we see which so often cheapens everything down its most banal and self-gratifying nature.

Fishers-of-men: On spreading our faith and other things that don't sound Minnesota-nice

Text: Luke 5:1-16

            I like to fish. A lot. Ever since I was just a little kid with the Mickey Mouse rod, complete with bobber, hook and worm, fishing at my grandpa’s house on Maple Lake near Longville, Minnesota, fishing has been one of my things. This summer I already have days booked up at Lake of the Woods, and while the equipment is bigger and I’m no longer after “sunnies,” the enjoyment has not lessened one bit. A bad day fishing beats a good day doing most other things.

            I can imagine that changes, however, when you make a living from it.

            The thing I have to remember when I read about Simon Peter and his apparent ineptitude at catching fish is that this was no day off at the favorite fishing hole. Peter was dependent on the fish—absolutely dependent on the food and the income from it. If he did not catch fish, his family would starve—no insurance, no welfare, no safety net; this was a matter of life and death.

            So, imagine the frustration and the worthlessness you would feel if you were out fishing for your livelihood all night and you came home with nothing—I mean, absolutely nothing. The Sea of Galilee seemed to be without fish. From what I hear, those of you who have been ice fishing up at Lake of the Woods this winter know what that’s like. Some days the fish are just gone, and so you drink a few more beers to make up for it, but if it were a matter of feeding your family this would be a much more serious problem.

Lance Armstrong and the power of myth-making

Mark Gunter/AFP/Getty Images

I got into cycling after Armstrong, or rather as Armstrong was "coming back" into the sport, so while I remember the legends of Tour de France's gone by I was not emotionally connected to the Armstrong myth. Nonetheless, I wanted Lance to win. I wanted him to win in his comeback. And, until recently, I wanted to see how high he could ascend in the Ironman. Now, things are different for me--my opinions have changed--but it wasn't easy for that change to come about, and for others the legend is more powerful than the truth and the narrative keeps on chugging. There is much to be written on the Armstrong saga, but I want to avoid the simple commentary on where he was lying or telling the truth. I don't want to draw attention to details of the interview he did with Oprah or the loose ends that really don't add up. I don't even want to dwell on the areas where Lance is still obviously culpable--even if those areas where he needs to spend some serious meditation. Instead, I want to take this opportunity to think through what Armstrong's story says about how we create myths and the risks in making a human being (with all his faults) into a legend.

Faith, science, academic cred, and other things keeping us from learning from one another

Occasionally, I touch on the dialogue, discussion, and debate surrounding science and faith, but that probably underscores how much time I spend thinking about it. It really is at the crux of what I enjoy reading and pondering on long, cold Minnesota days. This has come across in a couple of my posts in the last year--most notably on the subject of monarchs and the questions of how versus why and in a piece on the my confirmation students' polarization on the question of scripture and evolution--but I have written far more on other subjects during that time, and I suppose it's mostly because I have a hard time putting words to the problem. The language available to discuss the relationship between faith and science is narrow and generally unhelpful, so I continue to ponder how it is that we go on from here.

from http://www.universetoday.com/74724/where-are-stars-born/

However, there comes a point when one must say something in an attempt to approach some kind of more expansive truth. So this is my newest attempt, borne out of a confirmation discussion I will be having with our ninth-graders today. This is neither comprehensive nor final; it is only a drop in the ocean of a question that is many-layered and breeds more contempt between parties than is necessary or prudent. I still believe that people of faith and people of science need each other in this messed-up world--even if their respective philosophies do not. Here's why:

Sports and the Sabbath

Today in Confirmation the ninth-graders and I will be discussing faith and sports, which is one of those intersections that is particularly strange in this American culture of ours. We're OK with professional athletes attributing their achievements to God, fans touting John 3:16 in the stands, and prayers on the sidelines and before games, but then we also have no problem with these same sporting events taking place on Sundays or Saturdays or whatever day we celebrate as apart and holy. What gives?

At least part of the answer for this strange dichotomy is the minimization of importance we place on Sabbath-taking, and this is exactly why we are talking about faith and sports in Confirmation; it allows us to enter into the 3rd commandment: Honor the Sabbath and keep it holy.

Grain and Chaff, Sinners and Saints

Text: Luke 3:15-22

            Of the four Gospels we have telling us of Jesus’ life, Luke is the one you would be most likely to read as a bedtime story. There aren’t the demons of Mark; there isn’t the slaughter of the innocent children of Matthew, there isn’t the constant hand-wringing and “fear of the Jews” we find in John. None of the Gospels are cuddly, but if there’s one that seems closest to “Minnesota nice” it is the Gospel of Luke. So, when Luke says something that appears to be judgmental and harsh we should take pause. These are a few moments when Luke is decidedly not “Minnesota nice,” moments where we are called to remember what was at stake and that these aren’t just nice stories. This Gospel is far more important than that.

            Epiphany is the day in the church calendar where we celebrate the revelation of Jesus as God’s Son—usually it’s with a star that some kings follow to Bethlehem. This year, however, we’re in Luke and the revelation comes in just a couple verses when the Holy Spirit descends on him in baptism. In that moment, Jesus was shown to be more than just another human being; the rumors and the prophecies were finally put to rest. Jesus was the Son of God. For Luke, there could be nothing more important, but Luke is also concerned about what the son of God is going to come and do. You have to remember that people expected the messiah to come as a king and rule over the nations. They expected a military ruler—one who would overthrow the Roman Empire and restore the Jewish people to power they hadn’t known in centuries. Jesus did not live up to those expectations. The people needed to know what it meant for the son of God to come and live in their midst; it wasn’t what they were expecting.