On the Corruption of my Childhood Babysitter

Read Luke 4:1-13.

"Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil." (Luke 4:1-2).

I had a babysitter once who got into an argument with me on the existence of the devil. At one point she thrust her open Bible in front of my face and with her blood-red nails, traced some words my five year old eyes could not yet read. There were drawings too of the chief demon embedded in the text. So with a fierce urgency, I left her to wake up my younger sister to tell her we had to get Dad to church. Otherwise he was going to burn. She hid under her covers and cried. I whole-heartedly agree with Martin Luther when he wrote that the devil likes nothing better than for us to actually pay him attention. As long as we pay attention to the devil, we are not paying attention to God. So for many years, and with the memory of that babysitter seared on my soul, I held this story of the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness at a distance.

And then I discovered the mysteries of biblical wilderness places. (I also discovered John Milton but I won't go there.) Much is revealed in these harsh landscapes. We see in a different way when confronted by the scarcity and fragility of life. So I studied this story with a renewed interest and a little less skepticism. What I discovered is that Jesus also ignores the devil in a way. He just never really enters the argument the devil wants to have.

At one point in my chaplaincy program, my supervisor commented that Lucifer means light-bearer in Latin. Now I know this name is never used in the New Testament. But given how our culture associates the titles Devil and Satan and Lucifer, it meant something to me when he said that. What if that's the devil's job: to bear light by which we may see with clarity the darkest of human capacity? Because what kinds of other temptations are there that could be worse than believing that life has no meaning, or that we can serve power and wealth over God, or that ultimately, we are alone? I mean really, those are pretty bad.

So now I love this story. I love it because of its bright truth. I love it because the devil is just the devil. I love it because unlike us, Jesus never falters.

Reflection

• Have you ever journeyed into a physical or spiritual wilderness?
• Who was waiting for you there?
• What tempted you?

Prayer

Jesus, Son of God, our wisdom and strength, guide us in our most vulnerable moments to a vision of your love for us. Help us keep the integrity of our faith. In your name we pray, Amen

The Word on our Lips

Read Romans 10:8-13.

"Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved."

When I read this passage of Romans, I think of my non-Christian friends who claim to be without faith. And yet, I know otherwise from the stories they've told. In their most raw and exposed and vulnerable moments, they have found themselves uttering words of thankfulness or mercy to God. They have had concrete, palpable experiences of passing through a deep threat into safety. And they have known upon arrival, they were delivered by someone other than their own selves. The mouth sometimes betrays us -- it can reveal our true self, the one that senses a wider mystery.

Where does knowledge of salvation come from? Is it ritual and worship and scripture reading? Certainly. Is it the communal if not individual memory of baptism? Maybe. Or is it something else? Instinct or experience? All of these things? I like to think our hearts may be our guide, that our hearts know things our intellect does not always. St. Paul assures us, the Word is near us, on our lips and in our hearts. We need not look to far away places but to what is close, often deeply within.

Reflection

• What does your heart, imagination, and belief tell you about salvation?
• What does salvation look like if you had to choose an image?

Prayer

God of mercy, in these forty days of desert wandering, reveal to us your deep wisdom and saving grace. Amen

First Fruits

Read Deuteronomy 26:1-11.

"...and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me." (Deuteronomy 26: 1-11)

For many years, I have thought of tithing the first fruits of my labor as an obligation. And if I didn't think of it as an obligation, I would imagine it as something I do as a personal insurance policy: if I give this to God, then God promises to take care of me. Therefore, I can reap a reward for my tithing efforts. Yet, these words from Moses at the edge of the promised land don't seem to be about obligation, or even law really; they seem to be about responding to a new creation. The instruction is to tithe the first fruits upon entry into the blessed land of milk and honey. Tithing then is a sign that grows out of belief that we have been brought to freedom. We tithe because we have arrived. If we liken the resurrection to the passing over the Jordan into the land of Canaan, then could the same question be asked? How do we respond to the resurrection? Talking about money and financial attitudes is not the most glamorous of ministries. But in the Bible, tithing is as much about guiding principles for living in community as it is about dreams, visions of the Holy One, and deep longings to respond to God's love and faithfulness.

Reflection

Do you ever have the desire to give more to your community in talent or treasure and stop short of action?
How do you experience the call to tithe? As law or hope or something else?

Prayer

We pray to you, O Lord, to inspire our giving hearts. Help us respond when the little voices inside of us tell us to keep quiet or keep back or keep still. Amen

Ash Wednesday

Read Joel 2:1-2 and 12-17

“Yet even now, says the Lord, return to me with all your heart.” (Joel 2:12)

*a portion of the following reflection appeared in the February church newsletter

They were full of questions. They wanted to know everything about the process: from the science and mechanics of embalmment and burial, to the kinds of conversations and decisions that take place when families arrive at the Chapel of the Roses. There was much humor amidst the somber atmosphere. Our tour guide, funeral home Director Cindy Nielsen told us how people sometimes like to be buried with things they found meaningful in their life. Last week, she prepared a body for burial alongside six cremated pets. She tells us how sometimes people like to be dressed in Hawaiian shirts or their sweatpants like they wore when their bodies were alive. Some want their golf clubs or fishing poles to accompany them in their caskets.

I and a group of students and parents from our church wander from the chapel out into offices and rooms behind the scenes. We examine a hearse in the garage and the students gasp as Cindy talks about the places where bodies come to lie as they await preparation. Later as we step into a room where families meet with the directors to select everything from urns and caskets to photo albums and grave markers, someone asks at the entryway, “Is this a gift shop?”

In a most surreal moment, our young Lutherans encounter the crematorium. They contemplate the bricks of the retort furnace and the brooms for sweeping out the ashes. Cindy encourages them to feel the sifted softness of cremains, which they do, with some nervousness.

Every other year, our confirmation group takes this tour. They acquaint themselves with death just as they do baptism, communion, and the Bible. They draw close to these mysteries as Martin Luther would have us do when he wrote, “We should familiarize ourselves with death during our lifetime, inviting death into our presence when it is still at a distance…” He encourages us in this way that the terror of death may have no power over us. Martin Luther believed that to flee death, to “abhor” it, was to flee God. If we practice this kind of contemplation, in our final hours we might be fully prepared to focus whole-heartedly on life, love, and grace, and the promise of the kingdom for we which we would have long ago left our fears behinds us. (see citation below)

I once contemplated my physical death for seven months. It was a project I undertook (well perhaps was assigned) as an intern chaplain. Maybe as a healthy twenty-something at that time, I could afford to consider who I would miss, what kind of funeral I wanted, what might happen to my body as it approached its last moments. And yet, I found myself surprised by the kinds of emotions that welled up over the course of those weeks. Next to a real vision of my death, all kinds of things began to feel unimportant. Other things became urgent. I tried to repair a damaged friendship and I spoke to my parents about their post-mortem wishes and presented them with mine. And I saw with a burning clarity the kind of life I wanted remembered of me.

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.” On Ash Wednesday our tendency is to spiritualize our mortal deaths. We consider instead of the departure from our bodies, the death of relationships, or ways of being, or bad habits. These are good and necessary things on which we may focus. But what would happen if we did on this day, consider our physical deaths? How might we then live differently? It is our yearly invitation to be marked by a sign of our mortality. May we walk with courage to receive that sign in the full confidence of God’s love for us made known through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Reflection

What do those ashes mean to you?
When you hear the words “Remember you are dust…” what do you think, or remember, or feel?
What happens inside of you when you imagine the end of your earthly life?

Prayer

God of our beginnings and endings, guide our vision that we may see the world as it is and your promise of everlasting love and life as the hope or our lives. Amen

Martin Luther Quotion from: Luther, Martin. "A Sermon on Preparing to Die." Martin Luther's Basic Theological Writings. Ed. Timothy Lull. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989. 640-41.

Secret Worship

Read: Matthew 6: 1-2 and 16-21

“But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees you in secret will reward you.”

Here again, as in yesterday’s reading, is this word “secret.” In Psalm 51, we read of a secret heart. Today, we hear Jesus speak of a secret place, a secret place where we might worship God authentically. Without showmanship. Without concern for how others might see us. Without a desire to prove our deep faith. A secret place where we might be ourselves before God and know it is enough.

When the expressions of our faith have an audience, how do they change? Do we worry in church how we appear or if we are doing the right things or using the right words? I know I do and I worried about it long before I ever took on the role of worship leader. It’s why I found it hard to pray spontaneously out loud, or even read scripture, or lift my voice, or acolyte. But Jesus’ words, I think, go beyond just worship. When we obsess over how others perceive us, that worry comes between our true selves and God. And everything Jesus did and spoke for us sought to tear down the divide between us and our Holy One.

Reflection

How is being in church for you? Are you more yourself? Less yourself?

What does authentic worship feel like for you?

What does it mean that God sees us in secret?

Prayer

Gracious God, guide us in our worship that we may love and consider our neighbor while standing before you as our true selves. Amen

Secret Hearts

Read Psalm 51

“You desire truth in the inward being; therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.”

I am intrigued by the secret heart. I think we all have one: a heart beneath our hearts that holds our deepest longings and desires. It’s the heart that desires an authentic life in which what we believe might be lived out in our daily lives. It’s the heart that craves meaning and connection and belonging. Maybe it’s a heart that holds wounds we cannot dress on our own. Perhaps those wounds were inflicted upon us. Or perhaps we have been wounded by what we have done to others. Maybe that heart is encased in silence for it is certainly a heart that is shy, maybe known only to ourselves, or maybe even only to God.

In the season of Lent, we are given the space to open our secret hearts. The psalmist prays for wisdom and truth. If our inward being is restored to our Creator, we might live in unity with God and with one another in wholeness and freedom.

Reflection

What does your secret heart look like? How does it sound? What does it desire?

Who knows your secret heart and inward being?

Prayer

Holy and Wise One, we turn to you in the coming days knowing we can entrust our hearts to you – for you know us better than we know our own selves. Amen