Marlin & Sally in Jerusalem

Friday Prayers

¶ So he set out from there, and found Elisha son of Shaphat, who was plowing. There were twelve yoke of oxen ahead of him, and he was with the twelfth. Elijah passed by him and threw his mantle over him.  He left the oxen, ran after Elijah, and said, “Let me kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow you.” Then Elijah said to him, “Go back again; for what have I done to you?” (1 Kings 19:19-20)

For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery (Galatians 5:1).

¶ As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:57-62).

Psalm 16

    Protect me, O God, for in you I take refuge.

    I say to the LORD, “You are my Lord;
        I have no good apart from you.”
 
     ¶ As for the holy ones in the land, they are the noble,
        in whom is all my delight.
 
     ¶ Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows;
        their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
        or take their names upon my lips.
 
     ¶ The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;
        you hold my lot.

    The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
        I have a goodly heritage.
 
     ¶ I bless the LORD who gives me counsel;
        in the night also my heart instructs me.

    I keep the LORD always before me;
        because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
 
¶ Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices;
        my body also rests secure.

    For you do not give me up to Sheol,
        or let your faithful one see the Pit.
 
     ¶ You show me the path of life.
        In your presence there is fullness of joy;
        in your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Let us pray:

Lord God of the Universe, Choosing One, we bless and thank you for throwing your prophetic mantle over us, for choosing us to serve you in the noble, unrelenting task of serving the cause of righteousness and justice.  We stand in awe of your gracious invitation to join with you in the championing work of standing with those who have no one else to stand with them – the widow, the orphan and the stranger in our own backyard.  We will not turn back.  We will not quit.  We will not be deterred. We will set our face to walk toward the risk, the danger, the loneliness and fear – the cross.

Beckon us, Choosing One, beckon us to follow you.  Make your way so clear to us that we follow happily, even when the path is hard, and the destination out of our sight.  Keep us ever mindful that we are not alone, never alone, always with you, and with others too – those who have not bowed the knee to any other than you.

Free us, Choosing One, free us to follow you.  Take away anything or anyone who stands between you and us, between your way and the way of slavery. 

Fill us, Choosing One; fill us with love for our neighbor, even and especially the neighbor we do not like.  Oh dear Lord, take away our addiction to sin, our need to win, our fear of losing, and our blindness to what these are doing to this wonderful world that you made, and are making new every day.

Choosing One, today we choose you, and tomorrow again, and every day after.  We choose you over all other gods -- god of fame, fortune, and even the god of family.  And we trust that in choosing to follow after you, we will find the path of life and know the fullness of joy.

Choosing One, protect your servants, especially those who speak words of peace and reconciliation, words that sound weak to the strong and foolish to the wise.   Set your face toward Jerusalem again, dear Lord, and come bring hope to the hopeless, life to the dying, freedom to the enslaved – both the oppressed and the oppressor.  Free the Jewish people from the slavery of paranoia, heal the wounds of a persecuted past, and give them the power to love their neighbors.  Free the Palestinian people from the slavery of self-pity, heal the wounds of loss and losing, and give them the power to love their neighbors.

Choosing One, choose to come again and again and again, until at least every nation on earth, every people, and every person see you and know you and choose to follow you.

We pray this prayer in the name of Jesus, and by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

Command Performance

Last night I was treated with a command performance of the 1st scene in the story of Jonah.  Actually, like all Bible stories, this story is really the story of God, not Jonah.  Jonah has a bit part, sharing the stage with a host of characters equally as important, including a whale and a worm.  The main character in the drama, as in all biblical dramas, is God.  And where God is, is as important to the power in the story as is what God says or does.  God is in Nineveh.  God is with the people of Nineveh.

The drama troupe was a small group from Western Theological Seminary – some students and one of their professors.

I was late for their performance – actually a modest presentation for their Hebrew instructors and a few others.  They were acting out the 1st Chapter of Jonah, first with narration in English, and then in Hebrew.  The English version was good – the Hebrew much better.  Even if you couldn’t understand Hebrew, the Hebrew was better – beautiful in fact.

As I said, I was late.  Missed it altogether, actually.  Got lost.  Ironic is that, in that, the God story in Jonah is about “lost” people, a “lost” prophet, “lost” shade, “lost” perspective, and most of all, God, who is “lost” to his own people, represented by Jonah.  Lost.  I hate being lost, lonely, and left out.  I think God hates being lost as well.

After dinner, and after a little birthday celebration for one of the students, the tiny troupe of not-ready-for-prime-time players informed me that they were going to give me a command performance – one just for me.  Moved me, it did – little lost soul that I am most of the time.  You know what I mean, right?  You know about feeling little and lost.  The Palestinian people, with whom Sally and I live, feel little and lost too.  And I feel for them, I do, and feel for you too when you feel little and lost and lonely.  I hate lost.

Here’s what struck me the most:  God was in Nineveh.  Yep, God was with the people of Nineveh. “Go at once to Nineveh, that great city, and cry out against it; for their wickedness has come up before my face.”  The traveling troupe of seminary students put God right smack dab in Nineveh.  What was God doing in Nineveh?  Why would God care about the wickedness of the people of Nineveh?  Apparently, the people of Nineveh, dread enemy to the people of Israel, were not lost to God.  God knew right where they were and God knew exactly what was happening among them.  The people of Nineveh weren't lost to God.  God is lost to the people of Israel – at least that’s what the little book of Jonah declares.

So where’s God?  “God is with us,” we say.  And we say, “God is with us” as if we think God is only with us, and only for us, and certainly never against us.  God is with us.  Well, yes, God is with us, and here’s the radical good news/bad news of the God-given word to us:  God is with the “others” too.  God is with those we’d least expect God to be with, or for – with and against, yes, but with and for? – well now that’s a stretch for dear, old Jonah, and maybe for you and me as well.

“Get up.  Get out.  Get going to Nineveh.  Get up, get out and get going to Nineveh, and get telling the people of Nineveh that I am with them and that I am for them and that I see them and that I don’t like what I see.  I don’t like their wicked, violent behavior.  You go, Jonah, and you tell them that I see.  I see.  I see.  Give them a chance to change, Jonah.  Warn them that their violent ways will bring them divine judgment and that divine judgment is not what I want for them.  Tell them, Jonah, tell them to repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!”  Jonah got it.  He did.  But Jonah didn’t like it.  Didn’t want the people of Nineveh to know that God was with them and for them and seeing them and wanting to warn them.   John the Baptist got it too.  And Jesus got it as well.  By then, of course, Nineveh is not some distant enemy, but Nineveh is Israel, and the people of Israel need the message themselves.  “Repent for the Kingdom of Heaven is right here with you.”

Where’s God?  This is the marvel of the message of Jonah and John and Jesus:  God is with us, all of us.  God is watching and working and warning us to change our violent, wicked ways.  And you can change, God is saying.  You can change.  You can.  You can.  I believe in you.  I am with you.  I am for you.  You can change.  So change.  Change.  Repent!  Repent!

Where's God?  Baghdad.  Washington D.C.  Peking.  Moscow.  London.  Jerusalem.  Gaza City. Tehran -- no, no, not Tehran.  Yes, like it or not, Tehran too.

Who is God with?  You know the answer.  You may not like it, but you know it.

Lost, lonely God is waiting for us to listen, to repent, and to change.  Jonah knew that the people of Nineveh could change, and he feared they would, and when they did, Jonah was angry.  And you get that too, don’t you?

Last thing on this little story: Jonah had to be forced to go to Nineveh and tell the story of God in their midst.  Let’s not make God force us.  We have been given the most powerful, hopeful message that could ever be given – God believes that we can change our violent, wicked ways.  The world doesn't have to be the way it is -- violent and wicked.  We don’t have to live this way.  We can change.

Holy Wound

It is Sunday morning, four o’clock, and I am standing on the roof terrace just outside our apartment in East Jerusalem.  It is jetlag that has me awake at this 4th watch time of the day.  It’s dark – no moon, no hint of sunrise. – darkest-before-the-dawn dark.  The Muslim call to prayer is sounding softly over the city – unusually quiet it seems to me.  It is almost a moan, or perhaps that’s just my mood.  Normally the call to prayer is loud – intrusive and defiant, I’d say – but not this morning.  This morning the cry is low, sweet, sorrowful and inviting.  I’ve never heard the call to prayer this subdued.  I wonder about it.  It seems strange to me.  Later in the day I ask one of my shop keeping Muslim neighbors about it.  He says, “It’s nothing.  Sometimes the call to prayer is loud and sometimes quiet.  It’s nothing.”

I say, “I’ve never heard it this quiet before.  Maybe I’ve been gone to long.”  (I’ve just returned from three weeks in Turkey followed by three weeks in the States.  Six weeks is a long time to be away.)

“No,” he says.  “We’re tired.”  Tired. That’s what he said.  “We’re tired.”  I do not prod any further as I sense that he is uncertain of my motives in asking the question.  (I’ve been gone too long to be asking too many questions.  My comings and goings remind Palestinians of the fact that they can’t come and go the way I do.  The old barber on the corner says, “We’re prisoners here.”)

Standing on a rooftop in East Jerusalem at 4 o’clock on a Sunday morning, suffering from a bad case of jetlag, one thinks that one’s thoughts are more thoughtful than they are – or at least this is what I’m thinking as I’ve thought more about it.  However, let me share what I was thinking then, on that quiet dark morning, just one morning ago.  Religion is wounded. That’s what I was thinking, feeling, worrying about and wondering over.  Religion is wounded.  In fact, the three religions that were birthed here are suffering from a mortal wound, and what makes matters the worse that matters can be, none of the three realize how badly they are wounded.  I sense the Spirit ebbing out of the three Abrahamic faiths, like slowly draining blood from a person wounded in battle.  We are bleeding out, paling before a world that is watching us slowly die.

Judaism seems primarily concerned with prospering the State of Israel and with not much else.  Western Christianity seems consumed with consuming, or at least that is how is seems to one who is only around Western Christianity a few weeks a year.  I don’t know what is conquering Islam but conquering seems to be a constant theme, or at least it seems so to me.  To be honest, I don’t know enough about Islam to say much except to say that on the surface there is not much that draws me to know more.  I realize that a Muslim would say the same about both Judaism and Christianity, and perhaps that is a symptom of the depth of our injury.

Perhaps it is God who has wounded us.  The prophets seemed to think that God would do such a thing if doing such a thing were what was necessary to keeping faith alive.  A wounded person, when such a one finally realizes that he or she is wounded, will seek treatment.  With healing balm in hand, God waits for us to come and be made well – or at least I hope God hasn’t grown tired of waiting.

I am overcome with a deep, deep sadness.  Or perhaps I’m just tired.

Friday Prayers

¶ I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask,
        to be found by those who did not seek me.
    I said, “Here I am, here I am,”
        to a nation that did not call on my name (Is. 65:1).

For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.  I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing (Gal. 2:19-21).

Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.” But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?” And he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” (Luke 7:47-50)

Psalm 22:18-27
    … they divide my clothes among themselves,
        and for my clothing they cast lots.
 
     ¶ But you, O LORD, do not be far away!
        O my help, come quickly to my aid!
    Deliver my soul from the sword,
        my life from the power of the dog!
    Save me from the mouth of the lion!

     ¶ From the horns of the wild oxen you have rescued me.
    I will tell of your name to my brothers and sisters;
        in the midst of the congregation I will praise you:
    You who fear the LORD, praise him!
        All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him;
        stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel!
    For he did not despise or abhor
        the affliction of the afflicted;
        he did not hide his face from me,
        but heard when I cried to him.
 
¶ From you comes my praise in the great congregation;
        my vows I will pay before those who fear him.
        The poor shall eat and be satisfied;
        those who seek him shall praise the LORD.
        May your hearts live forever!
 
     ¶ All the ends of the earth shall remember
        and turn to the LORD;
        and all the families of the nations
        shall worship before him.

Let us pray:

Crucified, risen Jesus, we lift up our limbs in praise of you.   We loose our tongues and let our lips cry “Glory!  Glory!” You accept the love offered by those who have long lost the innocence of childhood. You welcome the caress of sinners.  The wounded woman touched you, and you did not turn her out.  And you did not take advantage of her.  You allow the tears of the guilty to touch your sacred flesh.  O great forgiver of the fallen, we fall before you, hoping that our acts of love will be to you an offering of gratitude and faith. Do not turn us out.  Do not take advantage of us.  Forgive us, we pray.

Crucified, risen Jesus, ready yourself for we will seek you, and seeking you, we will be found.  Do not hide yourself from us.  Do not stand in the shadows, aloof and unapproachable.  Come out, come out, wherever you are!  Come quickly and help us.  Come quickly and teach us to live.  Come quickly and show us how to die.  Come quickly and give us reason to live.  Come quickly and lend a purpose for which we might be willing to die.  Inspire us, we pray.

Crucified, risen Jesus, we await the day when the poor shall eat and be satisfied, when the eyes of all children will shine with confidence and wonder.  No more fear.  No more bitter, silent tears that no mother or father wipe away.  No first strike.  No second strike.  No third strike.  We pray for a day when violence is out.  We vow to work toward the ends for which we pray.  The vows we make we will keep, because we make them with your pierced hands and feet in full sight.  We remember your sacrifice.  We remember your choice to obey.  We remember your resurrection.   We remember and we turn toward your way.  We remember and we worship you -- crucified, risen Jesus.  We remember, and we live mindful of the coming day when all peoples will worship you.

Amen.

Hemorrhoids from Heaven

Hemorrhoids from heaven – now there’s a scary thought.  Please God, spare us, we pray.

I Samuel 5-7 contain the story of God inflicting hemorrhoids on the Sea People.  Their offense to God was to treat God as if God was just any old god – like their god Dagon.  God hates being treated like a pet, won’t tolerate such banality.  “Nice god, nice god.”  I don’t think so.  God is more grizzly bear than Labrador, I think. 

God acts – hemorrhoids from heaven.  The Sea People react.  Remembering the plagues of Egypt and the hardhearted stupidity of Pharaoh, the Sea People determine that God has earned his reputation as one not to be taken lightly.  In fact the Hebrew word for “holy” also means “heavy.” (Fun, huh?)  The Sea People send God back to the people of Israel who are expected to know how to treat this prickly God who refuses to be tamed, and will not allow anyone to think that he is.

In order to put an exclamation point! on the point of the story, the storyteller includes the slaying of the seventy men of Beth-shemesh (6:19).  Could have been hemorrhoids from heaven for all we know.  We are not told.  We are told of their offense however.  These men of Israel opened the Ark of the Covenant and looked inside.  The Hebrew in the text is uncertain, so it could be that they simply approached the Ark in a way that was improper.  “Nice god, nice god.”  Maybe not so nice.  Don’t treat God as if God is a pet.  God is holy, awesome, untamed and untamable – dangerous.

You think otherwise?  Check out Leviticus 10 and see what happened to Nadab and Abihu (Aaron’s sons).  Likewise, look over 2nd Samuel 6, and tremble, if you still can, at what befalls Uzza and Ahio, the sons of Abinadab, the man charged to care for the Ark after the incident at Beth-shemesh.

God is holy, awesome, untamed and untamable – dangerous.

Whenever I think about Gaza, I think about hemorrhoids from heaven and the holiness of God.  I know that modern Gaza is south of Ashdod, where the I Samuel story takes place, but if the story is to be trusted, then all of the Sea People were afflicted with hemorrhoids.  Actually, it was probably the bubonic plague that struck these people, but what does it matter really?  The malady is seen as God’s action, taken, because the folks by the sea, the Philistines, have the audacity to lodge God in the house of Dagon, thereby treating God as just one among many.

“Come and see the God of Israel.  Good boy, good boy.”

Good God, that will not do!

The people of Gaza are suffering.  It’s easy to attribute their suffering to the action of God.  Too easy, I think, and too convenient too.

The people of Gaza are suffering because of failed leadership.  Ask any Palestinian on the street and he or she will tell you that there is no Palestinian leadership that they trust.  Ask any Israeli and he or she will say the same of Israeli leadership.  There is no vision of a way forward.  The history being made today is nothing more than a repeating of past mistakes.  No vision in the United States either, I fear.  I hate saying that and I know that it is the kind of statement that irritates those who are in leadership and who are faced with choices between the bad and the worst.  Yet, it is true too, and needs saying, I think. 

God has not left Gaza, nor have the people of Gaza sent God away.  God is in the midst of the suffering of the people of Gaza.  God is with the innocent -- the young and the old, the widow and the orphan. God is their champion, and now I remind all who need reminding, that this champion of the orphan, widow and stranger is the holy, awesome, untamed and untamable God who will not be boxed, bottled or buried.  Those of us who lead ought to be warned that the God of the Book is dangerous and not to be treated as a trained bear with collar and chain.

“Nice god, nice god.  Good boy, good boy.”

No.

Not all hemorrhoids are sent from heaven, but ….

A Conversation with a Denier

Sally met him at our granddaughter’s soccer practice.  She was drawn to a sticker on the rear window of his van.  “No More Wars For Israel.”  She took a picture.  He saw her and asked her if she liked it – the sticker, that is.  Sally responded by saying that she certainly liked the idea of “No More Wars.”

“Do you want one?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll bring one on Wednesday.”

It’s Wednesday and Sally and I are walking across the parking lot headed for the soccer fields.   Emma, carrying her soccer ball under her right arm, walks just ahead of us.  The man with the sticker spies us and walks over.  “Hey Mrs. Jerusalem,” he says.  “Do you still want that sticker?”

“Sure.”

And sure enough, he has one for her.  Sally takes it, thanks him, and introduces me.

As we are shaking hands he places the first straw on the camel’s back.  “You know that they lied to us, right?”

“Who lied to us?” I ask.

“Roosevelt, Churchill, the whole gang -- they lied to us.”  He is a grandfather to the 2nd power, a great granddad there to watch his granddaughter’s daughter play soccer.  He is a WWII Veteran, just a year or two younger than my own father. “Fought the Japs in the Pacific,” he informs me.  He is not an angry man, not a man spoiling for a fight either.  He is smiling congenially as he tells me these facts of his life.  He seems happy, content, with a hint of self-righteousness added for spice.  “The Holocaust didn’t happen,” he declares.  “They lied to us.”

This straw causes Sally to stiffen, her face frozen in the midst of a fading smile.  She takes my right hand into her left and gently attempts to pull me toward the soccer fields.  She doesn't want this discussion in this place and at this time.  This is Emma time, and Emma time is short and sweet for us.  Not much interferes with Emma time.

I am stuck to the asphalt.  I cannot move.  I cannot speak.  I cannot think.

“There was no gassing of Jews, no mass graves, no burning of the bodies – all lies.”  I am still stuck – paralyzed, speechless, and brain dead.  It’s not that I simply want this conversation to end, but rather that I want this conversation never to have begun.  I don’t want to accept the fact that conversations like this ever take place.

“Hitler was not so bad,” he says.

Long

Last

Straw.

My mind is racing as I debate my response.  Just walk away seems the best option.  Just walk away and enjoy the time with Emma.  Just walk away and avoid an argument.  Just walk away.  Can’t just walk away though, can you?  Can’t.  Won’t.  And should not – right?

I see Sally sneak a peek at me.  With my left hand I reach and take the sticker from her right hand.  I attempt to hand it back to the man, but he won’t take it.  I push it against his right hand, and then he accepts it back.

“We can’t accept this from you,” I say.  “We don’t agree with anything you’ve just said.”

“That is your right,” he responds, smile on his face – friendly, congenial, happy.

“My father was a medic during WWII,” I say.  “He was among the United States forces who liberated Dachau Concentration Camp.  Sixty years later he can’t talk about what he saw without weeping.”

“It wasn’t as bad as they say,” he retorts.

I start to walk away, but Sally holds me firm.  It is then that I look in her face and see the tears.  She stands and stares at the man before her.  Emma calls out, “Nana, Papa, hurry.”  The man looks down from her teary stare, shuffles his feet, turns, and walks away.  Sally watches him go, turns to look at Emma, smiles, shakes her head once, then again, sighs, and says, “I didn’t know what to do with that ‘damn’ sticker.  I’m glad you gave it back.  It was burning my hand.”

I don’t know why this gentleman denies the Jewish Holocaust.  Maybe he is of German descent and just can’t believe that his people could do such a horrible deed.  A month or so ago we were in Turkey listening to our Turkish guide denying the Armenian Holocaust.  “It wasn’t as bad as they say,” is exactly what he too said.

There is a lot of denial going on these days.  “It isn’t our business,” Senator Hilary Clinton says of Iraqis killing Iraqis.  And as Palestinians kill each other in Gaza, the United States and Israel merrily talk of new opportunities for peace, while denying by their silence their own responsibility for the chaos in Gaza.

“We aren’t as responsible as you say,” we say.  Sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

Marlin, it is not the same as!  No, but it is not so different from, either.  The man with the sticker hates Jewish people – and Japanese people as well – and because of his hatred and prejudice, he won’t accept the witness of millions of survivors and others who were there.  If we are honest, we will admit that we don’t like Arab people, don’t trust them, don’t care what they do to one another, or for that matter, don’t care what anyone else does to them either.  It is the denial of prejudice that is the same.  And I can't simply walk away from it in order to avoid a scene.