Preaching Party

I'm officially jealous of my YCW friends who were in DC last week at Deep Calls to Deep: Embodying the Sermon. It sounds amazing -- and I think I'm missing Teri and Amy a wee bit. Yes, wee. That's a Scottish-ism.

So, the Gospel Lesson this week has me thinking that I want to host a preaching party but I won't compete with the online version tomorrow at Rev Gals. Still, if anyone wants to, I'd be delighted. I've just realized that I can't guilt Songbird as she's not here. Sniff.

Oh well. Enough whining. Back to the Bible. I wonder what others are thinking about this assertive woman. I preached a very pastoral sermon last week. I'm thinking about talking about health care, but wondering what this text really says about health care. Is it too narrow to use the woman's bold claim to assert a Biblical call for universal access? Do I have to get into the economics? Or can I take her lead and simply assert the moral claim that "even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table" (Matthew 15:27)? I'm not sure about this logic, but fascinated that Jesus says that something isn't "fair" (Matthew 15:26). What does it all mean?

Generations

I did the unthinkable last Sunday and used the Gospel Lesson to talk about generations. Jesus invited me to do it with that crazy question: "But to what will I compare this generation?" (Matthew 11:16, NRSV). I also happen to be reading Robert Wunthow's After the Baby Boomers. Slowly. But, I'm reading it. So, I couldn't resist. I went for it.

I spoke to the generations older than me in the congregation about the differences of how we define ourselves and whether or not this leads to the "progression of American society" (that line I stole from an essay on This I Believe). Of course, I didn't say anything too direct about this. I'm just not that kind of preacher. I ask questions and hint at what I mean. If you know my real name or where I serve, you can find the sermon with a little help from Google. That is, if you are dying to read it. I'm not assuming you are. Crazy Pastor, you should be writing your own sermons.

Anyhow, I got this email today from a clergy man (an older clergy man) that reads my work blog and my sermons. He said this:

You’ve done it again. I have just read your sermon. As a “Baby of the Boom,” let me say, Well done.
Blah. Blah. Blah. He adds his own sermon illustration for my sermon (which he always does). And then, finally concludes with:
As always, THANK YOU. Don’t stop writing or speaking.

This is a compliement that I'm missing somehow. I know it is. I'm just not comfortable with it for some reason.

Scattered

This is what I'm thinking about the Gospel Lesson.

I'm thinking about what it means to be integrated so that our whole self is participating in the Realm of God. Jesus hints at this in the 23rd verse when he invites (I see it as an invitation) to bring our emotion (understands), speech (hears) and action (bears) into that Realm. I wonder what that means though when we are scattered across the path, rocky ground and amid the thorns. Can we ever be that integrated? Or are we just that scattered?

Parking Garages & Boobs

On my way to protest for peace, I pulled into a parking garage -- as I have every Wednesday for a month. It was the second time this week that I had ventured into a parking gargage. I had been forced to park in one the night before because I was late. As I pulled into the garage this second time, I breathed deeply. Parking garages have become scary places for me. I have forced myself to imagine the things that transpired with my brother a few weeks ago. It was in a parking garage -- a deserted parking garage -- where he affixed a hose into the interior of his car. It was here that we was found suffocating himself of carbon monoxide. Each week, as I have parked in this garage, I have thought of my brother. I have gazed at the view from the top floor of this garage and wondered what my brother saw. I wonder what music he was listening to and what he was thinking about.

Perhaps it is morbid to have these thoughts. Perhaps I should be concentrating on his safety and the fact that he is home rebuilding his life. Perhaps I should rejoice -- and yet, I'm struck by the fact that I'm called to understand how anyone could feel at a given moment. I'm called to listen (even when I'm not able). I'm called to be attentive to those things that others might not want to hear. And in listening, I believe my call is to celebrate both the highs and lows of the human experience. So, my mind wanders in the parking garage. And I try not to cry.

Next Sunday, I will be preaching on Psalm 137. This familiar Psalm that reminds me of the aftermath of 9/11 has an ending that the Lectionary and my own mind omit. This lamentation for the little ones heads to be dashed among the rocks. Not a pretty picture. Not Christian, one commentator says -- but I wonder if it's part of the human experience. This is a text that laments grief. It's a song of displacement and longing. And anyone that has lost someone they love knows that grief is an experience of displacement. It hurts. You feel like an alien in a strange land -- where there are emotions you are supposed to have but somehow can't claim. You want to hang up your harp. You can't find a song. You just want to weep by the river.

This is where I wonder about those little ones. Couldn't this also be an expression of grief? Perhaps not the healthiest of emotions to express -- but isn't it true that it happens? Could dashing the little ones heads against the rocks be like my brother's plight on the top floor of a parking garage? Could it be the same pain that I felt only a few weeks ago as I took the steps toward getting a mammogram? I wonder if this pain is part of the human experience. Excuse me. I know it is. I know that this is part of the story too. And yet, I wonder if I can share my part of the story. Do I dare preach about my own fears of cancer and what this means for my grief? I wonder.

The Church is Still Standing

There is no place for them in the inn.

After I guided my small class of 6 students through the use of a Concordance and a Bible Dictionary, these are the words I wrote on the easel. And then, I asked questions. What do we need to know? What is assumed here? What might we want to know more about?

I don't know if The Thoughtful Christian had this in mind when they encouraged subscribers to use Biblical Interpretation 101 in their congregations. But, as conversation continued, I actually said that this journey probably never happened. I said that Luke probably made it up. And the looks of relief were astonishing. I didn't refute the church member that insisted that Mary was a virgin. But, I did say that it was highly unlikely that this lady made it on a donkey that pregnant. They laughed. And then, they asked more questions. Excited questions that you ask when you just want more and more information. Excited questions that can't quite seem to be get enough information. And then, I started talking about non-canonical texts. We talked about how the canon was formed and why these choices were made. There were no blank stares. There were no furrowed brows. There were looks of relief. There were looks of delight as I reminded these church members that there are stories that we believe because of faith, not because of logic. There are stories that we continue to tell that don't make any earthly sense. But, they matter. They really matter.

And the church is still standing. I'm in shock.

Bible Fun

Last night, I had the extreme joy of playing Bible Scattergories with some friends from seminary. Of course, this also required drinking a bit too much wine that is making my head hurt now.

But, Scattergories was entertaining. It was better when one of the categories finally inquired which men caused trouble. It was beginning to look like women were the only trouble-makers in the Bible. Um, no. But, you are rolling our eyes.

We know it's dorky. We openly admit that this is really, really dorky. We were also rather horrified at how poorly we played. Apparently, I need to know a whole lot more about kings and warriors. I forget that that's the kind of Christian I'm supposed to be. Oh well. It's nice to be with old friends in my old haunts.

Conference Blogging

So, here I am at the College of Preachers on a hot day in August. It's been a strange experience. Wonderful in many ways as I got to actually meet some of the women who have blogs that I read avidly. One of them just insisted "Why the hell hasn't Pastor Peters posted?" So here I am. And she just walked past exclaiming that now she gets to read it soon after I post. Silly lady. I'm going to have wine with her later to discuss the same things I am posting about. What a disappointment for her.

See, I have to preach a freakin' sermon tomorrow. Tomorrow. I think I might die. Crucify me now. Well, don't actually. I hate atonement. That would be indeed a cruel fate for me.

Anna Carter Florence gave us all of these fun ideas about how to attend to the text. I really wanted fantastic new ideas but it turns out that my seminary preaching professor should be idolized in the way that I idolize her. However, Anna left out blogging. And this is honestly how I process my thoughts. So, here we go.

The text is for Labor Day -- the official Sunday of Associate Pastor preaching. It's the gospel: Luke 14:1, 7-14. And it has a parable that is a non-parable. This fact alone boggles my mind. I have no idea what to do with this.

Then there is this whole thing about meals which makes me daydream about Hal Taussig -- one of my other favorite seminary professors. He was all about the meal. Ignoring the interjectory that happens in verses 2-6, we jump right into this meal where people are vying for the best seat. I can only imagine this as a game of musical chairs where someone is inevitably left out. Is this one in the lowest as in v. 10? Are we supposed to tell this poor child, "Friend, move up higher"? Wait. Stop. I hate this heirarchy stuff. Why must there be someone high and someone low? Moreover, how does that happen when they are all reclining? That doesn't make sense to me at all. Someone explain this to me.

The New Interpreter's Bible points out that the first three verses (7-11) are directed to the guests which copy each other:

14:8 "When you are invited ... do not sit down ... in case ...
14:10a But when you are invited ... sit down ... so that ...
14:10b then you will be honored
14:11 wordy eschatological stuff.

But then in the following verses (12-14), Jesus is talking to the host with this same strange pattern:

14:12 "When you give a luncheon or a dinner ... do not invite ... in case ...
14:13 But when you give a banquet ... invite
14:14a And you will be blessed,
14:14b wordy eschatological stuff.

So what the hell do I do with that? I'm not sure. I really have no idea. And you can tell that I have weird aggression because I have to preach this tomorrow. Damn it. But, here is what I'm thinking about. I'm wondering about the host and if God is who we imagine to be our host (as it will be a Communion Sunday), what does this mean in this weirdo parable? Of course God will be blessed! Obviously! And God better be serving a whole lotta meals. But, while the host is doing the inviting (and obviously God is going to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind), what is all this moving around we are doing? Why are we trying to sit next to?

I'm thinking about healthcare. I'm thinking about Michael Moore's realization. I'm thinking about our church's outreach ministry. All of that stuff that prevents us from being together -- because we are so concerned about status and place. What does this all mean when we come to the table?

Because we better be invited as this is an open table in the UCC. All are welcome. God is doing the inviting. But, we're all moving around. I feel like Jesus should turn to the one that gets pushed out of this vicious game of musical chairs and say those words that we say to make it all better (you know what they are). But, he doesn't. He talks to us all. I just can't quite figure out what this means for me. Right now. And I have to preach this tomorrow. Arg.

A Text With A View

Every preacher should be so lucky as to stare at this view while sitting on a hill and studying Scripture. I'm not sure what it illuminates about the text. Perhaps it only reminds us to celebrate the wonder of creation.

The view certainly doesn't help me to figure out what is going on with Mary and Martha in this week's lections. As I sat on this hill and read, I was caught by something in The Women's Bible Commentary. (You can see it in the picture.) In her steadfast reminder that Luke is a "dangerous" text for women, Jane Schaberg doesn't emphasize a duality between Mary and Martha. It's not one or the other. It seems like it is something in-between (and I love that in-between space).

At my first read on this summer day, I was drawn to Martha. And can you blame me? I'm a young clergy person struggling daily with her identity when it seems like every other Mary has it all together. (You know who I am talking about.) Of course I relate to Martha. But, as I read my dear friend Jane Schaberg, my heart changed.

She highlights verse 39b: "who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying." This is a big deal because to sit at one's feet like this suggets that Mary is a disciple, which is a male role. Luke never refers to women as disciples. They are always passive and supporting men. There is no active role that women engage in -- or so it seems. But, here is Mary actively listening.

So, what does this mean for us to be disciples? I thought maybe I should be as active as Mary. So, I sat on the hill and listened. Perhaps that was the reminder that I needed. I heard the laughter of a picnic. The cooing of a couple too close for my own comfort. The guffaw of a child who couldn't for the life of him catch a frisbee. The sound of the sea. The movement of ships. The flutter of sails. The grinding of cars up the hill. And so I'm left to wonder in the midst of my study on this Monday afternoon, what should we be listening to? Where are we not hearing the Word of the Lord? What is the Word of the Lord saying to us when we dare to listen?

And in that nifty inbetween space, what does our listening teach us to do? If we are to listen like Mary, then what do we do like Martha? Hmmm.

The Alabaster Jar

Though it is my day off, I'm doing some reading for my sermon next Sunday (because I have a friend coming to visit this week). I'm fascinated by tears and kisses. I think that might be where my exegesis leads. There's something about sacred trust there that resonates with me -- especially after the conversation I had with Maryjane.

But, there's something about this alabaster jar. The commentaries and dictionaries talk about the material itself. The Anchor Bible describes it as a "yellow or creamy calcerous sinter." Um, ok. But, that doesn't really do much for figuring out why this sinner woman is carrying it around. Is that just what you carry perfume in? Or is there something else there? I wonder. I wonder.

That week, I will be getting ready to go to our General Synod 26. And if you didn't notice from my sidebar or the general enthusiasm of our UCC colleagues, it's a big year for us. It is the 50th anniversary of our little denomination. We have a lot to celebrate. I'm so excited I could burst (no really, I get that excited about church stuff). But, my church is rather "ho hum." It doesn't impact them. I want them to be excited. I admit. I want to manipulate them.

So I wonder if the alabaster jar might be an opportunity to talk about the things we carry. And then those women travelling in the beginning of chapter 8. What's that about? The Social Science Commentary of the Synoptic Gospels (you should own this) assures us that the fact that these women are travelling with this man, this Jesus character, assumes that they are some kind of surrogate family. And if that's not what our churches strive to be, then I just don't know. But, is that related to the alabaster jar? Is it a stretch to relate them?

What are your thoughts? Or is it too early for me to be asking these things?