[Propertalk] 3 Lent b

[robertpmorrison at charter.net]

Here's what crossed to the editor!

Bob


THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY  	         	 
THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT - B
EXODUS 20:1-17                          		    	                	 
11th MARCH, 2012
1 CORINTHIANS 1:18-25		                                                	 
PSALM 19
JOHN 2:13-22

	Some weeks ago, ground was broken for the Smithsonian National Museum 
of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C. On that 
occasion, Representative John Lewis said, “’We must tell the story, the 
whole story of the last 400 years, without anger or apology.’ … 1

	“‘The time will come when few people remember drinking from a “colored” 
water fountain or boarding a segregated bus, or hearing in person Dr. 
King’s voice boom down from the Lincoln Memorial,’ said (President) 
Obama, explaining what the new museum will teach. He spoke about his 
family’s future and how the museum will intersect with Americans far 
away from many essential points of history.

	“‘In moments like this . . . I think about my daughters,’ he said. 
‘When our children look at Harriet Tubman’s shawl or Nat Turner’s 
Bible. . . I don’t want them to be seen as figures somehow larger than 
life. I want them to see how ordinary Americans could do extraordinary 
things.’”

	This dream may be one of the more important things we might do well to 
emulate during this season of Lent – and beyond. We need to think 
clearly of our faith more often as a story – yes, something that’s very 
much alive –a story that’s vitally important, one that has its ups and 
downs, its humour and its tragedies. And, it’s important to remember, 
it’s a story that we should never assume that other folk will have 
heard.

  	In addition to reading, when I get a chance, I like reading ABOUT 
books and their authors. Not only is this a slightly less time-consuming 
way to see whether or not something might interest me, but it fills me 
in on the author’s background, where she may be coming from because of 
her life experiences. So if someone says to me, “Have you read this?” 
often I can reply, “No, but I’ve heard of it, and it sounds interesting” 
– or disturbing, whichever the case may be.

	But then, unless I have a personal connection with the book, with the 
author’s history and experiences, I really can’t say much more. I have 
to ask the other person to tell me what she or he thought. Usually 
that’s when I discover not only about the book itself, but something 
really engaging about the person with whom I’m having the conversation.

	And THAT’S what our faith story should be like. We’ve to be prepared to 
tell our children, our grandchildren and great-grandchildren, or next 
door neighbours and the folk whom we’re starting to get to know – we’ve 
to be prepared to tell them our faith-story when we get the opportunity.

	Now I know this sets off incredibly large red flags – flags that make 
me uncomfortable. Not only is it difficult for us sometimes to share 
anything as intimate and important to us about what’s at the centre of 
our heart’s desire. But it’s also potentially off-putting to the person 
to whom we’re talking. We’ve all thought about a situation in which 
someone turns to us and suddenly says, “Let me tell you about Jesus.” 
That’s about when I’d drop my crutches and cane and high-tail it out of 
the room, leaving everyone gasping, “It’s a miracle! He can run!”

	Of course there’s a time and a place to do this – just as there is for 
telling any story. Jesus has never struck me as ever being “in someone’s 
face” unless it was to confront injustice and abuse.

	But think about what the President said. “I think about my daughters.” 
He wants them to know something about what his and our generation has 
gone through, and what’s been most important to him, and if that museum 
doesn’t actually have a shawl of Harriet Tubman’s, the Bible of Nat 
Turner, and so on, then these people will become figures in dry, 
historical books, possibly with less and less relevance as time passes.

	And so it can be about our faith. If we don’t think about our beliefs; 
if we don’t take time to reflect on how personal Jesus is and, 
especially, how personal Jesus has made God for us, then our own lives 
may start to feel a little theoretical. Worse, in my mind, we won’t have 
a well of experience into which we can dip to tell others what it is 
that’s made it possible for us to get through all the struggles which 
are inevitably such a part of life.

	From time to time we express concern about the church – both the local 
congregation, with its characteristics, and the broader body we call the 
Church. So many of the functions which the church of two hundred, or 
even fifty, years ago used to provide for the community are now being 
offered to people by other organizations, both governmental and 
non-governmental. And this is, as we say in the liturgy, “right and 
good”. This is EXACTLY what Jesus was hoping would happen – that people 
would recognise that we have a responsibility to make sure that no one 
is suffering when you and I
can do something about it.

	However, it doesn’t mean that we can fold up our pews, and take down 
the altar, and close these doors, of course. For one thing, all those 
organizations and structures which have been able to nourish and care 
for communities will, inevitably, goof up. They’ll become so happy to 
have administrative structures that they’ll forget what their purpose 
is. So the church HAS to – think about what Jesus said about this – 
religious bodies HAVE to be watch-dogs to make sure that no one goes 
hungry, or can’t find medical treatment, or even sympathy.

	But, we’re not just watch-dogs, we’ve an active role to play. And all 
of this happens because of the stories which are so much a part of who 
we are – we who grew up in the church and feel that this is second 
nature; we who came to the church later in life precisely BECAUSE some 
church member was exemplifying a life of compassionate discipleship; 
even we who’re still not quite sure of everything, but, gathering Sunday 
by Sunday, and being quiet, and joining in common prayer, and singing, 
and being fed at the altar – even we who have questions about where 
we’re headed – we’re ALL born to be story-tellers.

	All of this may be a roundabout way of introducing what lies at the 
heart of Judaism and Christianity and, I’m pretty sure, Islam also: The 
Ten Commandments – how to live with one another; how to live with God; 
and, perhaps just as, if not more, important – how to live with one’s 
self.

	It’s really interesting to read about Jesus sweeping the Temple of the 
sharp-practising merchants. I know I can identify with Him in His anger, 
probably you can too. When someone takes something that’s meant to 
provide a sense of relief, and freedom, and reconciliation, and when 
that person takes advantage of another in her or his moment of 
vulnerability; when someone’s relationships are on the rocks; when 
someone is facing pressure at work or in the neighbourhood; when someone 
feels that her or his faith is being put at risk and another steps in to 
rip that person off – when anything like that happens, just about every 
one of those commandments is being violated.

	The commandments AREN’T simply there to make God feel good. God IS 
those commandments. Honour, love, respect, truth – these are all defined 
by how we’ve come to know God. So whenever we twist one; whenever we 
ignore one; whenever we think that we can get away with eight out of ten 
in terms of our behavior to our neighbours, our friends, worse yet, our 
families – we do it to God.

	That’s why Jesus was so infuriated. That’s what ticks of Jesus today, 
when we abuse one another in any way – but especially when we do it in 
or through what we call “The Body of Christ”.

	It’s a scary thought. It almost makes me think twice about joining a 
church, or affiliating with a congregation. The last thing I want to do 
is to open up someone else, or myself, to the possibility of getting on 
Jesus’ wrong side. So when we talk to people; when we visit with people; 
when we try be with people who’re going through struggles – when we 
think about inviting someone to come to church to worship with us, and, 
perhaps, to find some comfort for her or his life, we’d better make sure 
that everyone is respected. That means that when visitors walk in they 
should find people making sure that no one is being taken advantage of, 
especially in their vulnerability.

	Maybe something a little lighter to prod our thinking.

	On Tuesday morning this past week, I was surprised to hear a sound I 
hadn’t heard before. It turned out to be the Sanitary Service truck, and 
I was amazed at how efficiently that huge vehicle moved down the side of 
the road, paused before a robotic arm snuck out, grabbed the various 
containers that had been left there and emptied them into the receptacle 
built into the truck. It was all so smooth, so quick, relatively 
effortless, not too noisy – and the truck repeated this again and again 
down the street.

	I thought, “I wonder if we could administer Communion this way?” Then I 
went further – I wonder if we could attract and transport people to 
Church in this way? Then my mind really took a turn down a surreal 
alley, and I wondered, “Might that robotic arm be able to reach in 
through every bedroom window, pluck the bed’s incumbents up, stack them 
in the transportation device and bring them on down to 18th and Hill and 
reverse the process, putting them neatly in rows in the pews here?”

	Could we make this work?

	I doubt it. Half of the folk plucked out of bed in that way may be dead 
of fright by the time the truck reached the
building here. The other half may be so livid that there would be bedlam 
inside this room. So the whole exercise would be fruitless.

	But for me, the clinching argument against it would be the total lack 
of human contact. The only human involved was the truck driver. At 
least, I assume that there was a human up front, but one can never be 
sure these days.

	And so we’re back to square one – I’m sure to the relief of all of you, 
although I may have planted seeds for tonight’s nightmare – somewhat 
like the Geico commercial of the couple with the black Rescue Panther 
sitting on top of the chest of drawers in their bedroom while they lie 
awake at night, worrying.

	The whole idea of compulsion, of dragging folk against their will to 
church, of not letting them have any say in which church or at what time 
they might possibly wish to go – if, indeed, the thought crossed their 
mind to go – the whole idea of compulsion runs contrary to what God 
wants. The point, especially of today’s readings, is that if we HAVE 
made the decision to attend, then there are standards of behaviour that 
are acceptable, and taking advantage of people, abusing them in any way, 
making them so uncomfortable that they lose sleep through the week and 
can’t concentrate for fear of what worship may require of them – all of 
that is just as unacceptable as yanking them out of their beds at the 
end of a mechanical arm.

	But don’t think I won’t give the idea of using that mechanical arm 
another thought or two. I just need to refine it a little. In the 
meantime, those Ten Words given through Moses – they still hold. And we 
ALL have a story to tell.

NOTE:

1 	 Rep. John Lewis at the groundbreaking for the Smithsonian National 
Museum of African American History and Culture. African American museum 
groundbreaking showcases living history By Jacqueline Trescott, 
Published: February 22 
http://go.sojo.net/site/R?i=-hGbQ-Xz6u58A6gXcqPExQ




Robert P Morrison
Interim Vicar
The Episcopal Church of St Alban
PO Box 1556
Albany OR  97321   541-921-1076 (cell)