Monday Muse: Praying the Lectionary

Deuteronomy 34:1-12 (from the Revised Common Lectionary for 10.26.2014):

Ah God, I am not wise like Moses; I have neither his courage for the wilderness nor his faith for miracles. Still I dare to pray for the gift of a vision like the one given to Moses on Mount Nebo — a sweeping view of the horizons, a panoramic reminder of your faithfulness across place and time and generation. No matter if this momentary vision is my beginning or my end or one step along my way, only open my eyes to the knowledge of what you are doing through me, within me, and so very much beyond me.

Psalm 1 (RCL):

Too easy to judge my own path tolerantly. Too easy to see my way clear and my footsteps righteous. Too easy to scoff at the scoffers and the sinners alike, while I stroll mindlessly through mire and quench my thirst in streams of vanity and greed. And — irony among ironies — too easy, O LORD, to be discontent with walking in your way. Let my steps be gentle and joyful and ever-alert to fellow travelers.

Matthew 22:34-46 (RCL):

With our hearts and minds and souls,
we love you —
the One Within our lives.
With our minds and souls and hearts,
we love our neighbor and we love the stranger —
the One Alongside us in every face.
With our souls and hearts and minds,
we love the commandments and we love the questions —
the One Beyond all knowing.

1 Kings 3:4-28 (from the Narrative Lectionary for 10.26.2014):

I cannot count all that you know, O Wise and Wondrous God, but all that I know I can count on one hand. I despair to recognize my unknowing; I cry out in vain to claim something — anything — in this life and to hold onto it with certainty. Why should I ask for a long life that fades no matter how many days it is granted? Why would I ask for wealth and peace around me when my soul remains unsatisfied? Teach me something, I beg you O God. Let me glimpse the ways that you walk over the earth, and let this flesh and breath have purpose somehow amid your wondering.

That Bothersome “To Do” List

Worrying and twisting my soul
over all that is and all that may be
and all that needs to be
paperwork
homework
new projects
continuing projects
self improvement projects
write less
weigh less
exercise at all
eat healthier
fold laundry
make dinner
pay attention
connect more
support more
spend less
strive harder
be content
practice self-care
work nonstop
the “to do” list grows longer
the demands get louder
Do this!
Prioritize!
Don’t forget!
And through the noise
of my long list and my full calendar
of my contorted spirit and my own chaotic head
I hear, “You shall have no other lists
before me. No lists, no priorities,
nothing else except God.
I alone am your List.
I am the Hours of your day.
I am all your Work and all your Rest.
I am your Strength, and when you reach your limits,
know that I still continue. I am greater than
your longest ‘to do’ list, so when
you run out of list space
and time and energy,
know that I still am.”

Monday Muse: Blame and Responsibility

From the Revised Common Lectionary readings for this coming Sunday, October 12:

The LORD said to Moses, “I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, and of you I will make a great nation.” (Exodus 32:9-10, NRSV)

I wonder, sometimes, why God does not.

Consume us, that is. Burn against us. Unleash holy rage.

Surely we are no less stiff-necked than the ancient Israelites who melted their finest jewelry in order to cast in gold an image of a calf for worship. I might even suggest that we are more stiff-necked than our forebears in the wilderness, collectively rebellious and distracted by gleaming powers and tangible idols and systemic altars.

Why doesn’t God take us out?

In Exodus 32, Moses appeals to God’s reputation and vanity in order to convince God to relent from anger and spare the people. (Abraham made a similar appeal in Genesis 18:17-33.) Notice with Moses: God is ready to wipe the covenantal slate clean — screw that promise to make nations from the offspring of Abraham, God is going to start fresh with Moses. Moses turns down God’s offer in order to ask God to keep God’s covenant with the people.

(Sidebar: Who does that?? Who willingly says, “I will give up what you can do for me in order to see what you can do for others”? Footnote to the sidebar: the answer is not “Jesus,” for these reasons and more.)

I’m fascinated by the ongoing debate between Moses and God, Moses and the people, God and the people — not only here in Exodus 32 but going back at least as far as Exodus 16** — about who is responsible in the community when one party/person misbehaves.

A separate if related question to “Who is responsible?” is “Who is to blame?” which seeks to know who permitted and/or participated in the errant behavior and who consequently deserves punishment. In Exodus 32, the “blame” answer is Aaron and the people, who are made to drink gold-infused water in 32:20 and then further punished by massacre & plague in 32:27-28 & 32:35. One of those feel-good Bible moments.

I’m interested in the “Who is responsible?” question because of its repetition between God, Moses, and the people across so many chapters. “Who is responsible for holding a person/community accountable for errant behavior? Who is responsible for leading the way toward correction, healing and redemption?” Responsible = Response = Who responds in order to redress what has occurred? When the people act out and create their golden idol, for example, who is responsible for their discipline?

Moses and God draw straws over the question.

“They’re your people,” God says to Moses (Exodus 32:7). “No, they’re your people,” Moses says to God (32:11). They debate not to determine blame for the people’s actions but rather to determine responsibility for the hard work of discipline. If the ancient Israelites are Moses’ people, then Moses must take responsibility to “redirect” the people’s idol worship. If they are God’s people, then God must take responsibility to mend (or, given God’s proposal to Moses, dissolve) the covenant that the people have broken.

Pick any system of injustice or occasion of injury, and the easier question to answer (whether correctly or not) is who’s to blame. More difficult, it seems to me, is the question of responsibility: “Who will clean up the mess? Who will do the hard work of healing & reconciliation & justice within the community? Who will give up their privileges & comforts in order to make way for God’s work to and through others?”

By default, so very often, those who have already experienced injury are tasked with the responsibility for their own healing — those whose privileges and comforts have already been sacrificed — while those who made the mess (as well as those who consider themselves unaffected by it) provide analysis and critique.

Moses loses his debate with God over who is responsible for the people, and so he must do the work of cleaning up the mess: from the aforementioned massacre and plague and forced drinking of gold-infused water, but more than that. Moses spends chapters 33 & 34 laboring & negotiating with God not to abandon the covenant or the people. (Arguably chapters 35 – 40 are a continuation of Moses leading the people through the work of reconciliation with God as they prepare an elaborate tabernacle for God’s presence to travel with them through the wilderness.)

Moses puts in the hard work of repairing the people’s relationship to God, and God remains faithful to the covenant and to God’s reputation as “a God who is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (Exodus 34:6)

Why doesn’t God take us out?

Perhaps because it’s not God’s responsibility to do so. In the flip of divine coin and the drawing of holy straws, we “lost” and God made us responsible for one another (Genesis 1:27-30) — commanding us to invest time in healing, reconciliation, and justice.

It’s God’s responsibility to uphold the covenant. It’s our responsibility to do the hard work of holding one another accountable to it.

 

**Exodus 16:6-8 Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, “What are we, that you complain against us?” And Moses said, “Your complaining is not against us but against the LORD.” (That is: “God is responsible for you, not us.”)

Exodus 20:2-3 “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.” (“I am responsible for you, and don’t you forget it.”)

Exodus 20:18-19 When all the people witnessed the thunder and lightning, the sound of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking, they were afraid and trembled and stood at a distance, and said to Moses, “You speak to us and we will listen; but do not let God speak to us or we will die.” (“Please, Moses, you be responsible for us because God is too scary.”)

Exodus 32:7 The LORD said to Moses, “Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely.” (“Moses, they’re your people, not mine.”)

Exodus 32:11 But Moses implored the LORD his God and said, “O LORD, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?” (“Um, no, those are your people, God, not mine.”)

This and That and Neither

Thankful

for the contradictions
that are life,
for the incongruities
that provoke life

for the thrill
and the weariness,
the captivation and yes
the frustration

Thankful

for the sturdy rock
of holy precepts and for
the eroding spring of divine grace

for manna from the clear sky
and life from the impenetrable grave

thankful to be called into
the day, and then
thankful to call it a day

Thankful

that You are my rest
and my agitation
my peace and my chaos

IMG_3551

Thankful

that You are
bigger, grander than it all
yet still You painstakingly count
minuscule grains of sand
distracted
mindful
daydreaming
over each sandy bit
of beauty and history
held in Your palm
one
two
three
four
five
each so glorious
and You
are glorious too

Thankful

for the sheer magnitude
of hallowed mystery
manifest there:
in the sunset
and again there:
in whale songs and moonlight
manifest even there:
in humanity
Your most heartbreaking
of contradictions

Thankful

to sigh
and know that You
can hold our tantrums and our love
our tenderness and our
worst violence
without fragmentation
no matter our multiplying shards and pieces
which are not nearly
so beautiful as
the sand:
one
two
three
four
five
the turmoil
of news, of war
piles higher and higher
in your hand and I wonder how
you find any of us
beneath our ironies and sins

Thankful
that You do.

Monday Muse: The Ten Commandments on World Communion Sunday

Come to the mountain.
Come to the table.
Come to life.

In a pillar of raging fire,
in a gift of holy precepts,
God is with you.
And also with you.
In a brother, in a stranger,
in a sister, in an enemy,
God is with you.
And also with you.

Give praise to God, who alone is holy.
It is right and good that there should be nothing above God, nothing in place of God.
Be full of joy in God, who alone is your worldview.
It is right and good that there should be nothing that limits our understanding of God’s presence in all the world: not race or gender, not creed or nationality, not family or class, not language or politics.

Most Holy God, just as you called stars and galaxies into being to glorify you, just as you taught them to sing and dance in ethereal choreography around you, so too you call us to center ourselves around you, to sing in our rest and dance in our work in such a way that you are glorified.

Most Holy Spirit, just as you swept across the wilderness and drew people toward your holy mountain, even now you stir among us with the invitation to gather at your table. And as we come to these holy places, you command us to be reconciled to one another and reconciled to you. Before you, no idols can stand. Before you, we dare not harm one another by word or deed.

Most Holy Christ, by the mystery of your flesh and blood, the fullness of life was demonstrated for our weary spirits in this broken world. By the manner of your living, you broke the divisions that define us. By the misery of your death, you overflowed with God’s lament for the world. By the miracle of your resurrection, you witnessed to the sufficiency of love. At the table today, we eat this bread and drink this cup in solidarity with your breaking, with your lamenting, with your loving.

By God’s grace and for Christ’s sake,
come to the table, for all is ready.
With humility before God and with love for all people, we come: setting down our idols and distractions, setting down our grievances and jealousies, setting down our working and our raging against the world, picking up a spirit of peace and fellowship and openness. We come to be with Christ. We come to be as Christ.