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Christmas 2019 Meditation

“We are all meant to be mothers of God . . . for God is always needing to be born.”

Meister Eckhart

One Christmas I ventured into the kitchen at Grandma’s house. She and my mom and my aunt were scurrying to clear the table, put away food, and wash dishes, all while chattering about this church friend, that neighbor, or some distant relative’s Christmas letter. Their movements were fluid, fast-paced, and well-rehearsed from years of repetition. I could only imagine their energy before dinner.

Until that particular Christmas, I had only known the “living room” side of family holidays. The guys sat lazily on comfortable furniture, predicted outcomes of college bowl games, avoided politics (it wasn’t safe then either but for different reasons), and stared at the tree. We kids piled presents neatly at everyone’s traditional seats, so as to be ready the moment our hostesses emerged. How different these two distinct experiences of the same day were!

The Nativity narrative sounds very “living room” to me this year, telling the tale from the guys’ point of view. The Holy Couple’s journey seems to be all about Joseph. The innkeeper pointed to the stable from his establishment’s doorway. Shepherds (almost always males then) experienced the wonder of an angelic birth announcement. Privileged Magi decoded a star’s mysterious meaning and called on the king of Judea before delivering beneficent gifts to a different king’s impoverished family. Yes definitely, a carol-inspiring guys lens on Christmas. I imagine Mary describing Jesus’s birth quite differently.

There can be no question that she was uncomfortable at that point in her pregnancy. Her mother tried to hide her worry while Mary smiled through her own fear and anxiety at the prospect of leaving the familiarity and support network of her hometown. The shifting backbone of a walking donkey is no friend to a widening cervix. We aren’t told exactly when Mary’s water broke, if she thought her back pain was just from the 4- to 7-day trip, or just how long she was in labor. At some point, the contractions got closer together, lasted longer, and wrenched a first baby through a virgin’s birth canal. Where was the epidural, the episiotomy? Were there any experienced mothers or midwives at the manger?! Or was it only an inexperienced Joseph holding her hand, telling her to breathe, that it would be OK, sweating beside her albeit for different reasons.

Not all births had happy outcomes then – or now. But when they did, when they do, a feeling that ‘everything is right with the world’ arrives too. Sometimes it comes after the first cry and baby turns pink, or after the last push and the placenta’s exit, or maybe even after the OMG moment that this baby is beautiful and ours. Sometimes it settles in after the relief that baby has latched onto mommy’s nipple and is nursing. It’s the realization that a miracle just happened. And with that moment, everything that mommy’s just been through yields to the joy of what’s just happened and what can happen next.

All of that had to have been part of Matthew’s, “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way,” (Matthew 1:18) but no one recorded it. We have trouble remembering it. And we need to remember – especially in these days – we need to remember how the birth of Jesus happened for Mary if we are going to live into our roles as “mothers of God.”

John’s never-read-at-Christmas account of Jesus’s birth makes our ‘mother of God’ role crystal clear (Rev. 12). And no wonder we don’t read it! An expectant mother is about to give birth while an incarnation of evil waits to catch and devour her baby the moment the child is delivered. For John, we (the Church) are that expectant mother, the agent through which Jesus arrives in our time and our place. And just like Mary’s experience, our delivery of the Christ in the world is fraught with fears, painful and exhausting, and includes blood, sweat, and tears. But we don’t really want to hear that version of the nativity on Christmas Eve.

Neither do we want to hear the after-birth Gospel accounts about the Holy Family fleeing for their lives and seeking asylum in Egypt, or the ensuing slaughter of Bethlehem’s children under age two. Still, those stories are part of the Holy Family’s Christmas experience. Tragically, stories like those are the Christmas experience still of too many families in poverty, facing violence, being trafficked, at our country’s borders, separated, and in detention.

I wonder exactly when Christmas became the story of Jesus coming into the world to deliver individuals from personal sin. That wasn’t Mary’s experience. Mary’s song about Christmas (Luke 1:46-55) was about bringing down the mighty and filling up the hungry. Delivering Jesus into the world was a painful, messy, labor-intensive task. But the outcome was, and is, new life in our midst! Mary’s lens on Christmas promised a time when everything would be made right again. As long as we are willing to be “mothers of God” and deliver Jesus into our world, Christmas still holds that promise.

When Jesus does arrive through our acts of charity, advocacy, generosity, solidarity, or justice restored, we can experience, like I imagine Mary experiencing, the truth of John’s words: When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. (John 16:21) May these Twelve Days of Christmas revive and renew you, strengthen and encourage you, empower and embolden you as mothers of God in our time. May joy be yours every time you bring Jesus into the world, joy so profound that everything you just went through in the process melts into God’s forgiving forgetfulness. And be assured of this: everything in that moment is right with the world.

This Unholy Christmas

by Abigail Conley

This Christmas seems to be a Christmas of lasts. An aunt is dying and this will be her last Christmas by any reasonable account. My mom was diagnosed with dementia earlier this year, and while medication is staving off some symptoms, that won’t last forever. “Rapidly progressing” was added to the diagnosis. In less than six months, she went from working full-time to not making sense in phone conversations. Hindsight says there may have been earlier signs, but no matter what, I imagine she will be much less of the mom I cherish by this time next year. I’m walking with lay leaders snagging moments with loved ones, knowing this is the last Christmas together.

All of that is terrible, and brings some wonderful with it, and is exactly what we expect from life. Some years and seasons are better than others. But as I read the story of the Magi’s visit with a bible study a couple weeks ago, I was reminded of the strange and profound re-writing of history that Christians did. Matthew, the only Gospel writer to tell of the Magi’s visit, does all sorts of acrobatics to tie this experience of Jesus to the Old Testament. He cites verse after verse, assuring us, “This is what those people were talking about.”

If you go back and read the original texts, what Matthew says is about Jesus is never about Jesus. Read Isaiah all the way through at face value if you don’t believe me. Yet, here he is, re-writing, re-telling, certain of God’s faithfulness in the quoted texts and in the experience of Jesus. Facts are being rewritten in favor of Truth.

One of my rabbi friends was appalled the day I told him that many Christians’ understanding of redemption is that a ransom was paid by Christ or a purchase made. Redeemed ends up wrapped up in the cross. With all the horror still on his face, he said, “You mean it’s not that God can take something terrible and make something good out of it? Like the holocaust?” I liked his definition better for sure, but I readily admitted that was a definition that would have to be supplied and agreed upon. It was not the assumed definition.

I say that because Christians do not have a corner on God’s ongoing work in the world. Sometimes we think we do for sure, but we are not alone among the people who believe God still intervenes in this place. Nor are we alone in our understanding that we participate in God’s work.

We are a bit alone in the Trinity, though. Even those of us who reject the notion of the Trinity are still wrestling with it. I can go most ways on the Trinity, but I do like that one of the claims of the Trinity is that the prophetic Spirit that was with Isaiah made its home with the church. We are always Spirit-led, Spirit-breathed people. I wonder about what it means so many years later for our Jewish family, but I am still amazed by the permission given by the Spirit for Matthew to rewrite history.

And I said all the Spirit stuff to come back to this: lasts are still holy. We have permission to figure out the new thing. We do not sit back waiting for God to do God’s thing. We make choices, and we do so with prayer and discernment trust the Spirit remains with us through that. Some of God’s best work even seems to come in impossible interruptions that are made holy.

So as we sit in these days with the prophets roused by the Spirits, and the Magi called by a star, and the Shepherds beckoned by angels, and a holy family that definitely wasn’t feeling so holy to start with, keep deep hope even through the lasts. For God still calls and leads, even you.

God is Bigger!

guest post by Deborah Church Worley from her sermon on October 13, 2019 at White Rock Presbyterian Church

“Then Peter began to speak to them: ‘I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.’” (Acts 10:34-35)

When I was at Cornell last weekend with my soon-to-be-graduating daughter Sarah, I was filled with both memories of my time there as a student, some 30 years ago, give or take, as well as perspectives as the mom of a prospective student, seeing some things in a fresh way, as Sarah was seeing them for the first time. I did feel a somewhat surprising feeling of pride toward Cornell…a feeling of wanting to share all that was good about it with Sarah…a growing hope that she might be able to experience Cornell as a student herself….

One of the memories that came most quickly to mind, I’m a little embarrassed to say, was actually one that I had shared with my kids previously, because each time I think about it, it makes me laugh. Or at least chuckle. And that is of a T-shirt that some entrepreneurial students created and sold door-to-door in my freshman dorm. It had the Harvard seal on the front… and on the back it said, “Harvard…because not everyone can get into Cornell.” 🙂 🙂 🙂

Now that’s not biggest nor the most famous rivalry in the world, but it does exist. 🙂

Some of these [rivalries] are likely more familiar to more people:

Coke/Pepsi
McDonald’s/Burger King
Fox/CNN
DC/Marvel
Taylor Swift/Kanye West
Apple/Microsoft
Celtics/Lakers
Tom Brady/Peyton Manning
Red Sox/Yankees

And of course, for us here in New Mexico, there’s this one….

Red or green chile??

Some of these rivalries are all in good fun. Some, people take more seriously. Sometimes, just to say, for example, that you’re a fan of a particular team can get you in hot water and earn you some seriously nasty looks and comments, at a minimum. I have a good friend who grew up in Maine and is a lifelong, committed fan of the New England Patriots. When they are in the Super Bowl (which seems to happen pretty regularly these days!), she doesn’t like to tell anyone she’ll be rooting for them…as that is not a particularly welcome comment around here.

And that’s just football! What about things that are inherently more serious? Like politics? There are some serious, and significant, divisions in our country around politics, and it seems like it’s only getting worse…

There are places where a person might very well be afraid to admit that she, or he, voted for Hilary in the last Presidential election; just like there are also places where a person might not feel safe admitting to having voted for Trump. It’s more than a personal preference; it seems to be taken as a reflection of your intelligence or character or goodness or patriotism.

It seems there’s a growing attitude of “If you’re different from me in some way that’s significant to me, I don’t need–or even want–to really get to know you, or know why you think what you think; I know all I need to know about you simply because you’re a [fill-in-the-blank].”

Patriots fan. Broncos fan.

Republican. Democrat.

Labbie. High school dropout.

“I know all I need to know about you because you have tattoos, and body piercings.

Because you curse like a sailor, smoke like a chimney, and drink like a fish.

Because you went to an Ivy League school.

Because you went to Cornell… 🙂

Because you went to Harvard…. :/

Because you served your country in the Armed Services.

Because you didn’t serve your country in the Armed Services….

I know all I need to know about you because you live in the [Espanola] Valley.

Because you live in Los Alamos.

Because you live in a million-dollar home.

Because you live in a mobile home.

I know all I need to know about you, thank you very much,

because of the color of your skin…the shape of your nose…

the accent in your voice…the sound of your last name…

the person you love…the church you attend–or don’t…

the height of your car’s suspension…the height of your heels….

I know all I need to know about you, because I know that one thing about you.

Sometimes it feels like this kind of thinking is becoming more prevalent rather than less…

But maybe not. Maybe it’s just always been around. It certainly existed in first-century Israel. It’s present in the background of today’s passage. Jews and Gentiles really didn’t associate with each other much. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have that big a deal for Peter to visit Cornelius. The story might not have even been worth recording. But it did get recorded, because it was a big deal.

According to one website I looked at, in first-century Israel, “[According to William Barclay,] it was common for a Jewish man to begin the day with a prayer thanking God that he was not a slave, a Gentile, or a woman.” It went on to say that “a basic part of the Jewish religion in the days of the New Testament was an oath that promised that one would never help a Gentile under any circumstances, such as giving directions if they were asked. But it went even as far as [promising to refuse] to help a Gentile woman at the time of her greatest need – when she was giving birth – because the result would only be to bring another Gentile into the world.” Another extreme example of the importance of remaining separate that I stumbled upon in my research is that “if a Jew married a Gentile, the Jewish community would have a funeral for the Jew and consider them dead.” Less extreme but perhaps more important as it was a more common possibility, was the thought that “to even enter the house of a Gentile made a Jew unclean before God.” Jews and Gentiles just did not associate. They knew everything they needed to know about one another simply by knowing to which group they belonged.

That would have been Peter’s training, and point of reference. As a devout Jew, he would have prayed those prayers, made those promises, taken those oaths. He would not have eaten with Gentiles, or invited them into his house, or entered the house of a Gentile himself. Those were simply things he had learned since his birth to not do, things that were ingrained in him by his religious teachings, traditions among his people that were acceptable and accepted, going back thousands of years. To live by those practices didn’t make him a bad person; on the contrary, they made him a good Jew. He was doing what he needed to do, what was expected, what was right.

Until now.

Until God broke in.

Until the Holy Spirit of God told Peter, showed Peter, taught Peter, otherwise.

“Do not call anything impure that God has made clean.”

Or more simply put, as it says in “The Message”: “If God says it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Peter’s religion had kind of put God, and the blessings of God, in a box. A box meant only for the people of that religion. And only for the people of that religion that did it right!

Religion seems to have a tendency to do that. Or perhaps, it’s not religion per se, but the people of those religions, who want to make sure they get it right, so that God will love them and bless them….and part of what helps them make sure they’re getting it right, it seems, it be clear about who’s getting it wrong…

Certainly the Christian church, and a good number of us Christians (or more accurately, a horrifying number of us Christians…), seem to think and behave in that way…..

Our practices and traditions, some of which have been passed down for hundreds and even thousands of year, can be harmfully divisive, can seem to seek to exclude rather than include, can serve to move us toward that attitude of “I know all I need to know about you, because I know that one thing about you…,” and it seems we, as Christians, sometimes take that even further, going on to think that “because I know that one thing about you, I also know God doesn’t love you. Or at least not as much as God loves me. Not until you change that one thing so that you’re more like me…” No wonder there are people who would “rather chew glass than come to church.”!! (That was a quote in the article in the Daily Post from someone from the Freedom Church in Los Alamos! Did anyone else see that?? 🙂 )

I am bigger than that! I am bigger than your practices and customs! I am bigger than the way you have always done things! I am bigger, and my blessings are meant for so many more than just your people! I am bigger than your customs have allowed me to be, and I am breaking out! Watch, and watch out! Even better–come with me! Go where I lead you, do what I tell you, say the words I give you, and you and so many more will be blessed!

And Peter listened, and he went, and he did, and he said…all that the Holy Spirit of God told him to do. And the world was changed!

It’s true that there are rivalries and divisions and misunderstandings and prejudices in our world. Just like there were in first-century Israel. And before. Just like, I suspect, there always will be, this side of heaven. And while some are good-natured and harmless, some are very hurtful and hateful.

But our God, the God of Peter and the God of Cornelius, the God who took on flesh in Jesus of Nazareth and who empowered the apostles in the form of the Holy Spirit, the God whom we gather each Sunday to worship and depart each Sunday to serve, our God is bigger than all of that!!

Our God is bigger…and stronger…and greater…and truly beyond our comprehension and capacity to know…but that God knows us, and loves us, and loves the world! And wants to bless the world. Our God wants to bless the world–the whole world, and all the people of the world, not just those whom we choose or approve of or deem to be worthy or like, but all persons… And God can use us to do that, to bless people and change the world…if we, like Peter, will listen and go and do and say, led by the Holy Spirit of God.

May God break our hearts…so that God might first break in, and then break out!

Amen.

On the Move

by John Indermark

Modern physics understands that the smallest elements of matter are in constant motion. What appears to be solid, be it your kitchen table or your body, is actually a vibrating collection of subatomic “stuff.” Were it not for forces at work within atoms, the illusion of solidity might spin off into nothingness. I try not to lose sleep over being poised on the edge of that precipice. I need a comfort zone of dependability. How else could I live?

So consider a similar dynamic at work in faith, whether in the heart of an individual or the spirit of a community: we largely prefer to live in comfort zones constructed of what we have come to depend upon in our belief systems. I believe that to be true whether one identifies as a die-hard conservative or flaming liberal or any manner of faith position in between. How did we get that way? Our experiences. Our traditions. Our encounters with God. As best we can, we put those things together and package our faith in a way that makes sense. How else could we live?

There is only one problem with this tendency: God. God’s quicksilver-like resistance to be poured into one shape or fit into one box eludes our control. Just when we think we have this faith-thing nailed down and dependable, God goes contrarian. Ask the folks addressed in Ezekiel 10. Everybody KNEW God dwelt in the Jerusalem temple. That was the covenant, the agreement. God would stay put, no matter what. You could always count on that, if nothing else. How else could they live?

But the “nothing else” of exile came to pass – and God didn’t stay put. God moved beyond the Temple door, beyond the city gates of Jerusalem, beyond the Promised land. As Ezekiel saw it, God had wheels and wings: and God was in motion. God’s freedom was, and remains, a potentially sobering sight. All of our constructions (or is it constrictions?) of God, whether liturgical or theological or political, only have a piece of the Mystery. We catch a glimpse, we receive a promise, we partake a grace. But just when we think we have God all figured out, wheels start spinning and wings start flapping. God proves elusive at every attempt to be boxed in to our favored tradition or pet presumption.

So how can faith survive in the face of God’s boundless freedom, and not spin off into nothingness? Ezekiel’s glimpse of the mystery reveals God’s freedom to be not capricious, but purposefully aimed toward hope. When God leaves Jerusalem, the Presence moves east: the direction of the exiles. God’s freedom did not move God to abandon them, nor us. God’s freedom moves God to find us, to lead us to places whose possibilities we might never have known had it not been for the God too large for any box to contain. Ezekiel’s God has wheels and wings! Does ours?

Embracing and Overcoming Horror (Movies)

by Abigail Conley

Horror movies are one of my favorite indulgences. I’m simultaneously a horror movie snob and will see anything labeled a horror movie. Jordan Peele’s version of horror movies wins awards and is mind-boggling and I highly recommend his work. I take issue with the lack of a systematic theology framework in The Conjuring Universe. Should anyone want to spend a few hours comparing and contrasting the theology of The Exorcist movies, I’m game.

And, yeah, I’ll also watch the terribly predictable movie that starts with teenagers making out where all but one person inevitably ends up dead. I’ll roll my eyes more, but I’ll watch it. Discretion is not really one of my gifts when it comes to this.

As a result of my indiscretion when it comes to horror movies, I recently went to see Midsommar. It’s one of those movies that gets great critical review and has the audience scratching their heads. There are major spoilers coming, so stop reading if you’re anticipating this movie.

The plot: a student from Sweden studying in the United States takes his new friends back home to rural Sweden for a festival. They’re aware he grew up in a rural area, somewhat of a commune, and go willingly for a week of celebration, including lots of hallucinogenic drugs. The drugs, at least, are supplies beyond their wildest dreams. It turns out that they’ve landed in the middle of a pagan cult and are sacrifices for this celebration that happens every ninety years.

Again, sometimes my indiscretion bites me in the butt, especially when it comes to horror movies.

The reason I like the horror genre in general is that they often name our deepest fears and worries. The writers of this genre understand humanity in a profound way. I’m not talking slasher movies; I am talking Pet Sematary, and our fear of death, afterlife, and losing loved ones. Horror movies that hit in the gut recognize that there are things far scarier than what goes bump in the night.

And so, in the middle of a slow-moving trippy movie that has left me scratching my head, there was a gem. One friend would survive the ordeal and join the commune. The guy who brought them all there said to her, “When my parents died, this community held me. Do you feel held?”

Full disclosure, I’m pretty the guy’s parents were sacrificed in some other cultic ceremony. (Seriously, skip this movie.) But I keep thinking about that concept. Do you feel held?

Do you feel held?

That question explores our deepest hopes and needs for connection. That question points out our vulnerability. That question causes my stomach to do something a little weird.

All of the stories in the Bible that I immediately think of in response to that question are points of deep vulnerability. In every case, they are the absence of the feeling of being held, supported, cared for. Mary and Martha mourn with Jesus at the death of Lazarus. Jesus goes into the garden to pray and his disciples fall asleep. On the cross, Jesus asks John to care for his mother.

Do you feel held?

The intimacy of church is one of the things that most often freaks out my friends who don’t do church. The comfort of church with aging and death definitely freaked out my friends when we were in our twenties. But not too long ago, I was with one of our church’s beloved saints in the days before his death. His wife was there with him. She asked for specific people from the church to come, and they all showed up as she requested.

On the night he died, I was there, along with people all gathered from the church. We told stories and assured his wife she would be cared for. We chose a funeral home that night, and laughed and cried. The people gathered with her had memories reaching farther back than mine, and so they comforted in a way I could not. I watched her come alive in a way I had not seen before as they talked in the difficult hours. I waited with her that night until his body was taken to the funeral home, asked the nurse to give her something to help her sleep, then went to my home at the end of a long few days.

That night remains a profound experience of Church, and watching the Church hold someone—deeply, tightly, lovingly, enduringly. They had shared the good times, but they stayed through the worst, and would do it again. Held.

One of the deep fears that plays out time and again in horror movies is fear of being alone. That’s the terrifying part of slasher movies and apocalypse movies. Alone. No one else. Loneliness, it turns out, is one of the health crises bubbling to the surface right now. We are a people in need of each other.

But when I remember that scene, that question, “Do you feel held?” I am amazed by how deeply the church holds—with mountains of food and lock-ins and awkward conversations and showing up. The church holds with baptisms and women’s groups that pastors skirt and cleaning out that one closet yet again amidst laughter and stories. The church holds and keeps holding when no one else will.

It turns out, we brave the greatest fears because we choose to hold. Let us cherish this gift.

Guest Workers

by Carol Peterson

[Rev. Carol Peterson recently relocated to Tucson, having moved here from Virginia, and was part of the Southern Conference, Eastern Virginia Association. Happy to have Carol as a new contributor!]

I am new to the Southwest Conference and Arizona. I visited Tucson several times over the years from my home in Norfolk, Virginia to spend time with my parents, who, initially came here as “snowbirds”, and later became permanent residents. As they have aged (as have I), my spouse, Loen, and I decided to move out here permanently. So having been in Virginia for the better part of the last 30 years, we had a yard sale, donated much of our belongings, and set out across the country in our pickup truck and four little rescue dogs (sadly now, three), and arrived in Tucson the last week of November 2018, just in time for Thanksgiving.

Since then, we find ourselves still in the throes of transition, trying to find our footing in a new place, a new climate, a new culture in many ways, and new circumstances. How do we meet friends, where do we find connections to the LGBTQ community, and where can we find connections to a spiritual and church community? How then, do we find our place, our way of serving, our connection to community, here?

The gospel readings (Luke 10:1-20) yesterday gave pause, and peace. In it we are told that Jesus sent his followers on ahead of him in pairs to the various towns and villages. When there, he told them, bring peace, heal others, and proclaim to all who would hear you, that the reign of God is near. Don’t bring a lot of baggage, accept the hospitality that is given, eat what is set in front of you, and if you are not received, move on, again proclaiming, the reign of God is near.

I leaned over to Loen during the worship service and said, “I guess we’re one of the two by twos.” Wherever we followers of Jesus are sent, for whatever reason, we are sent to heal, bring peace, accept hospitality, and whatever the outcome, proclaim that the reign of God is near.

Our place is where we are sent. Our connection is to Jesus. Our community is wherever we find hospitality. And our task is to heal, bring peace, and always, proclaim that the reign of God is near. We are, we all are, after all, guest workers, reliant upon the hospitality of those with whom we live and work. And we may rest in the assurance that we are sent to where Jesus intends himself to go. (Luke 10:1).

Blessings to all, and we give thanks to God that we are here.

A Christian response to anti-Semitism

by Talitha Arnold

Friday is the first night of Passover, the joyous celebration of God bringing the Jews from slavery into freedom. Today is also Good (or Holy) Friday, the Christian commemoration of Jesus’ death at the hand of the Roman Empire. For both Jews and Christians, this is a deeply holy day.

Tragically, the Christian Holy Friday has often been a time of holy terror for Jews. Throughout the centuries, the remembrance of Jesus’ suffering and death served as an excuse for Christians to inflict that same suffering and death on Jews. A Jewish friend recalls from his 1950s boyhood that he never went outside on Good Friday to avoid being beaten up by neighborhood boys because “the Jews killed Jesus.” Such beliefs are still prevalent. Recently, an acquaintance asserted, “Of course the Jews killed Jesus. The Bible says so.”

No, it doesn’t, and we Christians need to pay attention to how we tell the Good Friday story, especially in this time of rising anti-Semitism. Affirming our faith and seeking to follow in the ways of Jesus Christ should not lead to the prejudice and bias that fosters discrimination, fear and violence.

So how can we Christians tell the story of Good Friday? We can tell the truth that Jesus’ crucifixion was a Roman execution meant to strike fear and suppress opposition. Thirty years before Jesus’ death, the Roman Legion crucified 3,000 Jews to stop a rebellion in Galilee. When Christians tell Jesus’ story, we need be clear that the religious leaders of Jesus’ time were responsible for the well-being of their people, living under the shadow of a brutal and oppressive regime. Many were justifiably concerned with anyone who put their people in jeopardy by challenging that regime.

We can affirm that Christian scriptures were written over decades to different audiences with varying degrees of familiarity with Judaism and different relationships with the Roman Empire. When we speak of Jesus’ last days, we can tell the truth that the Gospel writers were trying to establish a new religion and therefore sometimes disparaged or vilified those who opposed them.

We can also underscore that the Gospels don’t agree in their portrayal of that opposition. As noted above, some Jewish leaders understandably feared Roman retribution, not just for themselves but for their people. Some opposed Jesus for theological reasons and believed he was undermining the faith that had given their people hope for generations.

Still others opposed Jesus for less virtuous reasons. In Jesus’ time, as in ours, unholy and unhelpful alliances existed among political, economic and religious leaders. Jesus’ advocacy for the poor, the vulnerable and the outcast — which was deeply rooted in his own faith as a Jew — may have been welcomed by some leaders and by the people, but it put him at odds with many in power, especially those at the top.

Moreover, the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke often distinguished between the religious establishment and the people. Their Gospels also acknowledged diverse opinions toward Jesus among the leaders themselves. In contrast, three decades later, John’s Gospel was written primarily from a “you’re either for us or against us” perspective.

Hence, John spoke only of “the Jews” with little distinction between leaders and people or recognition of the diversity among the leaders. John also absolved the Romans of almost any responsibility for Jesus’ death. In Mark, Pontius Pilate turns Jesus over for crucifixion because he wishes “to please the crowd.” In Matthew, he literally washes his hands of the situation. But in John, the Roman imperial governor pleads Jesus’ case — an odd perspective, given the Roman Empire’s brutal response to religious resisters.

Because John’s Gospel has been the main text used in many Good Friday traditions, Jesus’ death often has been framed solely as the result of the “old Jewish religion” resisting the “new (and better)” Christian faith. From there, it’s only a small step to the “bad Jew, good Christian” thinking that’s often permeated Christianity from its beginning.

Yet as scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan observe, if the Jews as a whole wanted Jesus dead, why do Mark and Matthew state that the leaders needed to arrest and kill Jesus “by stealth” or that they were worried about a “riot among the people?” Perhaps the real opposition to Jesus that led to his death was rooted less in religion than in the leaders’ fear of losing power or status. Such fear is a human trait, not limited to any particular religious or ethnic group.

As Christians, we need to tell the truth of the Good Friday story. The story of Holy Week is not about the inherent evil of a particular ethnic or religious group. It is simply the all-too-human story of vested power (political and religious) that is threatened and then responds with force and violence.

The Jews didn’t kill Jesus. Fear and hatred did. Neither is the sole domain of any particular religious group or faith tradition. The question isn’t “who” killed Jesus but “what.” We Christians need to remember that this sacred week.

The Rev. Talitha Arnold, senior pastor at United Church of Santa Fe, wrote this for the Interfaith Leadership Alliance.

Praying for Our Enemies

by Teresa Blythe

If we are to love our enemies, as Jesus emphatically taught, we ought to keep them in our prayers. It’s the last thing many of us want to do these days.

Who is my enemy?

People who strive to be good don’t like to think we have enemies. Your enemy is someone who is working against you; someone who does not have your best interest at heart; perhaps someone who hurt you and shows no remorse. Part of being human is admitting that, yes, we are holding some grudges against certain people for how they treat us. Even if we don’t like the term “enemy,” we probably do have one or two! It’s easier to ignore those who we might label enemy than to hold them in the presence of God as we pray or meditate.

Do you pray for your enemies?

Have you done any deep spiritual work around loving and praying for enemies? If not, the first step might be to simply ask God to assist you in compassion for them. Jesus loved to pray, so if you are a Jesus follower, why not ask him to pray in you or teach you to pray for those who hurt or rebuke you?

I’m one of those who likes to pretend I have no enemies, therefore, I don’t need to pray for them! And then I look at the news and get so angry at politicians who try to take away affordable health care or I fume about men who sexually harass women. So, yes, I need to pray more for my enemies.

A Prayer Practice to Experiment With

When Donald Trump first became president, I struggled with how to love and pray for political leaders who I feel do not have my best interest at heart. I wrestled with how to create a prayer practice that holds our political leaders — even those I would vote against or work to unseat (maybe especially those) — in the light of God’s presence. At the time I was reading a classic book on Christian healing, “The Healing Light” by Agnes Sanford and she suggested that when we feel overwhelmed by evil or tragedy in the world, pick one person or one situation and pray for that rather than trying to pray for everything that’s going on.

And so I did. I chose one powerful national political leader that I find distasteful (a member of the House of Representatives) and began to pray for him. I chose one who speaks frequently of his Christian faith so I thought maybe, hopefully, he will be open to the transformation that we all need to lower the temperature on this nation’s polarization.

I’ve seen no great transformation in him since I began this prayer, but I do see a change in me. I now see this politician as a person — a troubled person — and one that is in a difficult position. Like my Buddhist friends, I pray “May he be happy, healthy and at peace.”

Another Practice to Try

When you want to believe “a change is gonna come” but are having trouble visualizing it on a national or global level, try asking the Divine — and trusting the Divine — to bring “all good things and all good people to work together” for the good of all. Process theology teaches us that God is constantly weaving our gifts and passions together for God’s purposes, and the more we open ourselves to what God is calling us to do or be, the more we become a part of the process of change.

It can be overwhelming to look around at enemies and consider what they are saying and doing. Finding ways to pray for them may feel futile at first, but it’s transformative work. It’s a way of maintaining hope in the face of chaos.

How do you pray for your enemies?

Debts, Trespasses, Sins…??? The Language of Liturgy

by Jim Cunningham

We have done much to update the language of worship to be more inclusive, more contemporary. I was counseled to think of the visitor who has little or no experience in Christian worship – like… print out the Lord’s Prayer! I remember the young adult who asked me, “what is a hymn?” We might add… “Doxology, Gloria Patri, Eucharist, Collect, Sermon, Sacrament, Communion, etc.

Touching the language of the traditional Lord’s Prayer can be an especially explosive issue! Still, many have at least given members the option of “Father, Mother, Creator, Spirit, or some other sacred address. Some have changed or discussed changing “lead us not into temptation” questioning the theology – even the Pope has spoken to this. The congregation I attend is led to read, “let us not fall into temptation.”

I did convince one congregation to move from “debts” to “sin.” Still, what does “sin” mean to those not familiar with church history or tradition?

I wonder how Jesus would word this prayer if alive in our time? Perhaps we should challenge our members to each give this a try. I think the resulting discussion would be most interesting.

I did preach about the Lord’s Prayer as a transitional preacher just before moving to Phoenix in March. I ended the sermon with my contemporary rewrite. I was pleased and impressed with the interest and thoughtful response from many in the congregation. Several shared their own rewrite of the Lord’s Prayer the following Sunday. On my last Sunday, the placemats for lunch were pictures of my ministry and a copy of the Lord’s Prayer version I wrote.

Here is my thinking as of today. I invite you to share your own contemporary rewrite of the Lord’s Prayer.

Sacred Spirit, Creator, the Mystery within all and beyond all.
Your vision for life and creation be realized now.
Give us this day what we need to live fully and faithfully in the moment.
Forgive us when we have been disrespectful,
As we forgive others who have been disrespectful.
Grant us wisdom and strength to resist evil.
We live in your Presence and Love, forever. Amen.

The Tyranny of Sunday

by Karen Richter

I was sharing work-related woes with a friend the other day. He was relating how there are some in his organization who have a penchant for making things more complicated than they need to be. Sometimes, he noted, work expands to fit the time available and some of us tend to be mesmerized by complexity.

“Your office needs a Sunday,” I told him.

Huh?

Here’s a glimpse into church life: Sunday comes after 6 days of non-Sundays every single week. Let’s say your church has a great Sunday: the pews are full, the offering basket is full too. The message is inspiring; the choir knocks it out of the park. At coffee hour, conversation is lively and welcoming.

Awesome. Now do it again in 6 days.

Let’s say, conversely, that Sunday doesn’t go so well. It’s a holiday weekend and lots of people are elsewhere. The microphone makes crazy noises; the coffee is burned. Someone forgets to grab the bread for communion and the congregation sings flat.

Awesome. Now do better in 6 days.

What I call ‘the tyranny of Sunday’ is this: whether things are good or bad, you get another chance the very next week. Buckle up, buttercups! At my friend’s workplace, they seemed to need the time crunch of a metaphorical Sunday to keep projects moving forward. Sunday is a cure for beleaguered decision-making, perfectionism, and micro-management.

This is the way calendars work, of course. But it makes for good theology.

The pressure is on! Every week, church clergy and staff and musicians and volunteers strive to put together a meaningful experience of connection to one another, connection to our lived experience, and connection to the Mystery we call God. People depend on their church family, and this work matters.
But hey, no pressure! We never know what someone brings with them on Sunday. We can’t foresee what might be touching or meaningful to the people in the pews. We can’t bat 1000 every week, so we do our best and leave the results in God’s hands.
The consistency of weekly worship guides us through the liturgical seasons. The combination of regular gatherings and the poles of the Church year (Lent/Easter and Advent/Christmas) promote balance and growth.
A regular day is okay! I’m sometimes astounded when I recall that I really enjoyed the sermon on a particular Sunday, but now I can’t remember the topic. Being together as a worshiping community is often enough. Lifetimes are made from regular days and vibrant active churches are made from regular Sundays.

Maybe other weekly rituals and tasks work the same way. If you’re a Saturday Night Live cast member, let me know your thoughts.

Take care, everyone. See you… on Sunday.