Tag: God

The Wisdom of “Praise Allah and Tie Your Camel to the Post”

by Christopher Schouten

I learned a phrase long ago in my spiritual education from the deep well of Sufi wisdom: “Praise Allah and tie your camel to the post.” This phrase offers profound insight into the balance between faith and personal responsibility. On the surface, it appears to be a simple proverb, but its deeper meaning touches on the core of how we live our spiritual and practical lives. We are both divine AND a we are fundamentally a biological, physical reality. As I reflect on this phrase, I find it speaks volumes to me about the interplay between trust in the divine and our own responsibilities in the world, and the partnership we must create between Creator and created in order to not only live up to our own full potential, but also to create the Kin-dom of God on Earth.

The Balance of Faith and Responsibility

At its heart, this saying emphasizes the importance of combining faith with action. “Praise Allah” signifies the need for spiritual devotion and trust in a higher power. It reminds us to acknowledge and revere the divine presence in our lives, to give thanks for the guidance of the Holy Spirit and the blessings we receive. This aspect of the phrase encourages us to cultivate a relationship with the divine, to recognize the divity within all of creation, and to surrender our worries and trust that we are cared for by a loving and omnipotent presence.

However, the second part, “tie your camel to the post,” brings in the crucial element of personal responsibility. It underscores that faith alone is not enough; we must also take practical steps to ensure our well-being and the well-being of those we care for. It suggests that while we trust in the divine, we are also expected to use our wisdom, skills, and resources to take care of our duties and responsibilities. This balance prevents us from falling into the trap of passivity or fatalism, where we might otherwise expect things to happen without our active participation.

Practical Application in Daily Life

In our modern context, this wisdom can be applied in numerous ways. For instance, in our professional lives, it means that while we may trust in our abilities and the opportunities that come our way, we must also put in the necessary work and preparation to succeed. We can pray for guidance and support, but we must also draft the proposals, attend the meetings, and refine our skills.

In personal relationships, it means that while we may trust that love and harmony will prevail, we must also engage in open communication, show empathy, and put in the effort to nurture and maintain these bonds. Trust in the goodness of our relationships must be paired with the active work of caring for them.

In terms of personal health and well-being, it suggests that while we might have faith in our body’s ability to heal and thrive, we must also engage in healthy habits, seek medical advice when necessary, and take steps to care for our physical and mental health.

Contrasting with Evangelical Theology: Letting Go vs. Active Participation

Contrasting this with certain strands of evangelical theology, we see a marked difference in the approach to divine intervention and personal responsibility. Phrases like “letting go and letting God” and “Jesus take the wheel” often emphasize a more passive reliance on divine action, suggesting that believers should surrender control entirely and trust that God will handle their challenges. While this perspective can provide comfort and peace, it sometimes leads individuals to abdicate their personal accountability and responsibility. In this framework, there is a tendency to wait for divine intervention rather than actively engaging in problem-solving or taking proactive steps. “Praise Allah and tie your camel to the post” offers a counterbalance, advocating for a partnership between divine trust and human effort. It encourages believers to see themselves as co-creators with God, recognizing that while divine support is essential, their own actions and decisions are equally vital in shaping their lives. This integrated approach fosters a more dynamic and participatory spirituality, where faith and action are seen as complementary forces working together to bring about positive outcomes.

Understanding God’s Plan: Biblical Underpinnings

Determining God’s plan for our lives is a complex and deeply personal journey that involves prayer, reflection, and seeking wisdom from sacred texts. This Sufi philosophy also resonates with many biblical principles, suggesting a harmonious blend of faith and action that can indeed be seen as part of God’s plan for us.

Biblical Underpinnings

  1. Faith and Works: The Bible consistently emphasizes the importance of both faith and works. In James 2:14-17, we read, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? … In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.” This passage highlights that true faith is demonstrated through our actions, aligning well with the Sufi emphasis on trusting in God while also taking practical steps.
  2. Responsibility and Stewardship: The parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30) teaches about the responsibility of using our gifts and resources wisely. The servants who actively invested their talents were praised, while the one who hid his talent was reprimanded. This parable underscores the idea that we are expected to be proactive and responsible stewards of what God has given us.
  3. Partnership with God: In Philippians 2:12-13, Paul writes, “Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill God’s good purpose.” This passage reflects the dual aspect of human effort and divine guidance, suggesting that we are co-creators with God in our spiritual journey.

God’s Plan in Daily Life

Recognizing that God’s plan involves both our trust in God and our active participation can bring clarity and purpose to our daily lives. The Sufi wisdom does not contradict biblical teachings but rather complements them by emphasizing that our faith in God should inspire us to take responsible actions. By praising God and tying our camel to the post, we acknowledge that while we trust in God’s provision and guidance, we also play a crucial role in manifesting God’s plan through our efforts.

In practice, this means seeking God’s will through prayer, studying scripture for guidance, and using our God-given abilities to act responsibly and diligently in our circumstances. By doing so, we honor both the divine and our own human agency, living out a faith that is both trusting and proactive. This integrated approach can help us navigate life’s challenges with confidence, knowing that we are working in partnership with a loving and guiding God.

You started out as dirt

by Rev. Deb Beloved Church

“You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19b) 

Some version of that verse is typically said as the sign of the cross is being made with ashes on someone’s forehead on Ash Wednesday. 

For example, as I was “ashing” folks who came to White Rock Presbyterian Church last Wednesday, I said this: “Remember–you came from dust, and to dust you will return…” 

[Each year I think maybe I’ll use the late Rev. Eugene Peterson’s interpretation as found in The Message: “You started out as dirt, you’ll end up dirt.” That strikes me as even more powerful! It is, in fact, what I said when I blessed the horses of a friend the next day, using actual dirt from the ground on which we were standing… Maybe next year I’ll use it with the two-legged creatures, and see how it lands for us all…]

“Tempranillo, remember that you came from dirt,

and to dirt you will return…”

And since this year Ash Wednesday happened to also be Valentine’s Day, here’s another way to think about it: 

At first glance, it seemed strange to have those two holidays (or more better, perhaps, holy days) fall on the same date, but looking back, I can’t help but reflect that perhaps it was truly a gift… 

Might the occurrence of our cultural celebration of loving and being loved on the same day that we who are people of faith intentionally acknowledge our mortality, somehow enhance both of those central aspects of our humanity–the relational albeit finite nature of our existence? 

None of our human loves—whether of a child, parent, partner, sibling, cousin, friend, etc., or a non-human companion—will last forever. We will all someday die, and those loves in their present form will come to an end. All living things are mortal and finite.

And while that truth can be heartbreakingly painful to acknowledge, might it also make our loving more sweet? Might it make our time together more cherished? Might it make our conflicts more critical to resolve? Might it generate more urgency for us to show up more fully and more authentically? Might it make us more grateful for the opportunities we have to love and be loved? 

Hmmm…

We are approaching the second Sunday of Lent already; Ash Wednesday feels like a distant memory. Perhaps as we move further into this holy season, we can not only consider our mortality, not only allow greater recognition of our sin, not only attempt to see with greater clarity the ways we hide our true selves, not only make more deliberate efforts to turn back to God… But we can also hold on to and celebrate that in the midst of our flawed, finite, and finicky humanity, we love and are loved by the humans and non-humans in our lives, and by God.

Yes, we are dust and to dust we will return. Yes, we started out as dirt and we’ll end up dirt. Yes, we were born and we will die. We. will. die. 

And…in the midst of that—and before that, and after that, and beyond that—we are loved. We are loved absolutely, and unconditionally, and unceasingly, by the God who created us out of dust, and who created the dust. 

Thanks be to God!

“Seen by [the James] Webb [Space Telescope] in unprecedented detail, Sagittarius C is a star-forming region about 300 light-years away from the supermassive black hole at the Milky Way’s center. (https://www.flickr.com/photos/nasawebbtelescope/53344798019/in/gallery-zexonaz-72157720865766128/)

Think about what you believe. Then see if you believe what you think. 

by Rev. James Briney

I like what Jesus did.  He noticed what was going on for others, did what he could and moved on.  Jesus did what he did as a matter of faith.  He lived for what he believed and he died for what he believed.  But his last words indicate that he did not know if it was worth it:  “My God why have you forsaken me.”  Jesus understood that when you know the right thing to do, but are not certain of the outcome, do it anyway.  That’s all any of us can do.  

A challenge of ministry is the futility of it all.  If it weren’t for so darn many flawed human beings, clergy would be out of business.  More congregations would be extinct and forming community would be left to amateurs.  Professionally—or not—the key is to minister.  Show up.  Be present.  Be in the practice of ministry, not the ministerial business. 

The major religions of the world have one thing in common.  No one knows anything.  Religious practices are based on faith and belief, not proof and knowledge.  We all are just trying to figure out where we come from, why we are here, and where we are going.  The best we can do is employ words and symbols to express such concerns.  

I like who Jesus was, and is.  He still is, and will continue to be, for as long as he is remembered, thought about, and talked about.  Jesus was anointed as the messiah by those who recognized him as the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, the Lord of Lords, and the Son of God; not the Caesars, who claimed those titles for themselves. 

When Jesus was confronted by the law-givers, who were out to do him in, he did not say he was the ‘only’ way to be in relationship with God.  Jesus said: “I am the way.”  I take that to mean, I am the way to be.  Be the way I am. 

Jesus is not some sort of magic man who did things we can’t do.  He was not being modest when he said:  “You will do greater things than I.”  Jesus understood, hoped for, and trusted that every person is capable of being and becoming the soul that God intends for them to be. 

It is tempting to give up on humanity, or to blame God in the context of overwhelming tragedies, horrors, and sorrows.  It is seductive to settle for a life of distractions that prevent us from thinking about that which matters most.  

I am a person of faith.  I believe there is more to life than life itself, perhaps experienced in the afterlife as manifestations of consciousness and energy.  I once told an atheist who ridiculed my faith, to try to be gracious should he meet God face to face.   

God has given all of Creation everything we need.  Everything in this world that is wrong, unfair, hostile, and unjust is on us.  Trust the Spirit that is Holy within you.  All that you experience and all that you do is part of the Eternal. 

There is no my god, your god, or our god.  There is one God, by a variety of names.  The Church is a flawed institution, not the Kingdom of God.  Individuals that understand the basics, fundamentals, and particulars of their own faith—and the faith of others—give me some hope.   

It’s scary to contemplate our fate and to wonder where we came from, why we are here and where we are going.  But do it anyway.  When you are satisfied that you have all the answers start over.  Think about what you believe.  Then see if you believe what you think. 

Over 25 years of ordained ministry the Reverend James Briney served congregations in Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Arizona. Early on, Jim earned degrees in Philosophy and Theology.  He is retired and living in Oro Valley.  (Photo by: Lou Waters.)

Discernment Challenge: How Do We Know It’s God?

by Rev. Teresa Blythe

One of the most prominent questions in spiritual direction and discernment is this: When I have a spiritual experience, how do I know it’s God and not my imagination or wishful thinking? I’d like to be able to give an iron clad answer to that question, but it’s just not possible, given the nature of God (as in, invisible). However, there are guides we can use to test our impulses, desires and insights. And those guides come in many forms, but I’ll start with the Bible.

In the Hebrew scriptures, apocrypha, and New Testament, there are a number of lists naming the attributes of God. These lists are helpful for discernment.

God’s desire is planted in our hearts. Deuteronomy 30. This chapter not only explains the covenant between God and Israel, but it offers some guidelines for righteous living. Choose life over death. The word is in your heart to observe. I (God) am with you through it all.

Pay attention to the little voice. Isaiah 30:21. When you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”

The nature of Wisdom. Wisdom of Solomon (Apocryphal book) 7:22-8-1. The Wisdom of God is described in this listing of virtues (Wisdom, in biblical wisdom literature, is personified as a woman). Some of the virtues useful for discernment: holy, clear, humane, steadfast, free from anxiety, penetrating through all spirits.

Beatitudes. Matthew 5–7. The Sermon on the Mount (or Luke’s Sermon on the Plain) includes excellent benchmarks for discernment. Is my choice merciful? From a pure heart? Just? Does it contribute to peace?

Fruit of the Spirit. Galatians 5:22. You can test your choices by this list. Even though it is not an exhaustive list, it gives us a pretty good picture of what God is like. Jesus frequently spoke of knowing what is holy by the “fruit produced.” Love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.

Think on these things. Philippians 4: 8-9. Another list to help you make choices and test “spirits.” Whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, any excellence, anything worthy of praise — keep your mind on these things.

Wisdom from above. James 3:17-18. God’s wisdom is pure, peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.

These lists offer us some guidance and benchmarks for evaluating our choices. Because we are human, we’re not always going to get it right. But, we’ll do a lot better in discernment with these attributes of God as our guide than without them.

Grieving Well

by Rev. Lynne Hinton, Conference Director, New Mexico Conference of Churches

At a worship service a couple of weeks ago at St. John’s UMC in Albuquerque, visiting preacher Rev. Scott Carpenter spoke about five tasks churches need to accomplish in order to thrive. The first task was to grieve well.

This focus on grief as the first task for a faith community to grow strong surprised me. Having been a hospice chaplain for years, I spend a lot of time and thought regarding grief, regarding loss. I understand the need to honor grief but I had never seriously considered it as a necessary function for communities of faith to thrive. And yet, grief is necessary to move forward. And if we’ve ever needed to grieve in churches, it’s now.

Over 600,000 persons have died in our country from Covid 19. Businesses have closed. Churches have had to shut their doors permanently. Dreams have ended. Suicides and mental illness emergencies are on the rise. And in poorer countries, the pandemic continues to ravage entire populations. We need to grieve what has been lost, what we have lost.

In [his book] RealLivePreacher.com, Pastor Gordon Atkinson writes about going to a mountain church in Colorado as part of his annual family vacation. He goes to the little community church alone and he goes to weep.

He writes, “I cry in their church because I can’t cry in my own. I’m not suggesting that we discourage crying at our church. I’m saying I am not ABLE to cry there. Being in charge shuts something down in me, I think. So every summer in Creede I unpack a year’s worth of sorrow, joy, and wonder.

“I cry in church because it is my time to be served. I’m like the woman who prepares the meals for her family each day. One day she comes home, and her children have prepared a meal for her. She bursts into tears because it’s her turn to receive. It doesn’t mean she wants to stop cooking. It’s just nice that it’s her turn.

“I cry for those reasons, but mostly I cry because at Creede Community Church I can see the truth. Sitting in that simple pew on the back row, I see the Church Universal in all her glory and silliness. The truth is, we are not sophisticated at all. We are nothing more than children, sticking our drawings to the fridge with tiny magnets, offering our best to the heavens on a wing and a prayer. We are precious, but perhaps only in His sight.

“I think messy little boys and girls praying in church must be irresistible to God. When God slows down and licks his fingers to slick down my cowlick, I catch a fleeting glimpse of the hem of his robe.

“And a glimpse is more than enough for me.

“That is the moment of true worship, and I always seem to find it in Creede.

“And in that moment, I cry from pure joy and relief.”

Do you have a place where you can weep? Do you have time set aside in your life to mourn your losses, honor the sorrow you carry, and feel free to let your emotions loose? And do you have a place where you receive, a place where you don’t have to be the faith leader or the pastor holding it together, a place where you can be served and know the loving presence of God?

My hope, of course, is that you do and that you have been there this year, that you have wept in sorrow and relief, and that you have been received, and ultimately that you have known joy. That is my hope for us all.

You are the light of the world.

Younger Generations Uninterested in Organized Religion Not Missing Out

by Greg Gonzales

Never did I think I’d find God on the internet, but I did toward the end of December 2017. On Radio Garden, a radio station streaming service, I found a Dubai station called Ananaz that played awesome song after awesome song that I’d never heard before — I learned Paul Mauriat covered the “Godfather” theme and that a band called Banda Do Sul covered “Evacuate the Dance Floor.” Each song I learned about helped me branch out to discover more artists, more songs, and to fill my playlists for my own radio show. Those connections, that branching out, is one way I experience God; rather than a being, it’s the process of being, of participating in the world, of moving forward and bursting forth into the future as an effect of an infinite preceding cause, part of the nonstop cosmic evolution. To many, that kind of spirituality is nothing more than hippie-dippie hocus-pocus, but it’s central to my mode of living.

Turns out I’m not alone. A third of Millennials surveyed by Pew Research Center said they don’t affiliate with a religion, but two-thirds of that third said they still believe in a God, or some sort of universal spirit. Adults 18 to 25 apparently aren’t fans of traditional congregations, and I’m one of them. Though I grew up in a Disciples of Christ church, I never have liked the way a service comes off like a performance, or the way some people use church like a way to wash themselves of their wrongdoings. I appreciate the divinity in music, community, and ancient texts, but I don’t feel a need to have all those things bundled for me. I get all of those things in my daily life, through my volunteer work at the radio station, through sharing my homemade wine with friends and family, and by exploring the works of every philosopher from Ancient Greece to post-modern France. For me, choosing non-religious spirituality means not expecting anyone to curate these things for me, and more freedom to explore when I feel inspired (it’s not really acceptable to pull out my phone during the sermon to follow up on a Bible verse, for example).

That’s not the only reason my age group is turning away from organized religion. Some of them are indeed atheists. But the main reasons have more to do with feeling left out of the picture. We feel left out of traditional institutions, but find the same love and divine presence when we get in touch with our bodies at the gym or in yoga, when we join strangers at dinner or in support groups to share honestly our griefs and joys, or get to know our own minds through meditation — we get to become something larger than ourselves without the guidebook. We get to write our own books.

And isn’t the point of that word, gospel, is that it means good news? Those pages have some dust for good news. Though I don’t believe in magical miracles, I do believe in miracles of great fortune, of divine experience, and unconditional love — and those miracles happen every day. As we connect to each other, as we listen to each other’s stories and use those lessons to grow, we gather our own “good news.” Perhaps the only reason the Judeo-Christian traditions are so important still is because the people who lived out those stories bothered to write them down. This generation, and the generations who inspired us, have new gospels to write for a new era.

A Piece of Fruit and a Serpent: A Different Perspective

by Tony Minear

“I want a drink of that.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s hot and you might burn your tongue.”
“Please.”
“I said, ‘No’.”
“Why?”

“Look at all these fruit trees. Yummy.”
“They are, aren’t they. You can eat from any tree you want except one, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.”
“Why not?”
“Because on the day you eat of it, you will die.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“But why?”

In the Genesis 3 story God gives a simple command to Adam and Eve. It is much like one given to a three-year-old. You don’t need to think about it. It isn’t an ethical quandary of right and wrong or good and evil. You need to simply obey.

When the curtain opens on Genesis 3, we recognize three characters from the previous scene (Genesis 2): God, Adam, and Eve. In this scene, a new character appears, a serpent. The narrator does not provide much insight into this creature. This particular serpent is the most “subtle” creature God created. It possesses a special form of wisdom. The narrator’s silence allows us to assume that this serpent, like the rest of God’s creatures, is “very good.” Despite the stinginess of our narrator, the information we are provided is enough for us to hear the coming dialogue between the serpent and Eve.

The serpent begins by intimating to Eve that God is holding back some valuable insight and capabilities from her and Adam. The forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil will not kill them. In fact, it will make them like God in that they will have the ability to discern good from evil. They will become wise. Impressed with the serpent’s grand wisdom along with the lure of the fruit, Eve decides to take a bite. The serpent is right. It tastes exquisite and she does not die. For the first time her eyes are opened and she can perceive evil.

When God discovers what has happened, God is displeased. Until this moment Adam and Eve could perceive only good. For them there was no evil. Only God knew of it. When they disobeyed God’s simple command, they acquired the ability to know evil along with good. Now they could make a choice between the two. However, because God does not believe it wise that these two live forever with this new skill set, God removes them from the garden and sets up security to protect the Tree of Life from any poachers.

Adam and Eve find themselves outside their utopian garden of Eden and along with their new ability, they each carry a curse, his and hers. As they journey through life they will face choices between good and evil. As we watch their lives unfold, we discover they don’t always make the right decision. Okay, they usually don’t get it right. Every choice, however, right or wrong, is an opportunity for them to grow and learn. They will continue to evolve.

This understanding of Genesis is probably new to the majority of Christians and many may find it objectionable. The popular reading is that Adam and Eve’s disobedience led to their “fall.” They along with all future generations are sinful. The results of this are devastating. We are born with a sinful nature and are unable to live without sinning. No matter how many times we make good choices, we will eventually choose evil.

This other way of reading implies a “rising up” of humankind rather than a falling when we disobey God. Adam and Eve were created spiritually immature, much like a three-year-old. All they are asked to do is obey a simple command. With their disobedience, they take the first step on a journey that will last a lifetime. This is a journey of spiritual maturation. With each choice, they will grow and evolve. As their descendants, we too are given opportunities to spiritually evolve and mature.

The next time you hear or read the story, I imagine you might recall this alternative reading. If you do, you will either ignore it or perhaps consider its merits. No matter your choice, please understand, how you read this story has implications on how you will view yourself, others, and especially God. I choose to read the story as one of a “rising up.” It works well with my understanding of Jesus. Jesus through his actions and words modeled for us how to make wise choices between good and evil. I, like Adam and Eve, make wrong decisions. I learn from them and take another step forward. Life is a journey of becoming the person God ordained me to be.

You Are Wrong

by Amanda Petersen

I have been noticing a lot of pain recently around being right. Contemplating this I am reminded of an idea that I was introduced to a while back: I am wrong…a lot. I thought the moon was made of cheese when I was 3; I was wrong. I thought the Berlin Wall would be up forever; I was wrong. I believed I was to be a professor of Old Testament studies; I was wrong. And there are some things I believe to my core today that I will look back on and say, yep, I was wrong. Something amazing happens when I allow myself to be wrong. My life loosens up. I have to lean into God more. I’m willing to risk because the goal is no longer about getting it right. Instead, it’s about being willing to be open to the next thing. Being wrong is no longer a failure, it is an opportunity.

Letting go of certainty is uncomfortable, scary, and painful. Being wrong is also very painful and yet, when I practice uncertainty and am willing to be wrong, I find the Divine shows up, relationships are healed, new opportunities appear, and life gets bigger. I have heard the struggle of many “How could I have missed this?” Or “how could I have been so wrong?” And there can be a stuck-ness in this because of the assumption that being wrong is a personal failing, as opposed to asking the questions to work toward growth and self-examination.

I’m not saying one should throw certainty out the window. No one would be able to function without some certainties. It’s more a practice of holding certainty lightly. I find this practice leads to gratitude. I know the sun rises every morning and as certain as I am, I also know that I could be wrong, which makes me grateful it does!

This week, reflect on how much room is there for God to move while practicing getting comfortable with all the wrongness in life. Or practicing calling Mystery into those places of your ‘rightness’ and see what you notice.

Want to talk about it? Come to Dinner and Conversation on Friday.

They’d Had a Tough Week

by Rev. Dr. William M. Lyons,
Designated Conference Minister

It had been a tough week for Jesus and his posse.  As Robert Brown observes in Unexpected News: Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes, the realm of God wasn’t “exactly appearing overnight.”[1]

In a sobering moment, King Herod Antipas arrested Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptizer, and beheaded him.

After fleeing north to escape Herod, Jesus asked his closest friends, “Who do people say I am.” And then more pointedly, “Who do you say I am? ” Peter nails the answer with, “You are the anointed one, Son of the Living God.” Jesus used the moment to clarify for the group what Peter’s answer meant. 21 From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.[2] And then, if that wasn’t scary enough, Jesus adds, “If any [of you] want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow [after] me. 25 For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life? [3]

“Jesus’ followers had never seen crosses dangling over the stomachs of princes of the church, writes Brown, “but had seen plenty of crosses used as instruments of torture and very, very slow death.”[4]

How does one hashtag that? Yes, it had indeed been a rough week for Jesus and his followers.

One might think that being on a mountain with Jesus, and seeing him shining in all his glory accompanied by the Lawgiver, Moses, and the Proclaimer of Justice, Elijah, both dead for millennia but now somehow alive, would have captured the attention of John, James and Peter.  But they were exhausted. They’d had about as much ‘rough week’ as anyone could bear. So they laid down into as much sleep as they could find. There was a time for staying awake with Jesus but this was not it. This was a moment for surrendering to tired, and their feelings of enough.

After the mountain-top-experience in which Jesus took on the physical identity that is the real Son of God’s due, Jesus and his three climbing companions descend into the reality of a man whose soul is pierced through with the pain of caring for his epileptic son, the seizures of whom have thrown him into the fire to be burned, and rolled him into the water leaving him nearly drowned. His last hope had been Jesus’ followers waiting at the foot of the mountain for Jesus to come down again, but they hadn’t been able to cure the boy of his illness.

What is a few moments of Jesus shining with God’s glory when your cousin and best friend had been set up to be murdered, when your child faces the possibility of death everyday from his illness?

Being God’s anointed, the Son of the Living God, doesn’t mean much to anyone but the anointed one if all you do with it is enjoy it on the mountain.

Being on the mountain with God’s anointed and witnessing the glory of God doesn’t mean very much to anyone but you if all you want to do with the experience is relish the perks of having had the vision.

This story’s meaning is all about God’s glory – the anointed One through whom that glory broke into the world, and the ones who witnessed God’s glory in the anointed One – coming back down the mountain and into the lives of families like the family of the epileptic boy, or the martyred John the Baptist. God’s glory only means something if we do something with it.

Those few moments of glory give meaning and reliability to the words that accompany them – words from God. Did you catch God’s words about the experience? “This One is my beloved; listen to him.”  Did you hear what Jesus said? “Rise up and fear not!”

Four other SWC pastors and I were at the ICE  building in downtown Phoenix [5]
when Guadalupe Rayos reported for her check-in appointment and was detained on Feb. 8. She was deported the next day. She was the test case for our new immigration rules for undocumented non-violent offenders. That was a tough week for the Rayos family; I saw it on their faces. It was a tough week for every family who has an undocumented loved one with a traffic ticket.

Earlier that morning the SWC announced that it joined other faith communities in filing an amicus brief in the Eastern District of New York on behalf of two Iraqi refugees denied entry into the US.  Ahmed Darweesh is a husband and the father of three children. He worked for the US military and his life was in danger in Iraq due to that relationship. The wife and son of Hader Alshawi, the other plaintiff in the case, were threatened because of their perceived ties to the US. Both men had been granted legal entry into the US only to arrive and be detained and threatened with deportation. That was a tough week for Darweesh and Alshawi and for every refugee awaiting entry into this country.

Next week the SWC becomes a friend of the US Supreme Court because we have befriended Gavin Grimm, a Texas High School student denied access to school facilities because he is a transgender youth. This week was a particularly tough week for Gavin and every trans high school student because rules protecting them and granting them access to facilities appropriate to their expressed gender were rescinded by the President.

Pastors all over our conference, and throughout our beloved United Church of Christ, have shared stories with me that everything they say seems to be heard as political speech. Maybe the examples of people having tough weeks sounded political or even partisan to you.

“Empathy seems like an act of defiant resistance,” wrote John Pavlovitz in a recent blog , “and in many ways, it now is. Maybe homeless refugees and sick children and the working poor and black lives and fewer guns and universal healthcare are indeed now ‘Democratic talking points,’ he continues. “And if they are, then you should take a long look in the mirror, let your knees hit the floor, and ask Jesus just why that is. Maybe some repentance is in order.”[6]

Before anyone accuses any preacher of being political because she or he proclaims those talking points, remember that those very same talking points are in every sacred text known by humanity.

“When Did Compassion Become Partisan Politics?” asks Pavlovitz.[7] Yes, when did compassion become partisan politics?!

You see, beloved, the people whose stories I shared with you a moment ago are at the foot of our mountaintop experience here this morning, and they’re waiting to see what we will do with the glory of God we’ve experienced. As dark and terrifying as things might get, in the deepest, worn out, tired, lost, scared and confused moments of our lives, God’s voice still breaks into human experience inviting us to listen, to rise up, and to fear not.

NT Wright, in his book Simply Jesus, invites us to

“suppose, just suppose, that the ancient prophetic dream had glimpsed a deeper truth. Suppose there were a god like Israel’s God. Suppose this God did after all make the world. And suppose [God] were to claim, at long last, … sovereign rights over that world, not to destroy it … or merely to “intervene” in it from time to time…, but to fill it with … glory, to allow [us] to enter a new mode in which [we] would reflect [divine] love, [divine] generosity, [the Creator’s] desire to make it over anew.

“[That] might mean a living God really had established … sovereign rule on earth as in heaven and was intending to [put] an end to the fantasy of human sovereignty, of being the master of one’s own fate and the captain of one’s own soul, of humans organizing the world as though they were responsible to nobody but themselves.

“Perhaps the real challenge of Jesus’s transformations within the material world is what they would imply both [spiritually] and politically.”

In the transformation/transfiguration story of Jesus on the mountain, “Jesus seems to be the place where God’s world and ours meet…where God’s new creation intersects with ours.” What if the gospels are not about “how Jesus turned out to be God.” What if they are about how God is becoming more and more “ruler on earth as in heaven.”  Isn’t that, after all, how Jesus taught his followers to pray? “Your kingdom come, will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” [8]

Sometimes whole churches get caught up in their own moments of glory – past days on the mountain top – as if those glory days were an end in and of themselves. Like Peter sometimes congregations want to enshrine them, build booths of veneration to them, and never let them go.

But in today’s texts Jesus and his followers are new players in the old, old story of God’s encounters with God’s people.[9] And so are we! Moments of glory like this one today are only valuable if in them we are transformed in ways that bring God’s presence, God’s glory, God’s compassion into the time and space of suffering and marginalized ones, in ways that heal and bring hope.  The story of Jesus’ transfiguration/ transformation invites us to spend our lives stepping into both God’s glory and human suffering in ways that connect one with the other in healing hope-filled ways.

All this is more than supposition, beloved. We are not following cleverly devised myths, wrote Peter. We are in relationship with the powerful and majestic person of Jesus – the Child of the Divine One – who is trustworthy and gives us the strength to do what God has always invited God’s people to do: make God known in the world. That’s how this season of Epiphany comes to a close. And on Wednesday Lent begins, a season reminding us that there are tough weeks ahead of us, weeks filled with crosses and costs. “It’s time to listen, rise up. There isn’t any reason to be afraid.” Amen.

[1] Robert McAffee Brown. Unexpected Eyes: Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes. P. 118ff

[2] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Mt 16:21). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[3] The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version. (1989). (Mt 16:24–26). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers.

[4] Robert McAffee Brown. Unexpected Eyes: Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes

[5] Immigration and Customs Enforcement

[6] http://johnpavlovitz.com/2017/02/19/when-did-compassion-become-partisan-politics/

[7] Ibid.

[8] NT Wright. Simply Jesus.

[9] Audrey West http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=27

The Story of the Ashes

by Abigail Conley

I confess, I’m struggling with the idea of Lent this year. It’s likely the onslaught of news right now, from deportations to Jewish cemeteries desecrated. My early morning ritual of reading the news is no longer a pleasant way to wake up. If I’m completely honest, though, that’s why I need the ashes.

On Ash Wednesday, if I’m preaching, I tell the story of the ashes. Fresh palm leaves, dried palm leaves, and ashes are placed in a box. Kids are invited to come stand at the front so they can see, too.

It’s a terrible story and it’s a beautiful story, this story of the ashes. I’m sure you know it: the leaves were once green and beautiful, used to welcome the future king. We used them on Palm Sunday, shouting out, “Hosanna!” By the time Ash Wednesday rolls around, the leaves are faded, dry, brittle, and long past the time to be thrown out. In fact, one year, the landscapers did throw mine out before they could be burnt. Assuming the palms survive the landscapers, they are, indeed, burned just as trash is (or used to be). We put trash on our bodies to remind us of our mortality, and as a sign of repentance.

Yeah, the story I tell in worship is a bit more elaborate, but you get the gist. I reread what I use in worship to tell the Story of the Palms. The story’s simplicity and profundity get me every time. This year, though, a few lines that I wrote several years ago now hit especially hard: “But, God told Joel, as bad as this all is, it’s not too late. Come back to me—repent, is usually what we say. Repent, God says; you can always come back to me.”

It’s God’s truth, not mine. It’s God’s truth, “You can always come back.”

The hope in that truth remains deeper than any other I carry; it’s a truth we don’t experience in human relationships. I could sing a country song about “when you leave that way you can never go back,” but that would reveal more about my misused brain space than anything else. I do remember a children’s sermon by a lay leader in the church I was serving at the time. She took a hammer, some nails, and a piece of lumber. She talked about the things we do to hurt each other. With each thing she named, she hammered a nail into the wood.

Then, she talked about forgiveness, and pulled the nails out one by one. Of course, the holes were still there. Of course, even with forgiveness, the scars are still there.

Some days, I am so aware of the scars. Some of them I caused. Some of them I didn’t. All of them might end up a little more tender, a little less healed, than I thought they were.

There are scars from the break-up with the person I later ended up marrying. There are scars from the girl who commented on the size of my butt in high school. There are scars from the man who hit on me while his wife and baby were sleeping in a nearby room. There are scars from neglecting to give a woman food as she sat in my office crying about her poverty; I had forgotten there were bags of food for the food bank just outside the door.

How long could we sit and name our scars?

No matter how well adjusted we become, no matter how many hours of therapy we participate in, the scars remain. Maybe, in our human relationships, we have a few places we can always return to, but they’re not the same. Often, they’re not as good as we remember. It’s a lot like sleeping in your childhood bedroom when visiting over Christmas; the return isn’t as sweet as you hoped. In our broken humanity, we can never fully reclaim what we lost.

A deep hope remains: God gets it right. The tenderness of the scars disappears. The pain caused by what was broken dissipates. This forgiveness is deeper reaching, more thorough than we ever experience from each other.

That is the story of the palms: our lives are caught up in God, from beginning to end. And we can always return to God—no exceptions.