Ps 119:1-24      John 17:20-26

John 17:20-26 (NRSV)

 20 "I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, 21 that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, 23 I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. 24 Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. 25 "Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you; and these know that you have sent me. 26 I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them."

Ps 11     John 17:12-19

I was able to relate intuitively to some psalms even as a child -- such as those expressing wonder at sky, mountains, and animals.  But Psalm 11 is not of that type.  Instead, it is of a type for which I have needed guidance in interpreting.

        The initial sentence is no problem:  "In the LORD I take refuge."  Even as a little child, having been taught that God is love and is everywhere, I learned how I could find comfort in turning my thoughts to God.  But in Psalm 11, I can easily hit a stumbling block when the psalm's prayer starts spending more time passing judgment on certain people ("the wicked" in vs. 2) than telling God what the person praying wants.  It helps me to remember something pointed out to me many years ago:  Namely, that such psalms are not theological doctrine about God, but are instead personal expressions of despair.

        In verse 6, however, I encounter a bigger obstacle.  The person praying, having just said that God "hates the lover of violence," then paints a picture of God becoming violent.  Gratefully, I was recently given an insight by the Old Testament scholar Johanna Wijk-Bos in her lectures at St. Philip Presbyterian Church.  She pointed out that despite there being so many rules in the Hebrew Bible, there were no rules about how to pray.  Therefore, the person praying could vent all their anger at oppression, even if it expressed fantasies about God destroying those were felt to be oppressive.  God was like a free psychotherapist to whom all feelings and thoughts could be shared as a way toward healing.  The healing emerges in this type of angry psalm when the closing lines move into a positive turning of the matter over to God.

~ ~ ~

In John 17:12-19, I also seem to encounter a prayer, but only in a way.  This "prayer" by Jesus is like the prayer of a character in a stage-drama, in which the prayer said aloud becomes a soliloquy for the audience to hear.  In Jesus's words to the Father, the author of the Book of John opens up a theological understanding of how some early Christians had come to experience the relationship between themselves, God, and the Spirit of Jesus after his death.

        This soliloquy-prayer is thus a religious message.  Nevertheless, it takes us deep into a place in which Christians have been able to feel God's closeness.  In John's swirling mystical poetry, Jesus repeats over and over how his closeness to God allows Jesus's disciples to get closer to God by experiencing Jesus's closeness to them.  Not a bad thought, even if the scene is staged.

-- Bruce Yaeger

Ps 147    John 14:1-7

John 14

‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house there are many dwelling-places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. 4And you know the way to the place where I am going.’ 5Thomas said to him, ‘Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ 6Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’

In reflecting on these familiar words of the John 14 passage I was struck by the traditional emphases I have heard in my younger spiritual life - heaven: resurrected Lord: Christian exclusivity: Johannine “I Am” statements: Father references to God. My theology has certainly passed through these waters and finds me looking back and wondering what truths I might find that I could embrace – truths that are inclusive of other traditions, truths that don’t propose heaven as some sort of “good boy” reward, truths that have room for more than one interpretation of resurrection, truths that embrace a wider understanding of the unknowable God than just “Father”. In reading Wishful Thinking by Frederick Buechner, I was given some help. Following is an excerpt that I offer for this Eastertide reflection:

What It Means To Be A Christian

“Some think of a Christian as one who necessarily believes certain things.  That Jesus was the son of God, say.  Or that Mary was a virgin.  Or that the Pope is infallible.  Or that all other religions are all wrong.

Some think of a Christian as one who necessarily does certain things.  Such as going to church.  Getting baptized.  Giving up liquor and tobacco.  Reading the Bible.  Doing a good dead a day.

Some think of a Christian as just a Nice Guy.

Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me” (John 14:6).  He didn’t say that any particular ethic, doctrine, or religion was the way, the truth, and the life.  He said that he was.  He didn’t say that it was by believing or doing anything in particular that you could “come to the Father.”  He said that it was only by him – by living, participating in, being caught up by, the way of life that he embodied, that was his way.

Thus it is possible to be on Christ’s way and with his mark upon you without ever having heard of Christ, and for that reason to be on your way to God though maybe you don’t even believe in God.

A Christian is one who is on the way, though not necessarily very far along it, and who has at least some dim and half-baked idea of whom to thank.

A Christian isn’t necessarily any nicer than anybody else.  Just better informed.”

- originally published in Wishful Thinking

- Jim Avera

Ps 118    John 16:1-15

This poem by Vassar Miller expresses for me the essence and wonder of newness of life in the Easter Season.

                                                                          -Fran Avera

a poem by Vassar Miller "Or as Gertrude Stein Says. . ."

The sky is as blue as itself,
and the tree is as green as its leaves.
How shall I write a poem about today?

The tree stands--
but the tree has no feet.
The tree leans its head--
but the tree is not tired,
growing without resting
resting without pausing.

Let me try again.

The wind blows.
How, having no whistle?
The wind sings.
How, having no tune?
The wind sighs.
How, having no heart?
Yet it is lovers who borrow
from the wind their softness and storms.

Well, then, the wind moves.
How, having no body
but the motion of bodies?

When the sky is as blue as itself,
and the tree is as green as its leaves--
a poem is only
taking a child's downy skull
gently between your hands
and, with not so much breath as might startle a gnat's wing,
whispering,
"Look!"

Ps 146    John 15: 12-27

I love the words of Psalm 146, following so closely on the heels of having celebrated Easter.  To me, the season of Lent and Easter is all about the transformative power of love, in even the darkest of circumstances.  It is probably telling that Advent and Lent are my two favorite liturgical seasons.  I think it is because they are so honest and raw.  During Advent, we acknowledge times when our lives feel cold, dark and alone.  During Lent, we explore the things that separate us from the truest part of ourselves.  We often make personal, specific sacrifices in order to remove obstacles to our relationship with the Divine.  We come face to face with the evil of which humanity, of which each one of us, is capable.  That journey can be a painful and difficult one.  But, Easter reminds us to take heart!  “(God) executes justice for the oppressed, gives food to the hungry. The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down” (v 7-8).  After having just spent a season asking ourselves how we deny the humanity in others and ourselves, it is now time to explore how we can join God in promoting justice, mercy and love.   Just as many make specific Lenten commitments involving self-sacrifice, I challenge each of us to make positive Eastertide commitments to find tangible ways to “lift up those who are bowed down.”  To whom can you show love today?

                                                                                    Brandy Mullins

Ps 115     John 15:1-11

            The Psalms were written in Hebrew, the gospel of John in Greek. Unlike Laura Mayo, I have not studied and cannot read Hebrew. Neither can I read or analyze Greek. I cannot, therefore, fully “explicate” these sometimes most difficult, always mystical, biblical writings. But I will remark on a small amount of laymen’s commentary that I have read.

            Psalms 115, which scholars say was not written by David and perhaps has two or more unknown authors, was sometimes sung at the end of Passover. The “Aaronites” in the Psalm were priests—and even they at the time of this writing. (Most scholars think after the Babylonian exile, at the era of the Second Temple, around the first century B.C.). Even some of the priests of the Hebrew religion had apparently turned against the one “true” God. (Not worshipping money, boats, cars, houses, land, jobs, prestige, ego, but other graven [made]“idols” of their day.) Then there were the other groups mentioned, who worshipped the Hebrew god, an unseen deity—not like the pagans’ tangible images. All Hebrew worshippers were to praise only their unnamed God (“I am that I am”) for what “He” had done for them. They were not to give homage to idols, or images. They were to sing Him constant hymns of praise.

            The 13th-16th chapters of the most mystical and last of the gospels, John, were said to be Jesus’ last messages and teachings to his disciples at their final Passover together. He was on his way to death. Yet he took time and care to still teach them.  “I am going away, but I will leave you something,” he taught,” (in St. John terms, the “paraclete”) or the “counselor” or “The Holy Spirit. “ This spirit was love.

            The disciples were admonished to love one another and to remember him always, and he “would be with them.” He warned them that night that Judas Iscariot was going out to betray him—and he did. He told Peter that before the rooster crowed he, Peter, would deny his master three times. He did. Jesus adjourned them, and kept on teaching and talking as they left—he told parables: he and God were the vine; they were the branches. Even productive branches, bearing fruit, have to often be pruned in order to keep on producing, and those that do not produce are cut off, and burned. They must “abide in him” and not be like a cut off branch and be discarded. He was “going to prepare a place for them, bring them to him,” and so forth. The disciples did not understand all of these words. So how can we?

             The predicted narrative came true as Jesus had said, however. Judas did “sell him” for silver. Peter did say three times before dawn, while Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, that he had never known such a man.  Christ was falsely “tried” and killed the next day. Three days passed while the women waited and watched.

            Then whatever happened on “Easter,” (which means, partly, rising up—as in yeast--, or beginning again,) took place.

A parable:

            There is a little girl who is about two and a half years old.  She sometimes stays in the nursery on Sunday mornings in a church in Houston called “Covenant Ecumenical Liberal Baptist.” Often she is left there from about 9:30-until noon. Sometimes she stays for just the last hour of that time. She enjoys the other kids, seeing babies, trying to hold colors, playing with blocks, puzzles and Legos. There is a boy, twice her age, who goes to a Sunday School class, but occasionally plays in the nursery for the last hour of church. The girl child’s name is Himma. (Her grandparents have attempted much research to learn what her name might mean. They know it comes from Sufi Arabic, and means something like “learning, by the heart, to live totally in God—again.” Sufi teaching is that we all came from total unification with God. The trials and angers of life pull us away. Our lives are meant to be a path back. A remembering of where we first began.) The boy’s name is Owen. I am not sure of the meaning of his name, but I know he has a famous mother, and father, and brother, too.

            One day Owen had decided to build something with blocks. Now building is mostly a good thing. Owen was building a high block tower, patiently and carefully. Himma’s tiny hands were not large or skilled enough to build a tower, as Owen’s were. Himma watched. Probably she envied. She saw that “Emma do it!”—a fond slogan of hers—would not work for her this time. 

            Owen was quite proud of his tower, standing on the floor, while he carefully sat, and put one block upon the other, and they all stood, exceptionally well, multicolored and delicate. Suddenly, for no apparently reason, Himma up and whopped Owen’s tower to the floor. Not but some of it, either. But all. Everything was lost. Owen did not totally lose his cool, just partially. He was obviously quite angry, and physically made a motion of anger toward Himma and also gave her “the look,” which meaning maybe, “I would hit you, but you are a tiny girl, and besides that, my mom and dad might lose their own cools if I did.”

            One of Himma’s grandfathers was in the room. He sat silent and still, watching the drama unfold. He was rather puzzled by Himma’s action, and having been a five-year-old boy once who built things, no doubt sided with the boy and his tower. But being a good and wise grandfather, he quickly decided to say or do nothing.—at first.          Himma, on her own, walked over and chose up a special puppet she liked, and handed it to Owen, as if in recompense. Owen accepted the gift-apology. Then the grandfather decided to help Himma. He handed her all the blocks, one by one, to hand back to Owen. He encouraged Owen to build the tower again. All together, they did. 

            Easter comes?

                                     - Sybil Pittman Estess

Ps 103    John 14:15-31

John 14:26

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all I said unto you.

 Spirit--  Soul--  Breath--  Wind--

Wind that stirs the air of our planet,

breath that moves our bodies through life,

the soul we like to think of as the essence of our lives,

and the spirit that animates those we love.

The ephemeral anemone flowers  are worth watching for along the spring roadside.  As the sun warms the morning air, the small waxey white petals unfurl to a glossy disk around the stem.  But not far past midday, they loosen their hold and drop to the green leaves at the slightest breeze-- thus their name "wind flower."

Rio de las Animas Perdidas-- River of Lost Souls-- that the well-loved Durango to Silverton steam train follows through the San Juan Mountains of western Colorado. The clear green water tumbles over deep-red sandstone jumble of rocks, the train crossing repeatedly and following closely, then climbing along the "high line" for the breathtaking view of the Animas far below.

God the creator, God among us, and God the spirit that dwells within-- 

three of the ways we experience our encounter with the Divine. 

                                             Mildred Baker Beaman    

Monday, April 21, 2014

Ps 98     John 14:1-14

So now we emerge into a fresh view of new life and hope.  As for me,   I yearn to discover new things and to open my eyes, ears, and touch to the wonders of our beautiful daily experience as my small grandchildren do.  Will I suspend my lifelong habit of feeling that I must account for each hour in a tangible way, always crossing tasks from my list?  Will I say that I just don’t know how to do this or that or that I just don’t have the time? My hope is that I will respond openly to new opportunities in the everyday.

And here I sit, preparing my thoughts about selections from our sacred stories, encountering a similar conundrum.  Will I say to myself that I do not have experience in Aramaic or in ancient Greek to understand the original, intended meaning, or will I search in faith for Truth that may be imbedded there just for me, just for today? 

Upon reading Psalm 98,  with one glance outside, I think of our springtime Texas, seeing all of nature “clap its hands” with a lavish array of new color in flower and tree, buzz of insect,  and song of bird.  Likewise, in this psalm, I celebrate the beautiful offerings of music and song which we experience at Sunday worship services.   All of this: the lavish beauty of Nature in springtime and also our inspiring church music lift me from the mundane, to possibilities beyond myself, to the Divine.  As a matter of fact, our faith community is my spiritual Heaven on Earth, a place that has been “prepared for me.”  In today’s John 14 passage, Jesus promised to prepare a place for us.  So here I am! 

What about the scripture reading that says, “No one can come to the Father except by Me.”  Once again, I choose to look for a simple truth:  my view is that God is even larger than my own Christian perspective, that God is Love, within myself and also within others.  Surely I am not to judge another’s sacred faith journey as insufficient to my own!

 And greater things than these will you do.”  “Ask anything in My Name and I will do it.”  Wow…  Greater things?  Ask anything?    My ordinary life gives me challenges which can be “do-able.”   That person is standing alone, this woman’s father died a few days ago. a friend needs someone to listen  to her problem,  my grandchild wants someone to play with her.  I can let these moments pass unaddressed.  But NO!  What if the little things ARE the big things…?  These may be some of those “ greater things” that I can decide to do.  I don’t really have the words or the skills. Yet, what I do just might make a difference….   My response will be a heart-felt offering of my self, my Self with a spark of God inside of me.   Will I let each need open me,  so that I may grow?

                                                                          -Nancy Preston