Resurrection and the Spirit.

Jesus' victory over death announces a turning point in the history of creation and God's dealings with humanity... The disciples rejoice in his new presence not only for his sake, but also because a new world is dawning for them in which poverty and death have been vanquished. [Brackley, 196]

Is it too early to think about resurrection?

Maybe. But maybe, in our Lenten disciplines, we need to prepare for resurrection as much as we need to prepare for crucifixion.

I recently heard a story about a Christian activist who had lived through some "troubled times" in history. Someone asked him how he kept going, how he kept living such a rich and faithful life in the face of it all. Without hesitation he said simply: "Because I know the end of the story."

Lent is not Easter, to be sure. And yet we might do well to remember that the path to the cross does not end, finally, with death, but with new life.

How might that clarify and deepen our Lenten journey in these final weeks?

I invite you to reflect with me on this question in these next few days.

Guide us, O God, as we move ever closer to the cross - and beyond. Amen.

Resurrection.

Where do we find hope today?

Part 5 invites readers to examine their experience in the light of Christ's victory over death, which signals the beginning of a new world (chapter 21, coming Monday).

Christ rises in those who live as he did; his Spirit in-spires them to liberating action (chapter 22, coming Tuesday).

The same Spirit enables us to find God in all things, working to bring about a new creation. God's self-gift moves us to respond with grateful love and service (chapter 23, coming Wednesday).

- Dean Brackley's introduction to the section titled "Resurrection" - our theme for the final week of our Lenten series

Blessed Are the Persecuted.

Since we are schooled to think that conflict is bad, we tend to avoid or suppress it. But defending what is right always brings conflict. (Brackley, 186)

Today, in lieu of a reflection, I offer simply this translation of the Beatitudes from Eugene Peterson's paraphrase of the Bible, The Message. It includes the famous line above and its surrounding verses, but put in a way that makes some sense to me - and, I hope, may be helpful as we consider what it means to be "blessed" and "persecuted" at the same time. It's a worthy thing to think about during this week of high conflict in our national politics.

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When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him. Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said:

"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

"You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.

"You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.

"You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.

"You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.

"You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.

Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble."

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Ever-present God, help us to remember that you're present in the trouble, too. Amen.

The Solidarity of God.

In the section "Passion and Compassion," Dean Brackley writes:

The strongest obstacle to goodness is not brute force or cinder blocks but hearts that are cold and unmoved. Only a love that draws near in costly solidarity can transform that obstacle. The gospel announces that God has drawn near in just this way. (183)

Jesus... chose to suffer the consequences of sin. Like us, he suffered the legacy of sin, even to death. God did not send him to die in our stead as a scapegoat to placate the divine anger. The New Testament recasts traditional sacrificial language and transforms its meaning. When it says that Jesus died as a sacrifice for sin, that means that in him God has drawn near and joined humanity's procession, shouldering the consequences of our moral failings like the rest of us. (181)

In Jesus on the cross, divinity shines forth. To say that God was in Jesus on the cross should not so much change our idea of Jesus; it should change our idea of God. (184)

How do you think of Jesus on the cross?

Were you raised, like so many of us, on the idea of atonement, of Jesus paying a demanding God the price of our sins with his life?

How do you think about it now?

Brackley offers us one suggestion above. It's not a new one. But it still shakes me every time I encounter it, whether it's from a liberation theologian or a Holocaust survivor.

Maybe the best way to say more about it is with a story. I invite you today to click on over to a post from my other blog, "Adventures Across the Border." It describes one of the most powerful experiences of my life - and a story that describes, I think, part of what Jesus is doing on the cross.

Beyond that, I leave you with a song today. In a perfect world, this would be in our worship hymnal, recommended for Good Friday. Read through the lyrics, then click on the video at the end to hear it.

Bruce Springsteen, "Into the Fire," from The Rising (2002)

The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

You gave your love to see in fields of red and autumn brown
You gave your love to me and lay your young body down
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need you near but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

May your love give us love

The Grace of Compassion.

We do not desire any more pain in the world. We simply want, and need, to share the pain that is there, in order to lighten the load for all of us. We want to be more and more a part of humanity's march, with its suffering, its hope, and its joy.

-Dean Brackley, from The Call to Discernment in Troubled Times (178)

This morning in adult forum we spent some time talking about grace and our experience of it in Holy Communion. None of us were quite sure how to define what we experience in Holy Communion. Most of us were not quite satisfied with "forgiveness" as a sufficient description. For the pastor and the intern, "grace" seemed like a better word, in part simply because it was a "bigger" word, with more space inside of it, capable of including lots of different blessings inside. We left with things more or less unresolved - though I think we did think through some important things together, all the same.

Our Prayer of the Day in worship this morning described addressed God as "God of compassion." That word - "compassion" - might be another word that fits inside grace, especially the grace that happens at Holy Communion.

We usually use "compassion" to mean something like "to care" - as in: She is compassionate; she cares for people.

But it literally means something even more specific. The Latin roots of "com" (with, or to share) and "passion" (an intense emotion, originally referring to suffering) lead us to a meaning that literally means "to suffer together with." To say someone is compassionate means that that person shares others' burdens.

Is this what Christ was doing, on his way to the cross? Is this what he invites us to do? Not to suffer, mind you, but to share in the burdens of others? And is this part of what God is doing to us when God gathers, and especially when God gathers us for the meal of Holy Communion, making us into a community - a body - that exists not just for its own sake but to share the burdens of others, that is, to be com-passionate? Does this happen, as Brackley suggests, so that the load might be lightened for all of us, and that we might be able to share in each other's suffering, hope, and joy?

If so, then Holy Communion - and this holy community - may well be more than we bargained for.

It would be all the more confirmation, I think, of the quote from Annie Dillard that Pastor Carol used in the March newsletter. Annie Dillard writes:

Does any-one have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return. (Teaching a Stone to Talk, Harper & Row, 1982)

Draw us out, O Lord - wherever you might lead. Amen.

The Way of Truth and Life.

[In making wise decisions, we must give] due attention to the three poles of experience: the world around us, our inner life, and the cultural word about the world. That will lead us to conclude that discovering the truth and sound discernment depend, first, on facing reality, especially the reality of the victims; second, on personal transformation and discerning interior movements; and, third, on identifying with a community that can sustain an alternative vision and praxis. (Brackley, 160)

All this week we have been reading the section titled "Discerning and Deciding." In the quote above, Brackley shares what is perhaps the second most important lens of all for thinking through how we discern and decide: The "three poles of experience," or the three legs on which we sit to see the world.

1) "Facing reality, especially the reality of the victims." We see the world through the lens of the cross, as Luther did. This means seeing the world not only through the cross of Jesus but also through the crosses of today's victims.

2) "Personal transformation and discerning interior movements." We are reborn in baptism - a "baptism once begun and ever to be continued," as Luther put it. We are surprised again and again by the boundless creativity of God's Spirit who continues to make and remake us - as individuals and as communities - in the different seasons of our lives. Sometimes we find that we must take time to notice when this is happening within us.

3) "Identifying with a community that can sustain an alternative vision and praxis." So often this one is forgotten! Forgotten by us introverts, yes, and forgotten, too, by religion that is steeped in our culture of rugged individualism - with all the pros and cons that implies. Is this what church is for us?

If so, it can help us with the ongoing "discerning and deciding" in our lives. Listen as Brackley elaborates (167):

We can only escape from [unhealthy hyper-individualism] if we recognize our need for a moral community that can support and challenge us in our search for truth and the right thing to do. Not every community will do for this, only those that draw on a deep tradition of practical wisdom. That is what churches are for. What they should do for us is nourish an experience of transcendence, a shared [experience of reality, especially the reality of the victims], and an alternative vision; and help us sustain that alternative in a hostile environment and communicate it to others. The first Christians faced just this challenge: to conserve and transmit their experience of Jesus and his vision. The Christian church was the answer to that need.

May our churches continue to answer that need in our day.

Three Ways to Make Decisions.

Ignatius clearly gave the... method of consolations and desolations priority over reasoning...

However, soon after his death his interpreters began to react against the so-called alumbrados, or enlightened ones, mainly in Spain, a loosely-defined movement whose participants fancied themselves enlightened by the Holy Spirit. They appealed to immediate experience of God independently of church institutions.

In reaction, early interpreters of Ignatius emphasized the dangers of private revelations. The reaction not only stressed the safeguards of obedience to church authority (as Ignatius himself had), but also the preeminence of reason in discernment.

In this way, contrary to Ignatius's teaching, the rational method for the time of tranquility came to be considered a safer and more secure path than the second-time method based on affective movements. The preference for the way of reason over the way of affect became enshrined in the Jesuits' Official Directory of 1599, which thereafter guided the presentation of the Ignatian Exercises. (Brackley, 151)

In this chapter, Brackley lays out Ignatius' "three ways to make decisions." These "ways" or "times" amount roughly to times of certainty, times of great emotion, and times of careful reasoning. (This is a little oversimplified, but it will do for our purposes - do read Brackley's chapter if you'd like more detail!)

What might surprise us is that Ignatius considered the second time, the time of great emotion - or more precisely the time of consolation / desolation - to be an acceptable time of making decisions.

Let's be clear: Ignatius is also quick to counsel against rash and careless decisions. By allowing emotions to come into the picture, he is not endorsing "hotheaded" decision-making.

Neither, however, is he endorsing decision-making through icily pristine reasoning. Rather, he suggests that sometimes our emotions do mean something important. God is present in our emotions, too, and paying attention to them can help us notice what is life-giving and what is life-draining. I imagine this is true for both individuals and communities of faith.

Some part of me thinks this may not be so surprising for us in 2010. My sense is that in the last several generations we have begun a move beyond the Enlightenment, beyond the idea that reason is our road to personal and social perfection. Reason's child, technology, continues to re-make our world over and over, often with wondrous, life-serving results in the fields of health and communication. But we've also realized, in part from a series of tragic world events, that we need more than what reason can achieve to fully satisfy our lives.

It's no wonder, then, that our theology - which once left emotion out of the picture as soundly as any science lab - has begun to recover a sense of the holiness of what we feel. Sifting through our emotions can be a minefield, to be sure, but pretending that God isn't at all present in them is just as dangerous a game.

What do you think? Does God sometimes work through our emotions? And if so, what does it mean about how we should attend to those emotions?