THE TIME MACHINE

This will be the first Sunday after Christmas. The season of Christmas is the shortest season of the year. Sometimes there are two Sundays after Christmas, but never three. It only has how many days? That’s right, twelve!!! Good job! At the end of the season, there is the day of Epiphany, sometimes called Three Kings Day. It is the day when we celebrate the magi (wise men, not to be confused with wise guys), coming to honor Jesus, the new king of the world. 

It is a tumble dry kind of time where one is always a little uncertain of where one is spatially located. I got caught in a dryer one day, and so I know whereof I speak. If the temperature had been set on high, I would have been nicely roasted by the time the clothes came out, but fortunately the person was just trying to get some wrinkles out. But, let me tell you, if you want a topsy-turvy experience, take a ride in the dryer someday. (Really, I don’t recommend it.)

Now where was I? … Oh yes, topsy-turvy world. Charles Dickens captures that topsy-turviness in his account of A Christmas Carol, with Scrooge flitting around between the past, present, and future, and yet that is not quite what happens during the Christmas season either. H. G. Wells tried to capture the hazardous vicissitudes of time travel when he wrote The Time Machine, but as fascinating as that tale is, it is too despairing and hopeless for the season of Christmas.

Kurt Vonnegut can be somewhat helpful with Billy Pilgrim (Sirens of Titan and Slaughterhouse 5) being unstuck in time, but his worship of God the Utterly Indifferent, fails to capture the celebration of the season. “So it goes.” Back to the Future does a good job of demonstrating what happens when one tries to change history, but here again, the story line fails because it is too self-serving, and then there are all of those hideous sequels that have to be suffered.

No, none of these really captures the tumble dry, topsy-turviness of Christmas and much of the liturgical calendar. Last Sunday, we learned that Jesus was conceived and was to be born. Sunday night, we heard that Jesus was born. Monday, we read of Jesus’ participation in creation (just a few years previous), and now this week in Luke 2:22-40 we jump forty days after Jesus is born (a text that properly belongs to February 2, most popularly known as Groundhog’s Day, but liturgically known as Candlemas, the almost halfway point of winter). It is no wonder that we can’t keep a decent timeline of the events surrounding the life and times of Jesus let alone an accurate timeline of what is happening in the rest of the Bible.

Still, Sunday after Sunday, we come to our own little time travel capsule called the sanctuary to worship and experience the topsy-turvy world of our liturgical year. Advent begins the liturgical year which does not coincide with our solar calendar. (Even our solar calendar doesn’t line up with the earth’s orbit around the sun, but that’s another conversation.) We sit through time running backward through the four weeks of Advent, from the little apocalypse at the end of Jesus’ ministry, to John baptizing at the river Jordan two weeks running, and then Mary discovering and celebrating that she is pregnant. Now, in Christmas we bounce along experiencing Jesus’ birth and some early life events—his presentation and Mary’s purification at the temple, the slaughter of the children, and Jesus’ time in the temple when he was twelve).

Then we get to Epiphany when Jesus is a baby/toddler again. The next Sunday, Baptism of our Lord, gets us to the beginning of his public ministry at approximately age 30, and we end the season with the Transfiguration near the end of Jesus’ ministry. There are times in our time travel capsule when time skips forward leaving parts of Jesus’ ministry untold. Other times, time slows down, and we spend weeks concerning ourselves with Jesus being the bread of life.

From Epiphany to the final Sunday after Pentecost time is like an accordion. Sometimes Epiphany time is expanding and the time after Pentecost is contracting. At other times, Epiphany is contracted, and the season of Pentecost expands. (One only hopes that one doesn’t get his nose whiskers caught in the ribs of the bellows.)  Regardless, the goal posts of Epiphany always remain in place, the length of Lent is constant, and Easter continues to be the great new creation week of weeks. It is a lot for a mouse to ponder.

Reflecting on the Jewishness of Joseph and Mary (see Lev. 12, the time for purification of a woman who has given birth) and the temple practices of the day (see Lk. 2, Simeon’s song and Anna’s proclamation) presents a time of reverence. How can one hear the words of Simeon’s song and not feel a sense of awe at his faith? “Now let your servant go in peace, Lord. Your word has been fulfilled. My eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of every nation. A light to reveal you to the nations and the glory of your people Israel.”

This newly married couple has already gone through their own topsy-turvy relations with angels, shepherds, and one another. Now they come to do what is right by the law, and some old codger takes their child from them and pronounces him to be what they have only suspected. And if that isn’t enough, the oracle spoken by this old codger includes, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be [exposed]. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

These are dire and dour words for a young mother whose child is claimed for such great hope. This is just a little more of that tumble dry topsy-turviness that follows with the problems of keeping up with the time travel world of the liturgical calendar.

Still, to me, a blind mouse, I can only sit and wonder what it might feel like to know that vision of salvation. The words awesome and humbling, amazement and terror, fear and trembling, all come to mind as I imagine this young family’s journey in the tumble dry topsy-turvy world of spiritual time displacement. Mary and Joseph return to their home in Nazareth where we are told, “The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom and the favor of God.”—one last time-jump or maybe just time stretch. (hmmm)

Your pal,

Nicodemus,

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

TRADITION IS THE LIVING FAITH­­­

’Twas the night before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring

Not even a mouse.

 

I love Christmas time. There are so many little schnippels left behind. It is a veritable smorgasbord of tasty tidbits for mice. It seems difficult to believe that mice in C. C. Moore’s 1823 would have been less active than today, but I suppose it’s possible.

 Anyway, Peter (not the disciple) and I were talking about Christmas traditions. (Wouldn’t that be something if had been talking to Peter, the disciple? First, I’d probably have to tell him what Christmas is.) Anyway, Peter (not the disciple) and I were talking.

Why are sugar plums not popular during other seasons of the year? Did the first stocking hung by the chimney have holes in it? How did the gifts of St. Nicholas and Santa Claus come about; and how did St. Nicholas day and presents for the poor on December 6 get mixed up with Christmas 19 days later? Traditions, where do they come from?

Holiday celebrations are often driven by traditions without always understanding where those traditions come from or what their meaning is. You have heard about the woman who cut the ham in half before baking it because that’s what her mother did, right?

I told Peter how important I think Christmas is, and how I keep pondering the sign outside a church that a friend of mine had seen, “If it weren’t for Christmas, there wouldn’t be Easter.” Wow! When I mentioned that, Peter made me sit through a rather lengthy monologue. I share it with you because I would hate to be the only one to suffer through it; I mean the only to have profited from it.

 

At Christmas, people bring evergreens trees into the homes, but they kill those trees in order to get them in their living rooms and then vacuum the needles from those trees out of the carpet until next July. Why? because they are symbols of everlasting life. And rarely do people talk about the Christmas tree carrying within it the upside down cross of crucifixion of Peter (the disciple!).

Lights strategically placed among the branches simulating candles or maybe sparkling reflected moonlight on ice crystals rarely lead to pondering Jesus as the light of the world. People hang those pretty globes of red and yellow and green and blue, sometimes silver and gold, without seeing the fruit Adam and Eve plucked from the tree in the garden.

Wreaths hung on doors or walls do not remind people of the crown of thorns Jesus wore nor of the laurel leaf crowns of victory and Jesus’ victory over death and the grave; they do not even remind them of the Advent season just past nor that the circle is the symbol of eternal life. When people put candles in the windows, they talk about how pretty in looks from the street, but do they speak of the tradition coming from lighting the way of Christ to our homes?

As you said, “this is a time of tradition,” but does it mean anything for us today beyond the sentimental warm fuzzy of childhood. Sometimes I wonder whether Christmas has become the metaphor of the Church. Does it just have sentimental attachment that gives a certain sense of nostalgic peace? Has Church become more about what we get from it rather than what we do to enliven it?

Is Christmas more about the presents to be received than the supreme gift of salvation received from the tree/cross? Jaroslav Pelikan said it this way, “Tradition is the living faith of the dead. Traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.”

Nickey, I’m afraid it is like so many other things in our lives. There is a process that we can trace throughout story and time. In Dialogic Imagination, M. M.  Bakhtin calls the process whereby divine stories become common entertainment grotesquing. He describes it through the history of Greek mythology from its divine beginnings to theater in the Turkish marketplace and Punch and Judy puppet shows of the 16^th century.

In the same way, we can see a direct line between the biblical narrative and South Park. Grotesquing is a natural process. It is the job of every generation to reclaim the importance of the divine story, thus releasing it from the grotesque.

If we ignore those stories as the “living faith of the dead “and act them out without thought, we, in turn, make them dead for those who follow. We move from tradition to traditionalism. We practice certain behaviors because they mean something, but then we just do them without thought.

If the process of grotesquing is part of what the Church is moving toward, then the presentation of a doll in the manger during times of seeking and needing life, may be the beginning of a process of grotesqued objectification that fails to present the living body of Christ among us. When that happens, we lose Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 2, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

I suppose the sign you mentioned makes sense in the course of history, but the fact of the matter is Christmas does not make Easter possible. Few remember the arguments that troubled the Early Church concerning the most faithful way to celebrate Easter, but it is Easter that makes Christmas possible.

Yes, before there was Lent, before there was a season of Epiphany, before there was Christmas, or Advent, the Early Church debated the faithful way to celebrate Easter. Should the celebration be a fixed date celebration, or should the cosmic placement of Easter be celebrated?

People had a record of the date of crucifixion. That day on the Jewish calendar translated to March 25 on the Gregorian calendar. They could therefore derive the date of Easter. Instead, the Church chose to celebrate Easter with the cosmos. Therefore, it is always celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox.

Calendars were not commonplace. Rome Chariot Repair and Insurance by Sparta did not give one out each year. So, if your birthday was celebrated at all, i.e. you were wealthy, it was likely celebrated roughly around the time you were born in the Roman and Greek cultures. In Jewish culture, therefore, birthday celebrations were considered pagan customs.

Philosophers and historians did come up with a process to determine the birthday of important people after their deaths because they thought that the day of your birth was also the day of your conception. From that date they determined the date of your birth. If Jesus was crucified on March 25, then he had been conceived on March 25. It followed that Jesus was born nine months later, December 25. Thus, my dear Nicodemus, we can state positively, if it weren’t for Easter, the event making Jesus’ life significant and his death on the cross the Friday preceding, March 25, there would be no Christmas, not on December 25 nor any other day.

This means that the event which has dominated our culture for so many years is truly subordinate to the event the world would rather forget. Though God’s promises to God’s people have never failed, though God’s steadfastness has never flagged, and though God’s love and mercy continues, humanity chose to rise up against God in the cataclysmic insurrection against Godself, that time of denial and rejection, where God is killed. Yet, in the mercy of God, God overcame the power of sin and death and is raised up from the dead, opening the way to everlasting life.

And so, the people of God come at this Christmas time to tell the story of faith again. The story is told through the lens of the crucifixion and resurrection, that is Easter, with pomp and pageantry, prayers and proclamation from the past, that is, tradition, in the words of the “living faith of the dead”. The body of Christ is again laid in the manger, the eating place, and we, like the shepherds of old come to “see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.”

And arriving, we do not witness a doll in the creche, but the body of Christ, the bread and wine on the eating place, the altar. And when we have told of all the things we have been told about the death and resurrection of Jesus, we are able to altar ourselves and, by that altering, be altered. Being altered, we return to our callings, glorifying and praising God for all we have heard and seen as it has been told to us.

In these days when the Church continues to ask whether it is relevant in the world, let us enter into this Christmas season asking ourselves whether our tradition enlivens us or just makes more work? Do we feel empowered at the end of the Christmas season or just exhausted? Are we living in a world of vibrant tradition or a traditionalism that leaves us empty? Do we believe that, without Christmas, Easter would not be possible, or, without Easter, Christmas could not happen? Is there a tradition you cherish that you need to research in order to make it richer? What are the words we, like Mary, need to ponder in our hearts?

Okay, friends who are still with me, I don’t know about you, but I was somewhat daunted by Peter’s discourse. I had planned on asking what the tradition behind Danish Christmas plates was and which plate Peter liked better, the Bing & Grondahl plates or the Royal Copenhagen plates? And, who made the first chocolate covered cherry? Is it true that chocolate covered cherries make you cheery? How big was the bowl full of jelly? I was waiting for, “And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’”

Still, there is something to be said for Christ is alive and living among us. See him in the eating place—given for all people for the forgiveness of sin. This year, may you be filled with wonder in the history and the mystery of the savior Jesus, the risen Christ.

Merry Christmas, tonight and for twelve more days,

Your pal,

Nicodemus,

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

LIVES INTERRUPTED

Well, they’re gone. There were some hard feelings at the end, but they are all gone. At the end, there were no hugs, no cheery, “Come and visit us some time,” and I haven’t gotten any thank you notes from anyone. The bags of mini-Pay Day and Salted Peanut bars I was leaving for Santa are decimated, and although there is much evidence of my family eviscerating each of the wrappers, I will never know who the particular culprits were. It’s a small price to pay for the peace I am enjoying, but a piece of candy would taste good right now. I suppose I will have to settle for some challah or just a little piece of kringle—maybe two pieces would be better—almond or pe- pe- pe- pecan would do nicely. Yes, I think I can settle for that.

Speaking of having to settle for something other than what you had planned, this week’s text for Sunday morning (Luke 1:26-38) is a doozy. Imagine what it might be like to think that your life is all planned out only to discover some stranger standing near you saying, “Greetings, favored one…you have found favor with God…you will…bear a son…the power of the Most High will overshadow you…the child…will be holy; he will be called Son of God.” Really? Can you imagine? Betrothed to Joseph, Mary is now told that her entire life is going to be changed. On the one hand, at this end of time, it sounds like a profound honor, but let’s think about this for a moment.

The title, “The Most High”, can be a synonym for God, but it can also indicate the highest political or military personage in the area, or even Caesar himself. Further, Son of God is what Caesar Augustus is calling himself.

And let’s just take a moment to consider what it means to be favored. Favored could mean comely or “a real knock out.” It could be, “I’ll get you my pretty,” from the witch or “Hey beautiful, followed by a wolf whistle” when walking by the construction site. These words might be really frightening. Is this a “come on” line from a cultural power source? Is there a choice that Mary can really make here? Or, is this one of those command performances of a sex trafficker?

In the course of the conversation, the intimation is that Elizabeth is too old to bear children and Mary is too young to know a man. What kind of proposition is this? Yet, when Mary learns that Elizabeth is already pregnant, Mary gives in. Still, the words, “Nothing will be impossible with God,” carries a veiled double entendre. There could be a veiled threat depending on whether you hear these words with a capital G or a lower-case g.

It is in of the uncertainty of the world—of wielded political power and desire to live faithfully—that the words of Mary come to us. “Here I am, a servant (slave) of the lord. Let it be with me according to your word.” Is this a resigned capitulation? Or, are these words an extraordinary statement of faithfulness?

What we know is that Mary immediately leaves to be with Elizabeth in those precarious times. It is not until she encounters Elizabeth and hears E’s greeting that Mary is able to discern the intent of the angelic greeting. It is not until then that Mary is able to feel free of political demands. It is not until then that Mary is able to sing, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior.”

In this fourth Sunday of Advent, let’s not jump too quickly to the script of promised life-plan interrupted. Take a few moments to walk with Mary. Hear the potential threat. Feel the discomfort of the encounter. Take time to appreciate the kind of courage this young woman possesses to stand before the stranger and accept the disruption of her life-plan. Then consider how that disruption for her disrupts our life-plan. For, within Mary’s words and action here, she becomes the Theotokos, God Bearer, for the world and makes of us God bearers too.

“Greetings, favored ones. God finds favor with you. Overshadowed by the spirit of the Most High, you are invited to bear, in this pregnant moment, God’s Word of hope and promise to the world.” Will you accept the interruption this will make in your life-plans? Can you say with Mary, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord. Let it be for me according to your word”?

It’s time to think about Christmas Eve now. Maybe I need to sample a little Challah left over from Chanukkah, or some pe- pe- pe- pecan kringle set aside for Christmas Eve. What do you think?

Your pal,

Nicodemus,

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

Oh, SNAP! (John 1:6-8, 19-24, Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11)

Let’s talk.

Oh, SNAP!

Have you ever wondered where that expression came from? I am here to tell you.

Around Thanksgiving time, I let my family know that I got a new mouse pad. I was talking about the close-cell foam square for the mouse on my computer. They heard place to inhabit. I told them that the pad included a sailboat and a lighthouse. I was talking about the tactile picture. They heard places to inhabit.

When everyone and my brothers showed up at the door, I was thinking the weekend; they were thinking winter quarters. When I first heard everyone at the door, I thought family. They meant family reunion, to the fifth and sixth, maybe the seventh generation. When I told them that I was cooking, I thought Thanksgiving dinner. They thought short order cook at all hours of the day and night. When I asked about a cracker stuffing, I was speaking of the turkey. They heard food eating contest. It’s time to talk about hospitality and being a good guest. (SNAP!)

(Oh, SNAP!) I was initially excited to be with my family and overjoyed to have adequate space for everyone. It has been a long time. You know, with COVID, nobody was going anywhere, and so usual mouse transit was greatly curtailed. Whoever happened to be in any one place tended to stay in that place. (Sounds like physics, doesn’t it?) (SNAP!) But now that the masks are off and people are moving around, my family is on the move also. Hence the popular populous movement at Thanksgiving. I thought it would be fun to play host to them all, after all, I have been welcomed in their homes, but I was unprepared for the events as they were revealed.

As I said, I was excited as my family came through the door, but then Auntie Pain-in-the… arrived with my cousins (we’ve never been close) and their kits and their kits and their kits. Grandma and Grandpa came next, and great grandma and grandpa, and great-great grandma and grandpa. The rest of my aunts and uncles trundled themselves over the threshold and then there was my own family with the kits and grand-kits and great-grand-kits. Soon my lodging space was so overcrowded that emergency housing was needed. (SNAP!) We tried to be inconspicuous, but the shelving in the cupboard where the peanut butter is kept got to be too much of a temptation for some of the more adventurous. (SNAP!) Suddenly it seemed there was family everywhere.

Peter (not the disciple) has been pretty understanding, but the peanut butter-thing initiated reprisals. Ever since then, he has been quietly moving some of the more raucous members of my family into the backyard where an owl seems to be lingering on his/her/their journey to wherever owls go for the winter. They(?) seem to be particularly plump, and Peter is not saying anything about it.

Well, it has now been 21 days since everyone arrived and you know what that means. Mice do it like bunnies only more quickly. What started out to be a weekend has turned into a population bomb of nightmarish proportions (SNAP!), and so I have tried to be gentle when I tell der folken that it is time to be moving on (SNAP!).

 I understand that hospitality is something that everyone tries to do with grace and aplomb, but Dear Abby, when is enough, enough? (SNAP!) I prepared lunches for them all to eat on their way home, but they thought it was time for a picnic and devoured everything and then shredded the napkins to make beds to sleep off their full bellies. I don’t know who raided the coffee filter supply.

Finally, I have been forced to act more aggressively. I have put out the spring-loaded wooden eviction pallets (SNAP!) but that hasn’t really made an impression on them. Thanksgiving was one thing, but Christmas is fast arriving, and I cannot even fathom the number of presents I will have to procure. By New Year there will be two new generations of relatives to deal with! Oh, (SNAP! SNAP-SNAP-SNAP) If something doesn’t happen soon, I will be evicted with everybody else (SNAP!) and with extreme prejudice. (Now there is a P word I really do not want to experience under any circumstance, let alone the extreme variety.) (SNAP!)

Gracious hospitality is one thing, but don’t you think that guests need to be gracious too? Shouldn’t guests know when it is time to move on?

I feel like I should sign this, “Unprepared and impatient in Baraboo”.

 

Nickey is a little beside himself these days, and so I thought I might add a few words for him.

Advent is a time of preparation and waiting. We hear, “Prepare the way. Make straight the highway. Cry out in the wilderness. Bear witness to the one who is coming who is greater.”

It is not enough to want to be hospitable in the world today. Hospitality needs a plan; it requires preparation. Especially in these wilderness days, we need to be voices of welcome with enough to feed and comfortably house. We need to make space at the table for those God sends us. We need to recognize them and give them a voice in the conversations that determine what happens in the future. And then, we need to find ways for each of them to participate in the mission and ministry we share.

Further, we need to know our personal boundaries and our limitations. No one of us is able to care for the whole world. Only God can do that, and, at that, we continue to know God as Father (Creator, or maybe Divine progenitor), Son (Jesus, God’s word revealed in the person of Jesus), and Holy Spirit (that ineffable, invisible, love, mercy, and forgiveness which empowers and vivifies us giving hope). But in our Lutheran understanding of who God is, we state God’s prepared plan for humanity as, “Through the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God intends that all should be saved.”

We do not know whether all people will be saved, but that is not our concern. Our concern is to treat those whom we meet as if they are saved. There are times when I would like to make exceptions, but that is not my place.

Nickey wanted to be the host with the most, but he was not adequately prepared for the enormity of his welcome. Unfortunately, fifteen (SNAP!), sixteen of his relatives have entered the great food chain in my yard. (Disclaimer: No mice were tortured, poisoned, nor died from any other form of slow death during the writing of this article, but our sojourning owl remains very happy.)

In this advent season,

·       Prepare (find an issue that concerns you and research it)

·       Make straight the highway (propose ways of resolution to your issue)

·       Cry out in the wilderness (be an advocate for those affected by your issue)

·       Bear witness (testify, point, to the One who makes us one).

God’s blessings in this Advent time,

Peter, not the biblical disciple but a disciple just the same

Advent 2: Time

“Time, time, time
See what’s become of me
While I looked around for my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around
Leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hear the Salvation Army band
Down by the riverside’s
Bound to be a better ride
Than what you’ve got planned
Carry your cup in your hand
And look around you…”

Songwriter: Paul Simon

A Hazy Shade of Winter lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group

Advent is all about time, the time of waiting for the coming again of Jesus. There are many that believe Jesus’ coming again will be like the conquering hero the Jewish people expected in the first place. Actually, I am not so sure that the people of the time expected the conquering hero for the Messiah as-much-as Christians have placed that expectation on the Jewish people. Consequently, I am not sure that Jesus’ “coming again time” will be significantly grander than his first coming. Still, the question of the years continues to be, “When?”

Advent is that season of the year that allows us to consider our own presuppositions about time. First, do we live in a world of circular time or linear time? Thomas Cahill posits In the Gift of the Jews that linear time is the consequence of Abram leaving home with Sarai and Lot for the Promised Land. It is the journey of Abram with the hope of God’s promise being fulfilled that introduces our ability to plan and think in linear time. Expectation, which is based on previous circumstance, is the product of circular time while hope is linear. Before Abram, and in many cultures yet today, circular time continues to be the primary product of time thinking.

Then, of course, there is the difference Paul Tillich introduces as the difference between chronological time and kairos time, that is God’s time. Chronological time plods on in its own second-by-second manner quietly measuring the distance between where we have been and the moment of now. Kairos time, on the other hand is that time when humankind recognizes the cross-roads moment when God’s way leads one way and the way of the world is goes another. (Many place the way of the world on the lefthand side of the divergence because it is sinister, but I find that thinking unhelpful. I think it is enough to know that God’s way and the world’s way are not always the same way.)

There are some who believe that the current era is one of those kairos points in history. Will the people of “project democracy” seek the justice and justification of God’s leading in this moment during the coming elections or will the people follow the ways of power, position, privilege, and protectionism? Will the country promote the needs of the people, the impoverished, and the dispossessed, or will it continue to give its favor to the wealthiest of the nation?

Lastly, Advent calls people to consider the balance between the events of our lives and the remembered time of our lives. Some might speak the romanticized memory of “the good old days” while ignoring the time of struggle that existed during them.

All of these considerations of time come into play when we read these opening words of Mark, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, [the son of God]”. Paula Fredrickson and others, including Peter (not the disciple) have pointed to the in media res (fancy language for starting in the middle) beginning, but she and most others are not helpful in connecting the need for the middle start. Peter (not the disciple) discussed the beginning of the book of Mark in Currents in Theology and Mission, View of Vol. 41 No. 6 (2014): Scripture for Christ's Time: Reading Year B (currentsjournal.org).

In short, Peter maintains that the book of Mark is written in epic form, a format where the beginning is the middle, the middle is the end, and the end is the beginning. (Does that make your brain hurt? It really pushes me.) It all has something to do with the fact that the last sentence of Mark in Greek is incomplete, something like this, “They were fleeing from the tomb, terror and amazement had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone for”.

My English teacher, Mrs. Murphy (Remember her? She was referenced in the 23^rd Psalm, “Surely good Mrs. Murphy will follow me all the days of my life.” I continue to have nightmares over that.) Anyway, Mrs. Murphy would have given Mark a failing grade for that conclusion, but Peter argues that Mark’s conclusion to that incomplete sentence is the first sentence of the book of Mark.

Like Genesis which begins, “In the beginning of”, and God speaks the cosmos into being, so now, Mark’s Gospel begins the good news which is God speaking the new creation of resurrection into being. This of course means that the Gospel of Mark through 10:52 is the Easter proclamation. Then in 16:6-7, the young man dressed in a white robe, set to start the story again, says, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him…. he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

At the end of this week’s reading, we see Jesus coming from Nazareth in Galilee to be baptized. This coming from Galilee is not an expectation (circular time) but hope and promise (linear time). Although it took place in historic, chronological time, it is also an historic moment when all creation witnesses God’s inbreaking with the Word (of promise and hope) made flesh and revealed in the person of Jesus. It is also that time of suffering that we can now remember with a memory of resurrection, new creation and a new vision for the world.

How does this new resurrection life begin? It begins with the prophetic work of making the rough places smooth. It begins in accountability and repentance. It begins in the waters of death drowning and new life rising with Jesus into new ways of living, new relationships with God and one another, and new ways of engaging the world.

This introduction to Jesus by John does not introduce us to Jesus his cousin, but to the risen Christ, the Easter Jesus, and it this risen Jesus, the risen Lord, who wears the sandals that John is unworthy of untying. Here in these opening days of Advent, we are offered a different way to think about time. These are not the times where “the skies are a hazy shade of winter”. They are days of new life, of promise and hope.

Indeed, “Down by the riverside’s bound to be a better ride than what you’ve got planned. Carry a cup(chalice?) in your hand….” In the confluence of all the streams of Advent time we are going to embark on a journey that will lead us into a world where the marginalized become the center of wholeness and where the blind can see the way of the cross and follow (10:52). Then when the way of resurrection discipleship is recorded, and the story is ended, Mark tells the story of the one who was crucified and is raised from the dead that we might live in this time of good news, the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God.

When? Now!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s good news week

Someone’s dropped a bomb somewhere

Contaminating atmosphere

And blackening the sky

It’s good news week

Someone’s found a way to give

The rotting dead a will to live

Go on and never die.

 

Have you heard the news?

What did it say?

Who’s won that race?

What’s the weather like today?

 

It’s good news week…

(Songwriter: Jonathan King © Jonjo Music Co Ltd, sung by: Hedgehoppers Anonymous 1965)

Buck, you guys, might say, “man”, but I’m a mouse, and so I claim the sobriquet of the male dominant nominative ejaculation of mice. So, I say, Buck, I had a heck of a time finding this first song on the internet. All my life, I had thought the name of the group was Head Choppers Anonymous. Now I discover it is Hedgehoppers Anonymous.

Somehow the good news sounded better to me when it was Head Choppers, but then, that might have more to say about my twisted sense of humor. What’s a hedge hopper anyways?

Each year the Church begins the Advent season with an apocalyptic reading telling us that the world is about to end. There will be various cataclysmic events after which the world will self-destruct: “Heaven and earth will all pass away, but [Jesus’] words will not pass away.”

The question of the day is: What are Jesus’ words that will not pass away?

Amid the sun being darkened, and the moon not giving off its light, when the stars are falling from the skies, when the powers and the heaven are being shaken, when the son of man comes in glory with his angels, what are the words that will not pass away? Are they words of judgment? Are they words of love? Are they words of death and dying or of life?

Look to the fig tree. Find its tender branches and budding leaves leading to a growing season. Nature telegraphs the future much like holding onto the elbow of someone leading a blind person anticipates the direction the leader is turning (or so I’ve been told). Personally, I find tails to be quite reliable.

The lesson of the fig tree teaches us to be observant. Take note of the world. Engage in the world. Participating in those pregnant moments that portend the places of lifegiving constancy is possible even when polluting sacrilege seduces the world to cry out in despair. “Good news week” will not be satirical.

Especially in these days of climate change, the Ukrainian fight for its national individuation, the expulsion of the Armenian Christians from their homeland in Nagnoro-Karabakh, Israel and the devastations witnessed there and in Gaza, and the little mentioned war in Sudan, these apocalyptic words in Mark 13:24-37 loom large. Is this the beginning of the birth pangs of doom? Is the world about to end?

When we witness the migration to the borders of our country of large numbers of people who seek a better life away from oppressive social conditions where they live and who then face inadequate means to welcome them and to provide a place for them, or even the willingness to recognize them as human beings out of fear of losing national white privilege, is this a sign of the end of all things?

When the wealthiest percentage of the world gets immeasurably wealthier and the poor find ever deepening poverty, as the middle class shrinks in the disparity between the wealthiest and the poorest…When political partisanship polarizes social intercourse to the extent that polite conversation is no longer possible…When families no longer associate with one another because of political allegiances…Is that the death knell of social order and American democracy?

When the number of countries who are able to create atomic weaponry continues to grow and the push of a button could initiate a nuclear holocaust…When religious intolerance and other mechanisms create clearer boundaries between us and them and further dehumanize them…Is that the line of demarcation that marks the end of the world?

How much devastation is necessary for us to witness before pundits can pronounce with certainty the long-anticipated demise of God’s purpose for the world?

What are the words of Jesus that will not pass away?

For the words we long to hear, we must first look further in the book of Mark. The time of the sun darkening and the moon not giving off light, when the stars are falling from the heavens, these are known in the time of the crucifixion. These words of paralyzing, cosmological, multiverse collapse do not portend a prophetic Pompeii-esque Pele pyre of permanent purge and world disappearing, but the on covering, revealing hope of something new. These events point to the words of next week, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God.”

In modern parlance, apocalypse speaks of world-ending destruction, but, in biblical parlance, apocalypse is the uncovering, the unveiling, the revelation of God’s work in the world. This is why the last book of the Bible is Revelation, not Revelations. Each revelation reveals God’s continued involvement in history and God’s work of saving God’s people through a process of reconciled relationship. The apocalypse of John, or the unveiling of God’s purpose for the world that John reports, ends with a new Jerusalem with the tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.

Jesus’ words for us are “Do not be afraid.” Amid the horrifying works of the world Jesus comes and says, “Peace be with you.” Amid the greed of the world and the need to hold onto stuff, Jesus says, “after living up to the commandments, sell all that you have and give it to the poor.” Let go of the stuff; trust in the Love of God.

Know, really know, that that the power of death that engenders fear and trepidation, war and the rumors of war, hate and discrimination, isolation and dehumanization of others, and the fear of the changing unknown, that Christ has destroyed death and walks with you whether or not you know his presence, like the constancy of the life cycle of the fig tree, the constancy that promises new life. Whether you observe the changes of the fig tree, the fig tree continues to do what it does.

It is said that Martin Luther, when asked what he would do if he learned that the world were going to end tomorrow, said that he would plant a tree. Maybe he meant a fig tree. Maybe he meant the Revelation tree of healing. Maybe he referenced the tree from which we all receive life—the cross.

We may not know the day nor the hour when the Son of Man will return, but the fig tree teaches us the constancy of living that continues to produce the sweet fruit of sustenance and delight. Yes, learn the lesson of the fig tree, and know, when the events of fear and destruction surround you, “[Jesus] is near [you], at the very gates [of your borders, your communities, your yards, your homes, your hearts]. In a world where bombs are dropping everywhere, contaminating atmosphere and blackening the skies, where the rotting dead continue to determine the will of nations for revenge, Jesus is the one who teaches us to “live in love and Christ loved us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God” (Ephesians 5).

It’s good news week. The catastrophes of the world may continue to surround and frighten, but Jesus has conquered death so that we no longer need to fear death. “Do not be afraid.” Live! Christ is with you!

Your pal, 

Nicodemus

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

IMPAIRED PEDAGOGY PRESENTS A PECULIAR AND PARADOXICAL PARADISE PARADIGM PREDICAMENT

We finally come to the end of the liturgical year. This Sunday we read of the great judgment of the nations in Matthew 25:31-46. This parable is not about personal predestination. “You,” in “prepared for you from the foundations of the world,” is a collective plural and refers to the nations or tribes (but not necessarily nation-states as we know them today). This judgment scene could include everything from the entire Roman empire to the people of Judah and everything in between.

For years I thought of this parable depicting a vision of the world that is truly segregated—with the righteous in one circle and the accursed in another. It was precise. It was predictable. It was pristine. It was perfect. It was preposterous.

Recently, I have been considering Peter’s (not the disciple) work on reading Scripture from a blind perspective, mostly unpublished, much of it still on the drawing board, or as he says, “aspirationally plotted”. I have begun to “see” the perils of presumptive, previous postures of piety and ableist certainty when considering parables like this one. In an ableist world, this parable can be a childish, “Look at what we have done (or not done), Mom”, but, from the perspective of the marginalized, this parable presents a world where life depends on the “kindness of others” without independent agency or healthy individuation.

Matthew includes The Son of Man coming with all his angels to take the throne, the place of judgment. With all the nations gathered before him, he separates them like an emperor determining loyal vassals, like a shepherd separating sheep from goats, like a cat separating voles from field mice. And then, with words that echo the sentiment of last week’s “Enter into the joy of your master”, Matthew tells of the sheep receiving the inheritance that is theirs from the foundation of the world—for I was hungry, thirsty, a stranger, naked, sick and in prison, and you fed me, gave me drink, welcomed me, clothed me, visited and came to me.

When the query comes, “When did we do this?”, Jesus’ response is, “Whenever you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”

Don’t you feel good, about now? Don’t you feel good in the membership of your collective congregation? Don’t you feel good knowing that your contribution to Lutheran World Hunger is feeding and caring for people you don’t even know?  Don’t you feel good about the quilts and health care kits your congregation, synod, and the church at large send to the corners of the world through Lutheran World Relief? (The flat earth concept of the world which still has corners when we know that the world is a globe and therefore round is a conversation for another time.) Don’t you feel like you belong to the righteous, and aren’t you ready to receive your inheritance?

But what about the underlying conditions that created the needs in the first place? Why are these people “left out in the cold”, metaphorically speaking? What about all of those we do not reach? What about the thousands of children and adults, even in this country, who will go to bed hungry tonight?

This may be the propitious moment to confront the times, citizens of the U.S., for the nation has a social contract with its people—all people have the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This social contract has proven, however, to pander to the prosperous and the privileged. This nation continues to inadequately meet the needs of its people—when it does not feed and provide potable drinking water; when it does not welcome people who are fleeing for their lives; when, because of color, prejudicial practices for procuring loans persist.

What about a social system that leaves more than 80% of people living with a disability unemployed? What about the thousands of buildings that continue to exclude people who use wheelchairs or otherwise require non-present escalators or elevators to get from one floor to another? What about our justice system that continues to incarcerate a higher per centage of minority people with longer sentences than white people? What about practices which prevent people from adequate and timely health care? How then, without equality and equity, are they welcomed into the benefits of that social contract? This list could go on and on, but maybe this is enough for now.

This parable challenges the principal policies of every ethnic and cultural center of the world. It encourages them, and nations too, to take credit for how well they have cared for the poor and marginalized and tempts them to call themselves righteous. Satisfied, they rejoice that they have avoided the accursed behaviors that condemn and would require them to do better.

This parable of divine judgment does not include compassion and forgiveness. We do not hear the echoes of Isaiah 43, “’You have burdened me with your sins; you have wearied me with your iniquities. I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.’…But now thus says the Lord, ‘He who created you, O Jacob (this is not a designation of the person, but of all the people who descended from Jacob), he who formed you, O Israel (again, not just the pseudonym of Jacob nor is it just the northern kingdom, but all who wrestle with God), do not fear, for I have redeemed [all of] you, I have called [all of] you by name; you are mine!’”

Nor does it describe the hope from Ezekiel 37 with the prophesying to the dry bones drawn together with sinews and flesh and skin and breath, describing the joining of the nations of Judah and Israel with one ruler and the promise to “save them from all the apostacies into which they have fallen” and to “cleanse them”, and that “they shall be my people and I will be their God.” In fact, this parable in Matthew is the antithesis of John 3:17, “Indeed, God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Sheila, Matthew, and Dennis Linn published a book, “Good Goats: Healing Our Image of God”, thirty years ago, with this parable at its heart. Considering the challenges of whether people are the preferred sheep or the accursed goats, and the work the Church has either and both done and left undone, one Sister said, “So, what you are telling us is that we are good goats” (not Greatest of All Times), or maybe as an extension, ba-a-ad sheep.

The Linns help us “see” the world as it is and wonder, “where is the cord of oak that waits for the eternal purgatorial fires of punishment because there will always be people who are not fed, given drink, welcomed, clothed, or visited. “All is lost!” because all are lost—poor little sheep who have lost our way. (I thank God I am a mouse.)

Uh-oh, we are all part of the national, cultural, or ethnic group in which we reside. Now that I have really pondered the paradoxical complexities of this parable, I must admit that my cozy nook, mouse house no longer feels so righteous.

This Christ the King Sunday, let us “see” the place of judgment sited somewhere other than this implausible courtroom of division. Let us look to the cross and God’s darkness where God creates opportunities of hope and forgiveness amid sinful human darkness, in the night in which he was betrayed. Let us look to the cross and bear witness to the king that conquers the power of death that all might live.

Throw up your hands in despair, crying “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.”, and then depend on God’s mercy, love, and forgiveness (grace). And for Christ’s sake, continue to do the work that can be done to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the strangers God sends, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and imprisoned. But do this knowing that you do this work because you are saved, not in order to be saved or to ensure thar you are saved. God has already saved you, and, because God continues to make covenants of forgiveness with all people (Baptism and Eucharist), you are able to see God’s likeness in all of those around you.

In this way you can understand God’s perfection in the vulnerability of the human condition with all of its abilities and disabilities, with all the body shapes and colors and gender identities people come in. As God is one, you see God who makes all people one—one with God and one with one another.

This parable falsely presents a world that promotes and promulgates an image of judgment that casts unfortunates into eternal punishment of purging fire, because, if that judgment is from the foundation of the world and has no possibility of penitential pardon and perceived possible hope, then the crucifixion and empty tomb cannot give any promise of hope for the world and humanity. The world and humanity cannot pray, prostrate, or repent enough to turn back what “has been prepared from the foundations of the world.” Only Christ the King has that power, and all people continue to prevail on Christ’s perpetual power of pardon. The crucifixion and the empty tomb open the way to a prepared place of wonder and joy in the presence of the true king.

Thank God, the apocalyptic judgment scene of this parable presented on this Christ the King Sunday is not the final statement for the world or our lives. Instead, it is an opportunity to balance vv. 40 and 45—As you have done/not done it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you have done it/not done it to me.

Keep the faith; and keep working for justice and peace in word and deed.

Your pal,

Nicodemus

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

PATRON PROMOTES WEALTHY WHILE PRONOUNCING PENALTIES AND DEEPER POVERTY FOR THE POOR

Have you thought about how you hear things? For instance, when I am in the house comfortably ensconced in my perfected cozy nook, and the lawn mowers start, I listen to the hum of the motor and sometimes let it lull me to sleep. BUT, if I am out in the yard or perambulating through the prairie, maybe penetrating the perimeter of a hay field and hear that hum of a mower, I get very nervous and hide in the nearest hole or plaster myself in the nearest hedgerow against a fence post. It may be the same sound, but where I am determines how I hear it.

This week’s reading from Matthew 25:14-30 has that difference contained in it. Today we might say, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” and mean it as praise. We might say “Come into the joy of your master,” and use it as a welcome to worship. (This phrase has really been used at some congregations Peter [not the disciple] has attended.)  At this end of time these platitudes may sound affirming or maybe just innocuous, but, when Matthew is recounting these words, they were as scary as hearing the mower in the middle of a hay field.

You know that the Church has experienced perilous persecutions in various time periods. When Matthew is writing his Gospel account, Rome was conducting one of those periods of persecution. Christians were being sent to the coliseum, tortured, and killed for being purveyors of Jesus’ words to the people. Rome, however, provided people the possibility to preclude being sent to the coliseum or undergoing other torture and death. They were given the opportunity to recant their faith and return to pagan practices of proclaiming the emperor as god. When a person recanted, they heard the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your master.” Can you hear the difference?

This week we hear of events which preceded a man’s journey. He entrusted his property into the paws of honored dependents. He gave one dependent $3,000,000; to another he gave $1,300,000; and to a third he gave $630,000. (These figures are all approximate and subject to change depending on inflationary trends.) The patron was gone a long, but indeterminate, period of time. In due course, he returned pressuring them to make an accounting.

The stage is set. The protagonists are poised for prodigious revelation. The question looms, “What is faithful living?” In the context of the world, making money, showing profits, kissing up to power appear to be faithful plays. Thus, they proffer in effect, “Sir, you entrusted me with more money than I ever imagined possible, and I doubled it for you. To accomplish this, I surrendered my ethics; I extorted funds and property from the people; and I gambled it on stock market futures, all for the privilege of being one of your preferred people.” The second makes the same statement.

As a reward, they hear those words of praise, “Well done, my sycophantic pup. Penetrate the joy of your master.” (O.K. I have taken some poetic privilege with the protagonists’ parlance, but it is for a point.) This is the world where the rich and entitled get richer and more entitled while the poor have what little dignity they have stripped away, and their poverty only gets abjectly deeper.

Now, the third person is encountered, and we begin to feel the pinch. Remember when we heard Jesus say, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor and to God the things that are God’s?” Remember when Jesus challenged the Sadducees telling them that they didn’t know what they were talking about, that “[God] is not God of the dead, but of the living?” And don’t forget Jesus’ response to the question of the greatest commandment, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all of your [true self], and with all of your mind. …You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

These previous encounters inform the present situation. They empower the third dependent to speak truth to power—“I  knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not winnow. I refuse to be part of the theft and extortion you encourage. Permit me to present to you your property.” (Again, I have taken poetic privilege to make the point.)

He expresses a different faithfulness, a faithfulness that adheres to Torah with the admonition against making interest, against gaining at the expense of others, a faithfulness of ethical living. In short, he refuses to part with his faith for the service of wealth and prominence. For this pledge, putting God in the position of occupying the most prominent place in his life, he is excoriated and punished; he is pitched out into the place of outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

This poignant place of punishment presents a conundrum for us. No one wants to be excommunicated. No one seeks shunning. Once in outer darkness, however, we find it is the very place of God’s creation plan. In the place of weeping, we find God’s blessing. Where there is gnashing of teeth, we hear the cry of oppression and God’s liberating word.

In the midst of Passion Week, in that time between Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (city of peace) and the empty tomb of Easter Sunday, we witness Jesus speaking words of truth while others are plotting to pitch him out, to crucify him, to employ their preference for the worship of power and pain. Jesus stands against this world of plunder, pillage  and power inviting us into a place of potential, promised peace. This peace is not the Pax Romana (peace of Rome) enforced by fear and bloodshed, not the city of peace (Jerusalem) that kills the prophets, but the peace that surpasses all understanding in the kingdom of heaven.

Here, in the perpetual presence of Christ Jesus, the poor in spirit are known as a blessing, those who mourn know laughter, the naked are clothed, the sick and imprisoned are visited, the hungry are fed with the bread of Life, the thirsty partake of the potable potion of pardon and hope-filled promise. (O.K., I know that I am getting a little ahead of myself here, but the danger promoted by pericopes (Bible clippings) is that we forget that each reading (lection) is part of a whole; it is not “an island entire unto itself.”)

As precarious as our lives become, as scary as the outer darkness may be, let me tell you it’s not that bad. I’ve been muddling around in it for my entire life and aside from that inauspicious and problematic incident with the farmer’s wife (more particularly the carving knife she was holding at the time), it’s been pretty good. After all, it has provided the venue for me to pen this epistle to you. For those who are weeping, may you be a consolation. For those who are gnashing their teeth, may you be an advocate for liberation. Like the prairie, the hayfield, and the hedgerow in which I grew up and matured; the outer darkness is the patch from which we will rise, more compassionate, more understanding of our partners in pain, and more passionate in the privilege of promoting God’s salvific plan for our planet.

Your pal,

Nicodemus

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse

PARABLE OF PRUDENT MAIDS PRESENTS PERPLEXING PARIDIGM OF PARADISE PARTY

From both the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, we learn “Be Prepared.” The fifth point of Deism proposed by Lord Herbert of Cherbury espouses “the prospect of a life to come with rewards for virtue and punishments for sin”. These propositions prepare us for understanding the premise of the passage for the week. You will also want to look at Matthew 23:13-24:51 and 1 Cor 1:17-31. Now you are ready to begin ch. 25.

Matthew 25:1-13 presents ten maids, five foolish and five wise, who are waiting for the bridegroom to come to the wedding feast. The bridegroom has been delayed for some unexpressed reason. When he does arrive, the maids light their lamps. The foolish maids now fear that the amount of oil they have is insufficient. They ask to share the extra oil the wise maids have brought. The wise maids spurn them and tell them to go to the dealers to purchase more. When the foolish maids return to the wedding feast, crying “Lord, Lord, open to us,” they are refused entry. The bridegroom offers a stunning rebuke, “I don’t know you.”  Jesus concludes the parable with an admonition to all who hear it, “Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

How perplexing! How preposterous! If the paradigm for paradise presupposes that only the virtuous and prudent will be permitted beyond the Pearly Portico, then what prospect do any have? I mean, how much virtue is enough? With Peter (the disciple), we might ask, “Then who can be saved?”

Again, like previous parables in Matthew, this parable is problematic, presenting a paradisical outcome that mirrors the world’s specious expectations. Like the others, this parable does not take into account the frailty of the human condition. It rewards the perspicacity of the worldly wise and does not acknowledge the need experienced by the five foolish maids. It does not recognize the penance in the act of repentance, the pence paid for procuring proper proportions of oil to produce proper light for the ceremony of pomp and pageantry. In short, there is no room for understanding the cross nor our need for it.

This cannot be the paradigm for the great kingdom of heaven we envision. Instead, I suggest that the kingdom of heaven is that place where forgiveness abounds and those who act in a way to repair their profligacy are welcomed to a promised place at the banquet smorgasbord.

We are encouraged in this understanding of reconciled paradise through the words of Isaiah, “the people who sit in darkness will see a great light”. Elsewhere Isaiah pronounces that the people of God are to be comforted, that God calls them by name, that they are to be the repairers of the breach. Isaiah speaks of a world that is not only unprepared, but a people who cannot be prepared. He portrays people to be perpetually unworthy, unable to appropriately plan to populate the palatial spans of God’s realm. It is not preparedness and perspicacity that makes the difference, but the gracious welcome of a compassionate bridegroom that makes the wedding feast possible. Only God knows the day and the hour, and the foolish and wise both are only able to stay awake so long before they need refresh themselves in God’s sabbath time of rest.

If preparedness is what is required for entering the banquet hall, then God’s children must be prepared to be loved and forgiven. They need to hear and believe their pastors when they say, in these or similar words, “In the mercy of almighty God, by Christ’s authority, I declare to you the entire forgiveness of all of your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son and the + Holy Spirit.”. Belief in the prospect of a life to come must be based on Christ’s justification not personal or corporate virtue or merit.

Depend on Christ’s wisdom being foolishness to the world and pray that mortal foolishness is precious in God’s sight—red and yellow, black and white, mouse gray, and brown, too.

Your pal,

Nicodemus

Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse