Transitions!

From summer’s heat to winter’s snow is Autumn’s time of falling leaves,

Of colors bright and crisp clear mornings

With frost and sparkling dew on yard and field.

We go into the fields to gather in the harvest of what we have planted,

Cutting the last of this season’s hay to feed the animals through the winter.

We pick the fruit from laden trees, bagging, basketing them;

And last tomatoes relishing one more fresh salad.

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Now caps and jackets lend their warmth,

Or sweaters knit with hugging yarn

Begin the bundling cocooning time

Of wrapping up against the cold.

Yet still come days when warmth appears,

When sleeves roll up and jackets drape

A shoulder or an arm, or wrap around a waist,

Rather than provide excessive heat.

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We celebrate this time of coming from and going to

With sweet, sweat labor, and work well done;

And breathe the musky, attared air of fallen leaves, of fresh cut fields,

Of baking apple crisp and pumpkin pie, of buttered squash,

Thanking God for another year of servanthood

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There, But for the Grace of God, Go I Luke 18:9-14

Bradley Hanson in his book, Introduction to Christian Doctrine, says that how we think about God shapes and determines what we think about God. In a like manner, I believe that how we think about prayer shapes and determines what we pray. If prayer is to be a public event, then the language of the prayer may be very formal. We hear these prayers in our worship service in the prayer of the day, the offertory prayer, the prayers of the people, and the prayers contained in the Eucharist. These prayers have various functions, but the language is pretty formal and may use metaphors and similes to call forth emotional and psychological energy for worship. If prayer is about speaking justice, then the language may be challenging and abrasive to the ears of those who hear those pleas while evoking God’s empathy and care. If prayer is our personal conversation with God throughout the day, prayer may sound a lot like how we talk to our friends and may contain utterances of thanks, amazement, cries for help, assistance, spiritual strength, and forgiveness.

How we think about prayer even determines the frequency of praying. If prayer is a public thing, then we may not pray more often than once or twice a month, maybe weekly. If prayer is about crying for justice, depending on how satisfied you are with your life, you may only pray once or twice a year. But if prayer is a conversation with God, then you may be praying constantly even with base and common words. A professor I knew once said that within the most profane oath lies a prayer for help. Again I want to say, how we think of prayer shapes and determines what we pray.

If last week’s text was about the need to pray always without losing heart, then this week’s text is teaching us how to think about prayer and what to pray for. Let us first recognize the relationship between these two parables. Last week we heard about the judge that was not just, that is unrighteous, who does not fear God nor respects people. Yet because he thinks highly of himself, he grants justice (righteousness) to the widow who threatens to make him look bad in public.

This week, in another parable told at the same time, Jesus tells us of a Pharisee who has convinced himself that he is justified (righteous) by his own works, and, because of these great works that he has done, he is more important than the people around him. He regards those who are not like him as literally being nothing, of no value, not worth thinking about. Those other people are so far from him socially that he doesn’t even stand with the other person; he stands by himself. He is so self-satisfied that, when he prays, he begins with thanking God that he is not like those other disgusting people.

The first of the list of people that the Pharisee does not want to be like are thieves. The word in Greek is more than stealing, it carries with it the sense of rapacious people or animals like wolves that tear at the flesh that they eat until they are so utterly sated they may vomit their food and leave it in order to eat more; or, more often, after vomiting their food, they will eat it again. They take and consume because they can, not out of need. Thieving at another level includes people who have more than what they need while others do not have enough. Thievery here is not actively taking something from another, but it includes withholding what our neighbor needs when we have plenty.

The second group of people are described as rogues. The word in Greek literally means unjust or unrighteous. Merchants who don’t use accurate weights for weighing or maybe put their thumb on the scale to add a little weight for a little more money are unrighteous. Bankers who charge interest and especially high interest are unrighteous. Anyone who misrepresents themselves or their work or people who do not care for the widow, the orphan, the stranger, and the poor are unrighteous.

The third group are adulterers. Biblically speaking adultery is unfaithfulness to one’s spouse, but, in our relationship with God, adultery can mean putting trust in someone or something other than Godself. As a matter of fact, adultery is much more often cited as being the behavior of Israel consorting with other gods and nations than it is used for the relationship between a man and a woman. In terms of last week’s story, it is not revering or fearing God.

The last and lowest category that the Pharisee is thankful he is not like is the tax collector, the one responsible for money flowing from the masses to those in charge. Now in Jesus’ time, the job of being tax collectors was particularly difficult. They represented the government or the ordering body. When the Roman government decided it needed a certain amount of money to be raised in various parts of the empire, that is, the people were to be taxed, the governing bodies of the various parts of the empire would decide where that money was to come from. Then they got a person to collect the taxes from the designated people, but they did not provide for the salary of the tax collector. If the tax collector only collected what was demanded, he might starve so, of course, he had to collect more than what the empire and governing bodies wanted. By collecting the money from the people and delivering it on time to the people above him, peace was maintained in the empire. But, if the flow of tax money was interrupted, the full weight of the Roman government could come down on any given province.

To make taxes more complicated, the Roman government was not the only entity collecting money. The temple also taxed the people through the tithe, which was a temple tax. The temple too believed in a trickle up-economy. Governors also taxed the people for local building projects and urban improvements. Lastly, the land owners taxed the farmers on their produce from the land. Today we would call it share cropping, but it was a tax none-the-less. The assessed tax could be as high as 80%.

Each of the taxes was based on the gross amount that the people made. By taking 10% here and 10% there, by the time the poorest people paid for their food and clothing, there was often not enough to go around. To not pay the tax was to be jailed and die, but paying the tax also often meant that starvation and even death were nearby. Land and home would be sold first. Even children, your spouse, and your very person might need to be sold into slavery in order to pay the money needed. In the sense of an hour glass, the tax collector was the one responsible for the sand flowing up instead of down. No wonder he was detested.

It is not enough to the Pharisee to be thankful for not being like those other no-accounts though; he needs to state why he is better than those others: he fasts twice a week and he gives 10% of all that he acquires. This then is his case of being righteous.

Biblically speaking, however, righteousness is not an individual state. Righteousness depends on the life of the neighbor. If the Pharisee lives in comfort, but his neighbor lives in poverty, then Biblically he cannot be righteous because his comfort is at the expense of someone else. If the Pharisee is living in comfort, and his neighbors are suffering and in poverty, then Biblically he is stealing from them; he has broken his relationship with them. The Pharisee has chosen to serve himself and has not trusted God for what he needs; he has taken from others for his own sake and not served God and his neighbor—he has become a thief, a rogue, an adulterer, and, yes, a tax collector.

He may be fasting twice a week, but we all know that only the well-fed can fast. The poor and the starving call it, “We have no food.” When it comes to taxes, the wealthy may give 10% of what they receive, but when you receive nothing, paying taxes is not possible because there is no money. You might call it, “being broke”.

As last week the unjust judge cared nothing for God, so now we see that the Pharisee does not trust in God. He trusts in himself. He thinks that prayer is about elevating himself over others rather than lifting up the people around him.

We compare the Pharisee to the lowly tax collector who is far off and cannot even bring himself to look up to heaven praying. His prayer is that God would be merciful or have compassion, that is, would suffer with him in the midst of his life. Jesus says this one was made righteous. What makes him righteous or justified is that the tax collector asks or begs God to be in relationship with him. As the widow begs for a relationship of equity, so now the tax collector prays for a relationship of understanding and love with God.

Although we too long for this relationship of understanding and love, not only with God, but with one another, there are times in our lives when we run to the place of the Pharisee. How often have I heard, even said, “There, but by the grace of God, go I!” In saying these words, we separate ourselves from the event even while recognizing that we might have been there or done that ourselves, but, thank God, our actions did not result in calamity—we were not caught. “There, but by the grace of God, go I!” does not mean we are somehow better by our actions, but we believe that a better outcome resulted because God favored us more. Now we look more and more like the Pharisee.

Poverty is not that far away for the average American family which is only two paychecks from not being able to pay the bills. In worship we pray, “We offer with joy and thanksgiving what you have first given us--ourselves, our time, and our possessions, signs of your gracious love.” But when we leave worship, we may separate ourselves from the people who can’t pay their bills anymore, saying, “There, but by the grace of God, go I.” We like to think that God has favored us because of our hard work. We think that we are responsible for creating the world around us as if God’s creative work stopped on the sixth day of creation. In so many ways, we, as a society, say “We’ve got ours, the heck with the rest of you—you who can’t find jobs that pay a living wage, you who are starving in war-torn countries; you whose homes have been taken away by cartels and people who only think about their own wealth and power.

We thank God for our own lives of privilege and wonder at the chances that might lead to us living in those conditions of disaster in Haiti and say, “There, but by the grace of God, go I.” How much harder our prayer lives might be if we, with the tax collector, said, “Have mercy on us sinners, Lord, for we have so much and there are so many that have so little. Help us to share the abundance of your creation. Help us lift up the lowly, and let us be humbled in your presence and the needs of all that you have created good.”

How we think of prayer really does determine and shape what we pray. Being in relationship with God and one another, we pray that all may know God’s presence and that all people will have respect, re-spect, that is, be seen again. We pray that we may engage and honor the people that God has given us to welcome in God’s kingdom on earth, anticipating God’s rule as it is in heaven, with daily bread for all and forgiveness of sins. In this state of God’s abundance and forgiveness, we then are able to forgive as we have been forgiven and are saved from the trial that would judge our works alone. Lord. save us from ourselves, and, in your loving arms, deliver us from evil. Indeed, your kingdom, your power to save, and your glorious resurrection are what will last forever.

It is in this relationship of forgiveness that we know relationship with God and one another that continues to sustain us, and so we rejoice in those words of help and hope:

“In the mercy of almighty God, Jesus Christ was given to die for us, and for Christ’s sake, God forgives us all of our sins. Therefore, by Christ’s authority, I declare to you the entire forgiveness of all of your sins; in the relationship of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

There, in the grace of God, we go.

Your Faith Has Saved You: Luke 17:11-19

In my first remembrance of this story I was in my Sunday School room in the old annex of St. Mary’s Lutheran Church on 65^th St., Kenosha, Wisconsin. We had the latest technology: a film strip projector and a record player. With the DING! after each piece of the story, frame by frame, we saw Jesus walking down the road with his disciples, ten lepers waving to Jesus from a distance, ten lepers asking for mercy, and Jesus sending them off to the priest at the temple on the horizon. While the other nine were still in sight, we saw the one leper facing Jesus and then bowing down before Jesus. In the last scene the one cleansed leper had his hand in the air, one foot raised and the other almost on the road. Maybe he was running, or skipping down the road, or even dancing.

It was told as a morality story of what happens when you don’t say thank you. You might end up like one of the other nine unhappy lepers who weren’t cleansed, but, if you said thank you, you could be cleansed and happy. DING!

We were told that saying thank you was an act of faith; Jesus likes children who say thank you. If we wanted to stay in good relationship with the people around us, we should always say thank you. Right after our lesson we got Kool Aid and cookies. We all politely said thank you, and then, we all got another cookie! We were more enthusiastic in our thank you the second time, but no more cookies came our way. Lesson learned: saying thank you gets you another cookie, but, saying thank you more than once, gets you nothing. DING!

That was almost 60 years ago, yet I can still visualize the room right down to the saddle shoes Kathy Anderson (name changed) was wearing. The cookies were vanilla sandwich cookies and the Kool Aid was red. How far we have come since then. Today, St. Mary’s Lutheran Church has moved to a new location. I am writing on a computer that has the capability of downloading film footage with depictions of the Biblical story. Images of stained glass windows and major art work covering this text are available. There are articles on leprosy from magazines and journals. All are available in minutes. DING!

Over the years, in this story, I have come to appreciate the challenges of identity within it and how faith informs that identity. I have also come to understand that the cleansing that takes place is for all ten of the lepers. Still, saying thank you continues as a central part of this story, and, more than that, glorifying God (δοξάζω, doxazō) leads to giving thanks (εὐχαριστέω, eucharisteō). DING!

Just a chapter ago, Lazarus (God has helped), in the arms of Father Abraham, and the rich man, in Hades, are separated by a chasm (Luke 16:26). Neither can cross this region between. This passage in ch. 17 where Jesus and his disciples are journeying in the region between Galilee and Samaria introduces us to their alienation from society.  Jesus walks with an entourage in the region between, not crossing the chasm but filling it. DING!

Now in the region between, the Lazaruses of the world are able to be recognized and cleansed. In this region between, faith and new identity is found. In this region between, new ways of living are being forged. In this region between, the afflicted are lifted up from the polarization of Abraham’s arms and Hades into a world that finds communal wholeness in Jesus’ presence, glorifying God and giving cause for thanksgiving for this new, gracious relationship of mercy and salvation. DING!

This region between not only challenges us to think about the identity of the lepers who are cleansed and their place in the world, but it challenges us to think about who this Jesus is. Although in ch. 2 Jesus is identified as coming from Nazareth in Galilee, his identity depends on getting to Jerusalem. It is the Jerusalem Jesus that matters to us because that is where we receive our salvation. It is this Jerusalem Jesus that the leper has faith in. Jerusalem Jesus rises from the tomb. DING!

In this region between, an itinerant Master (Jesus) meets some unclean outcasts on the road. We have no idea of how long these lepers have been together, but there is a group identity of being unclean outcasts that has held them together for a period of time. They may be lepers, but they have each other. They are a community of inclusive isolation, caring for and depending on one another. From a distance, they approach as one. They ask for mercy as one. They may be begging for nothing more than food, but Jesus chooses to interpret mercy as asking to be made clean. When Jesus commands them to show themselves to the priest, they go as one. And on the way they are made clean (καθαρίζω, katharizō) as one. DING!

The lepers notice that their skin disease (leprosy) is gone as they are traveling down the road to go to present themselves to the priest. They are no longer unclean outcasts; they have been cleansed; they have received catharsis. But has their group identity changed? After all, who is going to believe it? Doesn’t this experience need some processing time? Maybe sticking together and sharing the experience is a way to maintain their group identity.

One of them, however, is willing to change how he thinks about himself. He is willing to change his identity, to associate with the source of his cleansing rather than the old community of inclusive isolation. It is this identity changing move that makes the difference. The one formerly known as leper has chosen to identify himself with the Master rather than with the others formerly known as lepers. No longer is this one, AKA leper, he is faithful and in his faithfulness he doxologizes God and gives eucharistic thanks. DING!

Jesus responds to this thanksgiving with wonder. Weren’t there ten of you? Where are the other nine? If you are willing to change your identity, shouldn’t there be more of you who are willing? DING!

It’s possible this thankful one has not come of his own accord. Perhaps, when the ten find they are cleansed, the group identity of their shared disease may no longer be strong enough to keep them in community. They are no longer able to live together in the region between as one because now their own social prejudices separate them. There is one among them who is a Samaritan (Σαμαρίτης, Samaritēs), a foreigner (ἀλλογενής, allogenēs). Their oneness is broken. They are unable to find a new commonality in the Master. Instead they choose old ways of segregation.  So the Samaritan turns back and glorifies (δοξάζω, doxazō) God giving thanks (εὐχαριστέω, eucharisteō) that there is a new community of Jesus and his followers to belong to. The cleansed has been linked to a new oneness. In the region between this is possible because Jesus, unlike the rich man, is able to see, recognize and appreciate Lazarus(es) covered with sores and show mercy. DING!

I prefer to interpret the Samaritan’s actions as choice freely made rather than the result of prejudicial treatment, but, in either case, his identity changes: he becomes a follower of the Master.  I believe that this passage is more about trusting who and whose we are, rather than the plight of the other nine. It is more about those times when we live in those regions between as foreigners to those around us, when we are dis-allowed by our culture, when we don’t seem to fit in with the people we find around us (as in the other nine). (I am not discounting the need in the 1^st century to quarantine people as a means of discovering whether a particular disease was dangerous and contagious.)

Can we see today where people are quarantined unjustly? Can we recognize groups of socially ostracized people who need merciful wholeness in Christ and understand that only some will be able to change their identity? Can we acknowledge that some others will benefit from those communities of cathartic healing-wholeness without embracing their new identity?

Is it possible that we have made the church’s identity that of the modern leper, segregated from the rest of society by our own practice of inclusive isolation that is crying for mercy and cathartic healing-wholeness? Are we, as the church, willing to turn away from those practices of communal quarantine that keep us separated from one another? Can we find our way into the region between where the chasm of despair is mercifully filled with the Master’s cathartic healing hope? Is there space for doxological praise and eucharistic thanksgiving for the healing forgiveness that comes from the cross and resurrection, the cross and resurrection sending us out into the world able to recognize and acknowledge others in need? Can we, when we hear those words of healing, “Go, your faith has saved (σῴζω, sōzō) you”, proceed, skipping down the road, or dancing, maybe even running, with a hand in the air, one foot raised and the other almost touching the road praising God and giving thanks, not thanking God for what we will get, but for what we have? If we can, imagine with me what the world might look like then.

Jesus, Master, have mercy!  DING!