Be Loved

January 11, 2026 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Be Loved” Matthew 3:13-17

Baptism of the Lord Sunday often gets ministers thinking about baptisms they have been involved with over the years. One of my most memorable baptisms was during the height of the pandemic. A local neighbor, who was often down on his luck and suffered from serious mental illness, stopped by my office regularly for pastoral care or help from the deacons’ fund. I’ll call him Fred (not his real name). As the COVID lockdown ground on and Fred became increasingly isolated, he asked if I would baptize him.

In our tradition, baptism is typically done in the midst of Sunday worship with the pastor, the person being baptized, and the whole congregation participating in the rite. Could we baptize when we couldn’t even gather for worship? Could I welcome Fred into a congregation that had never met him face-to-face or contended with his odd behaviors? I also suspected that Fred had been baptized before and, for church purposes, he didn’t need any further sprinkling. Yet I also recognized that Fred’s baptismal request was about more than a sacramental action.

I said, “Yes,” and the session approved. We livestreamed the service so that anyone who wished could join us virtually. There were only 4 of us in the Great Hall of the church for the baptism: me, Fred, Duane, and one of Fred’s friends, who responded to every element of the brief baptismal service with loud choruses of “Praise the Lord!” and “Thank you, Jesus!” and “Hallelujah!” It was memorable. Perhaps more than any other baptism, I was keenly aware that this baptism was about love. Fred, who struggled and suffered so profoundly with mental illness, needed to know that God loved him.

In our gospel lesson today, we heard the voice of God, thundering from the heavens as Jesus emerged from the waters of his baptism. God said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” We’ve heard this story so often that we never stop to think that as Jesus emerged from the muddy Jordan, he hadn’t even begun his ministry. He hadn’t preached a single sermon. He hadn’t cleansed any lepers or healed any paralytics. He hadn’t cast out any demons or restored sight to blind eyes. He hadn’t changed the water to wine or multiplied the loaves and the fish. All those praiseworthy actions were yet to unfold.

In the eyes of the world, Jesus hadn’t done a darn thing to deserve God’s love. He was just a poor, pious carpenter from a backwater town in Galilee. But Jesus didn’t have to do a single thing to earn God’s love. God’s love was simply there, in abundance, sailing down from the heavens, thundering over the waters. As the newly baptized Jesus basked in that holy love, he was filled with love. He longed for his neighbors to know their belovedness and to live as God’s beloved people.

The love that God pronounced over Jesus in his baptism became the driving force of his ministry. Rabbi Jesus taught that faithful living is really all about love, saying, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength; and love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus instructed his disciples that they must love one another as he had loved them. Jesus reached out to the world with God’s love, his every act a miracle of love: healing the sick, forgiving the sinner, welcoming outcasts, teaching women, blessing children, speaking tough truth to power, and raising the dead to new life. Jesus poured himself out in love.

Indeed, the beloved son gave his life, so that we might know that we are all God’s beloved children. We don’t have to do a darn thing to earn God’s love. It’s simply there for us, in abundance, sailing down from the heavens, thundering over the waters of our own baptisms, living and breathing in Jesus Christ.

Many of us go through life out of touch with our belovedness. At times, it is because we are not loved very well by others. We grow up in families where love is conditional. It all depends on how attractive we are, how neat we keep our room, how good our report card is, or how well we perform on the athletic field. Sometimes we have personal experiences where our love and trust are ill-used. Those entrusted with our care abuse us. The one to whom we gave our heart breaks it. The friend who held our confidence betrays it. At other times, we forget our belovedness because we live in a society where the measure of our worth isn’t determined by how God sees us, but by the size of our paycheck, the car we drive, the title we bear, the color of our skin, our gender, or our convictions. And then there are the times when we lose our sense of being beloved because we haven’t been very loving. We’ve hurt others; we’ve committed sins; we’ve rejected God’s love. Life and personal experience wear us down, leaving us alienated and estranged, forgetful that we are beloved. We fail to realize that God’s love is simply there for us, always there for us. God whispers to each of us, “You are my beloved child. With you I am well pleased.”

The late Henri Nouwen spent much of his life as an educator, teaching at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard, but Nouwen eventually left his vocation as an educator to share his life with people who lived with intellectual and physical disabilities at the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto. In his book The Life of the Beloved, Nouwen described his encounter with Janet, a developmentally disabled woman who struggled to know her belovedness. One day, Janet came to Nouwen, saying, “Henri, can you bless me?” He responded by making a little cross on her forehead. She said, “Henri, it doesn’t work. No, that is not what I mean.” Embarrassed, Nouwen said, “I gave you a blessing.” She said, “No, I want to be blessed.” Nouwen kept thinking, “What does she mean?”

They had a little worship service at the Daybreak Community. All the residents were gathered there. After the service Henri told his little congregation, “Janet wants a blessing.” He was wearing his alb, a white robe with long sleeves, and Janet came forward and said, “I want to be blessed.” Janet put her head against Henri’s chest, and he spontaneously put his arms around her and held her. Looking right into Janet’s eyes, Henri said, “Blessed are you, Janet. You know how much we love you. You know how important you are. You know what a good woman you are.” Janet looked back and said, “Yes, yes, yes, I know,” and suddenly all sorts of energy seemed to return to her as feelings of alienation and sadness left her. She realized that she was beloved and blessed.

When Janet went back to her seat, others said, “I want that kind of blessing, too.” The residents, one by one, came to Father Nouwen and he embraced and blessed them. John, a big, burly, able-bodied staff member said, “Henri, can I have a blessing, too?” Nouwen put his hands on John’s shoulders and said, “John, you are blessed. You are a good person. God loves you. We love you. You are important.”

Henri Nouwen learned from his neighbors at L’Arche that we all need to be loved. We all need to be assured of our belovedness. As followers of Christ, we are called to remind others that they are precious and beloved. We share God’s love with one another, and that holy love becomes the driving force of our life’s ministry. We become a blessing for our families, our church, and our community. The love of God that surrounds us in our baptisms is meant to move through us. Our every act can become a small miracle of love that brings healing, welcome, forgiveness, good news, and new life to our broken world.

My buddy Fred, whom I baptized in that unorthodox-pandemic-livestreamed sacrament, seemed happier and more at peace after his baptism. Aware of his isolation, I would pick up Chinese food from time to time and walk up to Fred’s apartment for lunch with him. We talked a lot about Jesus and what it means to be loved and how hard it is to live with mental illness. About a year after his baptism, Fred suffered a grand mal seizure and died alone in his apartment. I am confident that he knew that he was loved and that he was welcomed home with the words, “You are my beloved Son.”

My friends, we are beloved, and we don’t have to do a darn thing to earn that love. God’s love is simply there for us, a holy blessing that surrounds us, sailing down from the heavens, thundering in the waters of our baptism, echoed in the voice of the beloved community. May we go forth in love to be a blessing to others.

Resources:

Eric Barreto. “Commentary on Matthew 3:13-17” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 9, 2011. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/baptism-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-313-17-7

Diane Chen. “Commentary on Matthew 3:13-17” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 8, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/baptism-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-313-17-6

Kari Alldredge. “Commentary on Matthew 3:13-17” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 11, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/baptism-of-our-lord/commentary-on-matthew-313-17-7

Henri Nouwen. The Life of the Beloved. Crossroad Publishing Company, 1992.

Matthew 3:13-17

¹³Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. ¹⁴John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” ¹⁵But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now, for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then he consented. ¹⁶And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw God’s Spirit descending like a dove and alighting on him. ¹⁷And a voice from the heavens said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Lazarus, Then and Now

September 28, 2025 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Lazareth, Then and Now” Luke 16:19-31

Imagine Saranac Lake on July 25, 1890 when an organizing service of worship took place right here, the sanctuary so new that it lacked windows and seats. Rough wooden benches held worshipers, and hymns were sung a cappella, the sounds of Presbyterian harmonies gently drifting across the village. Church Street was unpaved, the street alternately dusty or muddy, dotted with riders and horse-drawn wagons. The village’s ten-block commercial district was two years away from its first phase of construction. The surrounding hills of Pisgah, Dewey, and Baker were clear cut, the trees sent down the Hudson to build New York City. Helen Hill was a grassy knoll called the Sheep Meadow, but it would soon undergo a residential building boom. The local population had swelled to 1,582 permanent residents, tripling in size over the past few years. In the next decade, it would quadruple.

Everywhere, the sounds of construction rang out. That summer, the Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium built three cure cottages and a large open-air amusement pavilion. Local residents were adding additions to their homes, tacking on porches, and taking in borders. New homes were rented at a premium that enabled owners to pay off their building debt within two years. With our short Adirondack building season, even Sunday mornings would have been punctuated by the sounds of hammers and saws, workman’s shouts and teams of horses hauling wagons.

We were booming, thanks to the “White Plague” of tuberculosis. The crowded living conditions, poor air quality, and squalid poverty of American cities were a breeding ground for the disease. In those days before antibiotics, a tuberculosis diagnosis felt like a death sentence. It started with coughing, night sweats, fever, weight loss, and bloody sputum. It progressed to organ failure and death. By 1907, 400 Americans were dying of tuberculosis every day. Dr. E.L. Trudeau spurred the hopes of patients everywhere that a miracle cure had been found in Saranac Lake when he publicized that the cold air, rest, good food, and leisure of the Adirondacks had put his TB into remission. Hurting people from across the nation and around the world, desperate for healing, rode the new railroad to the village looking for renewed health. These TB patients, desperate, sick, and far from home, would have been among the most isolated and vulnerable people that we could possibly imagine.

In our reading from Luke’s gospel, Jesus told a story about a rich man and the desperately ill neighbor who languished at his gate. Jesus used the Greek word plousios to describe the rich man, meaning a wealthy landowner who did not labor for a living. He lived large, clotheded in royal purple and fine linen, feasting on sumptuous food, and hosting lavish parties. Jesus described the sick man, Lazarus, with the Greek word ptoxos, meaning the abject poor, a homeless beggar without the support of property, friends, or family. He was so weakened that he couldn’t even shoo away the dogs drawn to his festering wounds. Although they were neighbors, the rich man didn’t seem to see Lazarus, while the sick man dreamt of eating the crumbs that fell from his rich neighbor’s table. Jesus painted a stark and uncomfortable picture of the extremes of our human condition.

According to Jesus’ parable, death brought a great reversal. Lazarus, who suffered so in life, found a privileged position in death, seated by the Patriarch Abraham at the heavenly banquet. The rich man, on the other hand, was in Hades, tormented by flames and an unquenchable thirst. It comes as a surprise to hear that the rich man not only knew Lazarus, he also felt he could order him around: come and relieve my thirst with a glass of cold water; go and tell my brothers to change their ways. We can imagine the shock that the rich man felt when he learned that his indifference to the suffering of his neighbor, his flagrant disregard for the requirements of scripture, had built a great chasm, not only between himself and Lazarus, but also between himself and God.

When our seventeen original members signed their names to the church’s brand-new, leather-bound session ledger on July 25, 1890, they made a bold commitment to love and worship God right here. They also made a sincere commitment to their vulnerable neighbors whom they knew to be at their gate. Jane “Jennie” Conklin came to Saranac Lake from Rochester in the spring of 1890 with her husband John as he sought the cold air cure for tuberculosis. By year’s end, John was dead, leaving Jennie with three young children and a small sum that she used to build the Conklin Cottage at the corner of Main and Church Streets. There she tended patients in need of compassion and care, much as she had tended her husband. Likewise, the Podmore and Lattrell families, who were also among our founding members, were proprietors of cure cottages.

By 1893, the church had created what was known as the Fellowship Fund, which benefited neighbors in need through personal pledges. Poor boxes to receive donations for the relief of the “sick poor” were installed inside the church door. The church welcomed tubercular patients that never entered this sanctuary and certainly never made a pledge to the church, like Miss Fletcher, who was received into the membership of the church by two elders, dispatched to her bedside at the O’Malley Cottage. Our third pastor, the Rev. Armitage Beardsley, came to us in 1895 fresh from seminary. He saw the sanitoriums and cure cottages of the village as his mission field. He soon contracted TB, and by September 1897 was so ill that he was forced to resign. His touching letter of farewell is pasted into the session minutes of the time. News of his death followed within weeks.

Without question, our most dedicated advocate of the “sick poor” was Rev. Hiram Lyon, who served the church from 1927 to 1937. He came to Saranac Lake in 1925 in need of the cold air cure, following his graduation from Union Seminary in New York City. When our pastor Rev. George Kennedy Newell died of pneumonia shortly before Christmas in 1926, the church looked to young Hiram to fill the pulpit. Afraid that his newfound health wouldn’t last, he agreed to serve for a one-year trial period, and against all odds, he thrived. Hiram believed that God had placed this congregation in a unique position to care for vulnerable neighbors with tuberculosis. He cast the vision for the church to hire a Parish Visitor, who would travel to cure cottages, sanitoriums, and local hospitals to bring patients hope, cheer, and the love of Christ. In October 1928, the job went to Miss Christine Burdick a recent graduate of the Boston University School of Religious Education and Social Service. Christine made as many as 2,000 visits in a year, offering compassionate listening, caring presence, and fervent prayers. Walls of loneliness, isolation, and fear came tumbling down as Christine shared the love of Christ with neighbors who must have felt every bit as vulnerable as Lazarus at the gate.

Jesus’ parable of the rich man and his desperate neighbor is a story about a failure to love. The rich man failed to love God with all his heart and mind and soul and strength. He also failed to love his neighbors as himself. The rich man saw Lazarus as a blight on his landscape, not as a brother, a fellow child of Abraham, deserving of love and compassion, mercy and care. It never occurred to the rich man that his abundance was a gift from God, meant to be shared for the common good and the particular care of his vulnerable neighbor. Today as we commemorate our anniversary, we celebrate our ancestors in the faith, those saints who gathered on Sunday mornings to express their heartfelt love for God and then went forth into the week to love their neighbors, especially the most vulnerable ones.

Today, we are called to claim that legacy for ourselves. We honor Jane Conklin and Armitage Beardsley, Hiram Lyon and Christine Burdick when we dare to go forth and do likewise, expressing our love for God with our worship and music, and opening our hearts and hands to care for those who need it most.

I want to wrap up my message by naming some of the ways that we bless neighbors in times of vulnerability. Now, if you have ever participated in any of these ministries or perhaps been blessed by these ministries, let me know with an “Uh-huh,” an “Amen,” or perhaps a clap offering. Ready?

We knit prayer shawls, lap robes, and baby blankets to bless those in need of blessing.

We give generously to our Deacons Fund, to help neighbors pay rent or make car repairs, cover medical bills or make essential purchases.

We visit folks who are hospitalized, homebound, or live at Will Rogers and Elderwood, sharing love and communion.

We cook delicious meals and deliver them to those who are bouncing back from surgery, illness, or grief.

We grow beautiful produce to feed our Food Pantry friends, and we bring in paper goods for neighbors at Grace Pantry.

We raise funds and awareness about hunger in the CROP Walk.

We partner with our ecumenical friends to house the homeless and help them transition to independent living.

We pray our hearts out on the prayer chain.

We love and welcome immigrants and refugees.

I could say more, but brunch is waiting. Thank you to those bold seventeen original members who launched this great endeavor to love. Thank you to all of you, who so boldly claim that legacy with care and compassion, near and far. Lazarus is at the gate, my friends. May we go forth to love.

Luke 16:19-31

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26 Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27 He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— 28 for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ 29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”

First Presbyterian Church of Saranac Lake

Have Mercy

March 30, 2025 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Have Mercy” Luke 10:25-37

It was a Sunday morning and Rev. Stephen Farris was late. He was filling in at a small church for a few months, and it was an icy day, not unlike today. By the time he got his car defrosted, he knew he was cutting it close. Wouldn’t you know that he hit every red light along the way? At the biggest intersection, while he sat anxiously waiting for the light to change, an older man, leaning on a cane, started to slowly cross the road in front of him. As the crosswalk light turned amber and then red, the older man tried to hurry. His cane slipped on a patch of ice and he fell, heavily.

In the split second that it took Pastor Stephen to put the car in park and reach for the door to get out, many thoughts flashed through his mind. He thought about the time it would take to help the man, call the rescue squad, and ensure he got to safety. He thought about the disappointment of his parishioners, who would sit in the pews waiting and wondering. Another thought crossed his mind. He could just drive away. He would make it to church in time to start the service, and he could trust that someone with more time would come along to ensure that the fallen man got the help he needed.

The story of the Good Samaritan is so familiar to us that most of us know it by heart. It all starts with a provocative question, “Who is my neighbor?” As Jesus tells his story, we can imagine the steep and windy road where the poor man was attacked by robbers and left bloodied, bruised, naked, and nearly lifeless in a ditch. We can see first the priest and then the Levite hurry by, even though they are righteous men who should help. We can see the Samaritan, that hated outsider, stopping for pity’s sake: tending wounds, transporting, lodging, and arranging for further needs. It’s an example story in which the enemy is held up as the neighbor by virtue of his extraordinary mercy, and we are told to go and do likewise.

Mercy, in Hebrew hesed, is a fundamental virtue of Judaism. Our Israelite ancestors believed that they were called to be merciful because God is merciful. God had chosen Abraham and Sarah to be a blessed covenant people, even though they were old, childless, and as good as dead. Later, in God’s mercy, God had heard the cries of the Hebrew people in bondage to Pharaoh and sent Moses with ten plagues to soften Pharaoh’s hard heart and set the people free. God had brought Israel through forty years in the wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey. God’s mercy was a freely given gift to a people in special need.

The prophets called the people of Israel to see that mercy, hesed, wasn’t just for some. A close translation of Micah 6:8 calls us to “seek justice, love mercy (hesed), and walk humbly” with God. Mercy involves active concern for the wellbeing of all the people of God, not just those known personally to us. In fact, God spoke through the prophets that the people of Israel had a particular duty to show mercy to the most vulnerable people of the community: the widow, orphan, and resident alien (Jer. 22:3, Zech. 7:9-10).

The early church was founded upon this ancestral virtue of mercy, hesed. From its earliest days, the church saw Jesus as the ultimate revelation of God’s mercy. Jesus was God’s shocking and merciful choice to be flesh, live among us, and suffer for us. Jesus, of course, served as both role model and instructor in the way of mercy. Whether feeding crowds or reaching out a helping hand to heal the leper, Jesus showed his followers what mercy looks like. He also left them with a few roadmaps, like the story of the Good Samaritan, to show us the way.

Jesus’ friends followed his example, responding to God’s incredible mercy by sharing their own acts of mercy. The first office of the church—deacon—was created by the apostles in Jerusalem to address the needs of widows. The first churchwide offering, collected by the Apostle Paul from the Gentile churches in Greece, was received to help victims of famine in Jerusalem.

In his book, The Rise of Christianity, sociologist Rodney Stark argues that Christianity was transformed from a marginalized sect of Judaism to the leading religion of the Roman Empire in only three centuries because Christians practiced mercy. The apostles and those who would follow them, tended to souls and to bodies. They shared the core practices of mercy that Jesus taught in his Parable of the Sheep and Goats. They fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, clothed the naked, tended the sick, visited prisoners, and welcomed strangers. As they did so, they trusted that they were serving Jesus, who promised to come to them in the least of these, his little brothers and sisters. In the year 1281, the Archbishop of Canterbury John Pecham called for a council of the bishops of the church to gather at Lambeth. There they established the “Seven Acts of Mercy,” which codified those merciful practices and the burial of the dead as the core mission of Christians.

This ruling on the Seven Acts of Mercy led to a flowering of medieval artwork as churches and patrons commissioned paintings, stained glass, and murals that would teach their parishioners what mercy looked like. In 1504 in the Church of St. Lawrence in Amsterdam, the Master of Alkmaar painted a series of seven panels to show the seven acts. In the panel entitled “Feeding the Hungry,” a woman holds a basket of freshly baked bread. Her husband stands with his back to a crowd of hungry neighbors and distributes the bread, passing it without prejudice to the unseen hands that wait behind him. A disabled man with twisted legs, who scoots along on his bottom, reaches up for a loaf. A poor woman with a naked child waits her turn. A blind man in a tattered cloak with a little person tied to his shoulders holds out a hand in hopes of bread. As you look at the panel, it gives you a little shock to see Jesus, standing at the back of the crowd. He is dressed like a medieval peasant. He isn’t looking at the bread. He looks directly at you.

Acts of mercy continue to define vibrant churches like this one. We feed the hungry through the food pantry and Jubilee Garden. We give drink to the thirsty with shallow wells for sub-Saharan Africa. We clothe the naked and meet pressing needs with the help of our Deacons Fund. We tend the sick with home-cooked meals, caring calls, prayers, cards, and visits. We have visited prisoners over the years at federal, state, and county penitentiaries. We make it a practice of welcoming all—and we affirm that each week in worship. The example of the Good Samaritan and the Seven Acts of Mercy continue to inspire us to reach out in love in response to God’s great love for us and the needs of our neighbors.

Perhaps the most pressing questions of our time is “Who is my neighbor?” Is the refugee my neighbor? How about the undocumented migrant? Is the single Mom in section-8 housing my neighbor? How about the suburban soccer Mom? Is the disabled child, who takes up classroom time and needs a special aid hired at tax payer expense, my neighbor? Are LGBTQ people my neighbor? How about the white supremacist? The Christian nationalist? The gang banger? The bleeding-heart Yankee liberal? The Q-anon conspiracy theorist? Do we draw lines, and if so, where? Believe me, there are powers and principalities who are drawing the lines even as I speak. They will be glad to tell you who is not your neighbor, who is beyond the pale of mercy.

In Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan, the wounded man receives critically needed help from a traditional enemy. The wounded man receives the help even though, if not in such distress, he might hate, reject, and despise the Samaritan who helped him. The Samaritan proves that he is a neighbor by choosing to cross centuries-old lines of hatred and prejudice in order to be merciful to someone who needs it. When John Calvin wrote about this story, he said that it forces us to admit “that our neighbor is the man most foreign to us, for God has bound all men [and women] together for mutual aid.” Perhaps we can only truly appreciate this holy bond that makes neighbors of us all when we are the one who is lying in the ditch, weeping as we are passed by.

I’d like to return to Pastor Stephen at the icy intersection. As he put his car in park and reached for the door, his mind was flooded with possibilities. Stay and help the fallen man, even if he would be late for his responsibilities at church. Turn his head and go, let it be someone else’s problem. No one would be the wiser. Before he could pull the handle to open the door, the fallen man got up. He looked around and gave Pastor Stephen a dirty look for witnessing his icy tumble. He limped away, leaning on his cane. Pastor Stephen put the car in drive and continued to church. He made it there just in time for the service. He still wonders what he would have done if the situation had taken a different turn.

May we go forth to be merciful as God is merciful.

Resources

Douglas Otati. “Theological Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Mary Miller Brueggemann. “Pastoral Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Stephen J. Farris. “Homiletical Perspective on Luke 10:25-37” in Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, vol. 1. Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Katherine Sakenfeld. “Love (OT)” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 4, K-N. Doubleday, 1992.

Philip H. Towner. “Mercy” in Baker’s Evangelical Dictionary of Biblical Theology. Baker Books, 1996.

Steven Croft. “The Seven Acts of Mercy” in Letters from the Bishop, The Diocese of Oxford, Feb. 27, 2016.

Rodney Stark. The Rise of Christianity. Harper Collins, 1997.

Luke 10:25-37

²⁵An expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ²⁶He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” ²⁷He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” ²⁸And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

²⁹But wanting to vindicate himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” ³⁰Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead. ³¹Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. ³²So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. ³⁴He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. ³⁵The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him, and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ ³⁶Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” ³⁷He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Master of Alkmaar. Seven Works of Mercy, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57901 [retrieved March 30, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Master_of_Alkmaar_-_The_Seven_Works_of_Mercy_(detail)_-_WGA14368.jpg.

Be Opened

September 8, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Be Opened” Mark 7:24-37

When I came to Saranac Lake in January 2005, we needed a new sign for the church. The old sign was made many years ago by Skip’s Dad. The wooden boards were lovingly hand-routed and painted. But too many Adirondack winters had taken their toll. Session debated the size, shape, and color of the replacement sign. But what inspired most discussion was the message we included, which felt a little radical at the time, “All are welcome.”

When session decided to broadcast that message, we were remembering the years of conflict that we were leaving behind. We wanted to send a hopeful, healing message to the community, a message to inspire those who felt a little like outsiders to come on in. I know that it worked on at least one occasion. One Sunday, a couple of out-of-town visitors in full motorcycle gear joined us for worship. They wore black jackets, chaps, and big motorcycle boots. The back pew had never seen so much leather. In visiting with them after the service, they said that they had wanted to go to church somewhere in Saranac Lake but felt a little uncomfortable about their appearance. They finally decided that any church that put “All are welcome” on the sign was their best bet for warm hospitality. I hope that we lived up to their expectations.

In Jesus’ day, religious traditionalists had strong opinions about who was and was not welcome, not only in church but also in God’s Kingdom. Mark’s seventh chapter explores this question of God’s acceptance and welcome. In the verses leading up to today’s reading, Jesus was under attack by the Pharisees and scribes. Those religious traditionalists looked at Jesus’ disciples, saw their failure to observe rituals of purity, like handwashing before eating, and decided that neither the disciples nor Jesus was holy enough. In their opinion, failure to keep the traditions of the elders rendered the disciples unclean and unwelcome in the eyes of God.

In some of the boldest teaching of his ministry, Jesus denounced this narrow-minded belief. Jesus argued that it is what comes out of a person that separates them from God and neighbor. God was less concerned about handwashing or a kosher diet and more concerned about idolatry, adultery, theft, hypocrisy, slander, and malice.

The two encounters in today’s gospel reading probably stretched even Jesus’ understanding of God’s welcome. After his clash with his opponents, Jesus withdrew to the seaside city of Tyre beyond the Galilee, seeking a quiet place to pray and find refreshment. But the word soon got out. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door. Jesus was beseeched for healing, and he wasn’t very happy about it.

The woman who implored Jesus to heal her child had three strikes against her. She was a Gentile, outside the covenant between God and Israel. Not only was she a Gentile, she was the worst sort of Gentile—a Syro-Phoenician. The evilest woman in the Hebrew scriptures, Jezebel, was a Syro-Phoenician princess who brought idolatry and immorality to the reign of her Israelite husband King Ahab. What’s even worse, this woman was flouting the bounds of good behavior. In a time and place when women didn’t speak to men outside their family, she was on her knees, imploring a strange man to do her a favor. Utterly scandalous! Jesus had every reason to say, “No.” Indeed, the Pharisees and scribes, with whom Jesus had recently argued, would have congratulated him on his good judgment. When Jesus called the woman a “dog,” he sounded a lot more like them than he did like the Jesus we know and love. Didn’t he?

The gospel might have stayed good news only for Jews if the Syro-Phoenician woman hadn’t challenged Jesus. She demanded just a few crumbs of God’s welcome for Gentile dogs, like her sick child. In response, we glimpse a shift in Jesus’ understanding. He sees that, in his Father’s Kingdom, this woman didn’t belong under the table, begging for table scraps. In his Father’s Kingdom, she had a place at the table, alongside the children of Israel. The proof of Jesus’ insight came immediately. Jesus blessed her for her bold speech, in Greek—her logos, her word, her wisdom—and he sent her home. There she found her child waiting, right as rain.

Perhaps Jesus struggled with the boldness of God’s welcome because he soon encountered another healing request that would have been out-of-bounds for scribes and Pharisees. As Jesus returned to Galilee, he traveled through the Decapolis, the ten city-states to the east of the sea. These communities, planted three hundred years earlier when Alexander the Great claimed Israel for his empire, were largely Gentile and culturally Greek. When those Greek neighbors brought to Jesus a man who was hearing- and speech-impaired, Jesus didn’t rebuke them or call them dogs. Instead, the suffering man got a private audience. There was touching and spitting, speaking and sighing. Jesus’ word, “Ephphatha”—be opened—may have been part of the man’s healing experience, but perhaps it was also part of Jesus’ own healing experience—and a calling to all who would be his followers. “Ephphatha”—be opened. Don’t build fences or set limits on God’s love.

Mark’s seventh chapter is a great comfort to us. We, who have lived enough or have the depth of faith to acknowledge our personal sinfulness and brokenness, can rejoice in the promise that God loves and welcomes us, despite our painful pasts and our present mistakes. We are welcome, and there isn’t anything that we can do that will render us unlovable or irredeemable. Jesus has done the hard work on the cross so that even though our sins abound, his righteousness prevails. There is a place for us at the table. Thank you, Lord.

Yet Mark’s seventh chapter is a challenge to us. Part of our human sinfulness is that we always want to draw lines, create in-groups and out-groups. We see it in high school cliques. We see it in partisan politics. We even see it in our penchant to form factions within churches or denominations. There lurks within each of us the scribe or Pharisee, who keeps watch, rushes to judgment, and wants to limit God’s love. Today’s reading suggests that God invites us to get over ourselves and get out of God’s way so that healing may abound. God’s great longing is for a church and a world where no one feels like they have to beg for table scraps when it comes to God’s love and mercy.

I’m not sure that when session approved the words, “All are welcome,” for the sign out front that we thought we were making a bold theological statement, right out of the seventh chapter of Mark’s gospel. We just wanted folks to worship with us. We may have even wanted to send a friendly message to those who had left us, with whom we had quarreled so bitterly in the dark, divided days of our past. But perhaps when we chose that message, God was working on us. God was summoning us to open up, to see the immensity of God’s love and welcome.

I suspect that if Jesus were sitting in the back pew today, wearing his motorcycle leathers, he would remind us that God isn’t finished with us. There are other people out there whom God calls us to welcome, folks who will test our limits and make us feel uncomfortable. I bet they will have tattoos and body piercings. They’ll probably love people whom we don’t think they should love. I imagine that some of them will be developmentally disabled or mentally ill or physically impaired. They’ll probably have big, obnoxious placards in their front yards for candidates from that other political party. They’ll drive gas-guzzling Cadillac Escalades or energy-efficient Teslas. They’ll stand in line in front of us at Stewart’s and make us wait while they buy cigarettes and a billion lottery tickets. The’ll stumble up Broadway after a long night at the Rusty Nail.

Be opened, my friends. God’s love is bigger than we can imagine.

Resources

Alyce McKenzie. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 6, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 9, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 5, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Courtney V. Buggs. “Commentary on Mark 7:24-37” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 8, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 7:24-37 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Joann White. “Everyone Gets Healed,” Sept. 9, 2012.

Mark 7:24-37

²⁴From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, ²⁵but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. ²⁶Now the woman was a gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. ²⁷He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” ²⁸But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” ²⁹Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” ³⁰And when she went home, she found the child lying on the bed and the demon gone.

³¹Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went by way of Sidon toward the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. ³²They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. ³³He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. ³⁴Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” ³⁵And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. ³⁶Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one, but the more he ordered them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. ³⁷They were astounded beyond measure, saying, “He has done everything well; he even makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”

Extravagant Love

March 24, 2024June 16, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Extravagant Love” Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9

There are many ways to express love. In Japan, where public displays of affection are frowned upon, you might show your love for your husband by preparing an elaborate lunch and carefully packing it into a bento box to be unpacked later in the break room at work. In Fiji, if you are looking to make a special connection with your father-in-law or seek the forgiveness of someone whom you have wronged, then you would present them with the gift of a tabua—the ivory tooth of a sperm whale. In India, your love for someone and your hope that they might have good health and longevity is expressed in fasting on their behalf. In Alaska, the Tlingit people say that you know someone really loves you when they bring you dried fish.

We have our own ways of expressing love. When someone takes the time to learn our best-loved recipes and cook our favorite meal, we know we are loved. When a doting grandma plies her knitting needles or handpieces a quilt for us, we know we are loved. When a devoted dad spends hours teaching us how to play catch, build models, or tackle quadratic equations, we know we are loved. When someone proposes to us on the jumbotron at Yankee stadium in front of all those baseball fans, we know we are loved.

I suspect each of us has warm memories of feeling specially loved. Those loving moments can bring a smile to our worst day or feel like a lighthouse, guiding us through a storm. Love expressed at the right time, in the right way, may be just what we need to persevere and prevail over the hardship and sorrow that touch every life.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel describes a remarkable and timely act of love.

Jesus and his friends came to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover. The week began with a parade. On Palm Sunday, Jesus, humble and riding on a donkey like the long-promised Prince of Peace (Zech 9:9), traveled up to the Holy City. The pilgrims that surrounded Jesus celebrated, rejoicing with psalms of praise and waving palm branches as if Jesus were one of the Maccabees, newly returned from vanquishing their enemies. They spread their cloaks upon the road, like Israel’s old-time generals pledging allegiance to the new king.

But that week, Jesus would be plagued by the challenge and critique of powerful enemies. Scribes and Pharisees, chief priests and elders, all did their best to discredit and shame Jesus in front of the crowds that seemed to love him so. Soon the city’s mood would turn murderous. Soon his opponents would plot his death. As the week drew to a close, there would be another parade. Jesus, broken and bloodied, would drag a crossbeam through the streets of Jerusalem to his execution. The fans who had welcomed him with pleas of “Hosanna! Save us!” would utterly reject him, shouting “Crucify him!”

Between the Palm Sunday and Good Friday parades, a beautiful thing happened. As Jesus and his friends dined at the house of Simon the Leper in Bethany, their dinner party was interrupted by an uninvited guest: an unnamed woman. She broke open an alabaster jar and poured anointing oil on Jesus. The spikenard was pressed from plants that grew in the foothills of the Himalayas. It had been transported 4,000 miles overland by caravan to Israel. So valuable was this oil that a laborer would need to work 300 days to cover the expense. In today’s economy, where a day laborer might earn $15 an hour, the oil would cost $36,000. Poured out in a single, wildly generous stream, the oil flowed down upon Jesus’ head and over the collar of his robe. The conversation fell silent as the room filled with the sweet fragrance of unimaginable love and generosity.

In first-century Israel, anointing with oil was a gesture of love. In welcoming a guest, a host would offer water for the washing of hands and feet and a few drops of oil to bless the head. In the history of Israel, anointing with oil was a sign of God’s love and blessing for a chosen ruler. When the Prophet Samuel laid eyes on David, he broke out the anointing oil and poured it out on the boy who would one day be king. And, as Jesus indicated, oil was used to anoint the body of a beloved one, purifying and preparing the dead for the grave.

Mark tells us that the men who broke bread with Jesus were outraged by the woman’s action. Indeed, they scolded and shamed her like a bad child or a simpleton. But I suspect that their anger flared less from any genuine concern for the poor and more from the realization that she had done without a single word what they had not. She acted as host, extending a courtesy that Simon the Leper failed to practice. She took on the historically male role of prophet and proclaimed Jesus the Messiah. And she named the elephant in the room: the week would end in death. In the verses leading up to this story, Jesus’ enemies plotted his arrest and execution. In the verses following this story, Judas would accept a bribe to bring about betrayal. In three days, in the time of crisis, not one of the men reclining around the dinner table would come to Jesus’ defense.

Jesus came to the woman’s defense. He spends four verses praising the appropriateness and the timeliness of what she did. Jesus knew the dark truth that he’d soon be hanging from a cross. As the precious oil flowed down, I imagine that Jesus felt extravagantly loved. Like a Japanese husband opening his carefully packed lunchbox. Like a Tlingit person, feasting on the gift of dried fish. Like a child wrapped in Grammy’s homemade quilt. In the darkness of that night, Jesus might have felt as if the sun were shining on him. Perhaps it was the last time in his earthly life that Jesus felt truly loved—special, safe, treasured, appreciated, and understood.

We instinctively know that there is nothing better than extravagant love. We seize it in the moment and wrap it around us like a fiery mantle of glory. We hold it in our hearts as a remedy for the days when we are bullied at school or our best friend decides they’re not going to talk to us anymore or the boss is expecting the impossible or the nightly news leaves us shaking in our boots. Extravagant love is our lifeline in a world where folks want to set limits and attach strings, like the dinner guests buzzing like a nest of angry hornets about the foolishness and waste of what the woman did for Jesus.

Our world tends to limit love, to mete it out in tablespoons, to reserve it for those who “earn” it or “deserve” it, to lavish it upon the successful and the popular and the beautiful. But the unnamed woman with her alabaster jar of costly nard reminds us that God doesn’t work that way. Jesus didn’t work that way. Jesus lavished his love upon six-year-olds and sinners. He poured out his love upon unnamed women and Judas. He lavished his love upon the blind and lame, the deaf and demented, the paralyzed and possessed. Jesus poured out his life in extravagant love for you and for me. Jesus taught us that our highest and only calling in life is to love God and neighbor and self with all that we have and all that we are.

When we get right down to it, the woman with the alabaster jar knew, Jesus knew, we know that our essential calling is to love extravagantly. It’s only our brokenness that makes us want to turn away from the invitation to love. It’s only our sinfulness that prompts us to attach the strings, break out the tape measure, turn a harsh eye of judgment to the world around us, and debate who is really worthy of our generous and loving intent. But we, my friends, are called to love without counting the cost.

The woman with the alabaster jar disappears from the pages of scripture. We never see or hear from her again. Although all four gospels report that a woman anointed Jesus, they don’t agree upon who she was or why she did it or even what part of his body got anointed. Was it the head or was it the feet? But we remember her and the rightness and timeliness of her love. I like to imagine that after she left the home of Simon the Leper, with cheeks flushed by the shame heaped upon her by the men, she shook off the criticism. She held in her heart the words of Jesus. She knew that she had done a beautiful thing. Later, she imagined that as Jesus hung upon the cross, he held onto her love, that it guided him like a lighthouse through the storm, like a lifeline amid the pain and unfathomable sorrow. She continued to love with body, mind, spirit, and every last denarii, despite what the critics had to say.

Let us love extravagantly.

Resources:

Jouette Basler. “Exegetical Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Paul S. Berge, “Commentary on Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9” in Preaching This Week: Narrative Lectionary, April 1, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 11:1-10, Mark 14:3-11 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9” in Preaching This Week: Narrative Lectionary, March 20, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 11:1-11 or Mark 14:3-9 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Thomas Currie. “Theological Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Carmen Nanko-Fernandez. “Pastoral Perspective on Mark 14:3-9” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Editorial Team. “Exploring Affection: How Different Cultures Show Love” in Better Help, March 21, 2024.

Mark 11:1-11, 14:3-9

11When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples ²and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. ³If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” ⁴They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, ⁵some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” ⁶They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. ⁷Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. ⁸Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. ⁹Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
¹⁰Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

¹¹Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

³While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. ⁴But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? ⁵For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. ⁶But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. ⁷For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. ⁸She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. ⁹Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

Wholehearted Love

March 10, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Wholehearted Love” Mark 12:28-44

Progressive Insurance has been having some fun at the expense of young home owners. Have you seen the ads? Dr. Rick “coaches” young adults in letting go of the behaviors that are turning them into their parents. In one ad, he stands next to a dumpster with a young woman who introduces her peers to her tissue box covers. You know the kind made from plastic mesh that has been embroidered with yarn. Dr. Rick reminds her that tissues come in their own boxes, and the tissue box covers go into the dumpster.

Next up is a young man who has been holding onto odd pieces of wooden crown molding because you never know when you might need them.

“I do,” quips Dr. Rick, “Never.” Into the dumpster the crown molding goes.

Another man is next. He proudly displays the automobile floor mats that he has saved.

“Do you still own that car?” Dr. Rick asks. The answer is no and into the dumpster the floor mats go.

Finally, a woman bravely stands next to Dr. Rick. She is holding a large stack of plastic tubs, the kind that margarine comes in. She bravely says, “I know now that plastic is meant for recycling, not for saving my leftovers.”

“This is a big moment, people,” Dr. Rick celebrates.

The tag line on the ad is that Progressive can’t save us from becoming our parents, but they can save us a bundle on our home owner’s insurance. I can’t vouch for the truth of that claim—I’m not a Progressive customer. But I do know that I’ve laughed at the ad and its ability to call into question our assumptions and ways of doing things that may not be the best.

In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus calls into question the assumptions of his followers. It’s a lengthy teaching that begins as a scribe, impressed by Jesus’ teaching in the Temple courts, challenged the Lord to name which of the 613 laws of the Torah was the most important to observe. We all know Jesus’ answer by heart. We are to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. As our gospel lesson continues, we are given a glimpse of life in the Temple during that Passover week. Some worshippers have gotten the imperative to love right. They embody that greatest commandment. While others have fallen short.

Jesus first considered the scribes. For first century Israel, they were models of faithfulness as experts in the Torah. As the scribes enter the courts of the Temple, wearing beautiful, flowing, fringed robes, a way cleared before them. In a sign of respect, other worshippers lowered their voices and bowed their heads. Every so often a scribe would pause in his self-importance to offer a perfunctory prayer. Flowery, empty phrases were heaped up, without heart or soul. The disciples, with their secret longing for greatness, would have been impressed by the scribes, but Jesus saw that they had gotten it all wrong.

With their long years of study, the scribes knew what God required of them: wholehearted love for God and neighbor, especially their most vulnerable of neighbors, especially widows. Because they were unable to inherit, widows were dependent upon the guardianship of others. It was not uncommon for a first century husband to appoint in his will a Jewish legal expert—a scribe—to be the executor of his estate. This gave the executor authority to oversee the widow’s financial well-being. A corrupt scribe found legal ways to swindle a widow out of the provision that had been made for her. According to Jesus, the scribes were devouring for their own benefit the meager means left to the widow. At the heart of it, they loved neither God nor neighbor.

Jesus then wandered into the outer courts and took a seat opposite the treasury and watched the people. The Mishnah tells us that the treasury consisted of thirteen large metal boxes outside the Court of the Women. Those metal boxes had an unusual shape, broad at the bottom and very small at the top, so no one could reach a hand down in and take money out. A large gift made a loud noise as it was dropped, coin by coin, into the funnel and clinked to the bottom. A small gift to the treasury made very little noise.

Of all the gifts made, Jesus saw one as the most extraordinary, but his praise must have sounded ridiculous to the disciples. To begin with, the gift was made by a lowly and vulnerable widow, and the gift this widow made was very, very small. She gave two lepton, two tiny copper coins. Added together, those coins were worth 1/64th of the daily wage for a laborer. In light of today’s minimum wage for New York state of $15 an hour. The woman’s gift would have been $1.88. In the grand scheme of Temple economics, the widow’s gift was practically worthless.

Yet, as only Jesus could, he saw into the widow’s heart and realized that she had made an extraordinary gift—everything she had to live on. The words Jesus used for her offering are holon ton bion autaes, it literally means that she gave, “her whole life.” She alone, of all the worshippers in the Temple, truly loved God with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength.

It isn’t a Progressive ad, but as example stories go, Jesus couldn’t be any clearer. Don’t be like the scribes, whose piety is a big show, whose care for the vulnerable is a sham. Be like the widow, who gives her all for God, even when she has so little. From our twenty-first century vantage point, it’s hard to imagine how counter-cultural—even offensive—this teaching would have been. Instead of patterning themselves after some of the most powerful and spiritually influential people in the nation, the disciples were to identify with someone who was marginal and lowly. This extended example story about the scribes and the widow would have felt like a slap in the face, designed to reorient the disciples to the way of God’s Kingdom.

For those who were poor and vulnerable, however, Jesus’ words would have felt like a treasured affirmation. God wants our whole selves. We can give that, even if we are little, at-risk, even worthless in the eyes of the world. It’s an invitation to live wholeheartedly for God, which according to Jesus also demands that we live wholeheartedly for others.

Rufus M. Jones, one of the most influential Quaker thinkers of the 20^th century, taught that, “God’s life and our lives are bound together, as a vine with branches, as a body with members, so corporate are we that no one can give a cup of cold water to the least person in the world without giving it to God.” Our love and care for neighbors flows from our love for God. Indeed, love is the moral debt we owe to our neighbors, no matter how unworthy we may perceive them to be, because they bear the image of God—male and female, young and old, rich and poor, sinner and saint, widows or even young home owners who are becoming their parents. All are deserving of our love. All are an opportunity to put into action our love for God Almighty.

I imagine that as Jesus called his friends over with praise for the poor widow, he was thinking of another gift soon to be made. The widow’s gift anticipated the offering that the Jesus himself would make. Within days, Jesus would be arrested, unjustly tried, tortured, and condemned to death. Within days, Jesus would carry the cross through the streets of Jerusalem. Within days, he would hang on the cross, flanked by criminals, jeered at by spectators. Within days, Jesus would pour out his very life for the redemption of our world. Jesus would give his whole life—holon ton bion autaes—for us. It’s humbling and reorienting to realize that God has given it all for us.

Every Sunday—especially during the season of Lent when we reflect upon the cross—offers us the chance to be renewed in the way of love. We find the courage to make the counter-cultural choice for love when we begin to consider the enormity of God’s self-giving love for us, a love that was revealed in our Lord Jesus. We turn away from the ways that our piety has become like that of the scribes: showy, perfunctory, empty hearted, empty-headed, and empty handed. On our good days, we may even dare, like that poor widow to give our whole selves—holon ton bion autaes—in love for the Lord, who has given so much for us, who comes to us in the guise of our neighbors.

May we go forth to love wholeheartedly.

Resources:

N. Clayton Croy. “Commentary on Mark 12:28-44” in Preach This Week (Narrative Lectionary), March 6, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:28-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ira Brent Driggers. “Commentary on Mark 12:28-44” in Preach This Week (Narrative Lectionary), March 10, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 12:28-44 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ashley Fetters Maloy. “Afraid of becoming your parents? Dr. Rick comes to the rescue, smartly satirizing a generational divide” in The Washington Post, March 16, 2021. Accessed online at The story behind Dr. Rick of the Progressive insurance ads – The Washington Post

Victor McCracken. “Theological Perspective on Mark 12:28-34” in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Vol. 4. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Progressive Insurance ad Bing Videos

Mark 12:28-44

²⁸One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” ²⁹Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; ³⁰you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ ³¹The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” ³²Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; ³³and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ —this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” ³⁴When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

³⁵While Jesus was teaching in the temple, he said, “How can the scribes say that the Messiah is the son of David? ³⁶David himself, by the Holy Spirit, declared,

‘The Lord said to my Lord,
“Sit at my right hand,until I put your enemies under your feet.”’

³⁷David himself calls him Lord; so how can he be his son?” And the large crowd was listening to him with delight.

³⁸As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, ³⁹and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! ⁴⁰They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

⁴¹He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. ⁴²A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. ⁴³Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. ⁴⁴For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Give It Your All

February 18, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Give It Your All” Mark 10:17-31

Our mission focus during the season of Lent turns to One Great Hour of Sharing. This ecumenical offering was first observed in 1946. In the wake of World War II, the world was hungry and displaced. War had devastated farmland and disrupted supply chains. Hunger had been used as a weapon of war with German occupied lands from Holland to Russia experiencing mass starvation. There were fifty-five million refugees in Europe alone. In response to the global humanitarian crisis, the first One Great Hour of Sharing offering was received in 1946 with a goal of raising $1 million in the one hour, from 11AM until noon, when most American churches gathered for worship.

In 1949, a national radio broadcast on the Saturday evening before Easter promoted One Great Hour of Sharing. A host of famous people appeared on the program, including President Harry Truman and actors Gregory Peck and Ida Lupino. In his radio address, Truman tugged at the nation’s heartstrings saying, “There are thousands of children in foreign lands today who have no memory of their parents, no knowledge of the meaning of the words ‘home and family,’ and who have forgotten what it feels like to have enough to eat. There are hopeless thousands who wander among the shattered towns seeking a place to rest, seeking security and a chance to begin their lives anew. There are many who pray to God only in secret, fearing persecution if they profess their beliefs openly. It is hard for us to comprehend grief and distress such as this, because we in America are so much more fortunate.” This church participated in that 1949 offering. Members were invited to listen to their radios from 8-9PM on Holy Saturday and come to church to celebrate Easter and make a contribution the following morning.

Seventy-five years later, One Great Hour of Sharing is still going strong. The offering that we collect on Easter will benefit three programs of the denomination—Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, the Presbyterian Hunger Program, and Self-Development of People, initiatives that make a difference in the lives of vulnerable neighbors in the United States and around the world. Nowadays, we don’t have the President, or the likes of Gregory Peck, encouraging us to give. Instead, we have fish banks that the children, and those of us who feel a little childlike, will fill in the coming weeks to remember our at-risk global neighbors throughout the Lenten season.

In our lesson from Mark’s gospel, Jesus encouraged a “rich man” to consider parting with his affluence to help his hurting neighbors. We can imagine it. Breathless after his run, kneeling in the dust of the road at Jesus’ feet, the rich man wanted to know what he must do to inherit eternal life. I bet he was relieved to hear Jesus recite the instructions of the Torah – no murder, adultery, stealing, lying, or defrauding. Be sure to honor your parents. This man had been observing all those commandments from his youth, and he must have done so with great earnestness and integrity, because Jesus loved him for it.

There was only one thing lacking. Although the man was expert in keeping the Torah, he seemed to have fallen short in tzedakah or almsgiving, one of the most essential principles of Jewish piety. Our Jewish ancestors believed that, ultimately, everything belongs to God. While God could have created a world where everyone had exactly the same distribution of God’s bounty, God chose not to do so. Instead, some, like the rich man, were given much, while others had little. This uneven distribution of resources was how God invited faithful people to join their purpose to God’s purpose. They could live lovingly and generously so that God’s goodness could abound for all. Faced with Jesus’ invitation to sell what he owned for the blessing of his impoverished neighbors, the rich man balked. He turned his back on a life with Jesus and went away grieving.

I don’t know if many of us would consider ourselves rich, certainly not rich enough to be labeled by our neighbors “the rich man” or “the rich woman.” But when we see ourselves through the eyes of the world, we are truly blessed. The average daily wage for New York state is about $202. Compare that to the average global daily wage of $7.56. We earn twenty-seven times what our global neighbors earn. Those who live in the five poorest nations—Burundi, Afghanistan, Somalia, South Sudan, and Mozambique—survive on less than $1 a day. We earn two-hundred times what the world’s poorest neighbors are able to earn. We are rich!

Each day we make choices about how we are going to spend our relative affluence. I’ll share some examples from the Department of Labor’s latest report on consumer expenditures. The average gross household income in our country for 2022 was $72,961. We dedicated about 33% of that household income to shelter—paying the mortgage or rent, utilities, home improvements, and furnishings. We spent about 17% of our household income on transportation—car payments, maintenance, fuel, and insurance. Those seem like pretty essential expenditures to me. We are blessed to have homes and cars. Aren’t we?

We also choose to spend our household income on some less essential things. Our average household expense for eating meals out was $3,639. That was followed closely by our average annual household expense for entertainment—$3,429 for things like music, movies, apps, games, vacations, and sporting events. We like to look sharp while we are being entertained and eating out because the average household spent $1,970 on clothes, which far outpaced what we spent on reading $117. How fortunate we are to not only cover our basic expenses but to enrich our lives with vacations, special meals, new clothes, and good books.

We work hard to earn what we have. We may spend long years striving in tough jobs to give our families the sort of home life that we wish them to have. But I wonder if our spending patterns, especially for discretionary income, might shift if we thought of our relative wealth in the same way that Jesus invited the rich man to think of his money. Our relative affluence is a generous gift from God to bless our lives and to bless the lives of our impoverished neighbors. I wonder if our spending patterns might alter if we thought it was just as important to care for the well-being of our needy neighbor as it is to honor our fathers and mothers and to keep all those other commandments. I wonder what our household expenditures might look like if Jesus were writing the checks.

I think that Jesus would approve of the way our One Great Hour of Sharing Offering was used last year to help those who aren’t quite as blessed as we are. Presbyterian Disaster Assistance provided $3.1 million in grants to twenty-seven communities in the US and thirty-five countries around the world. We helped people like Bernadette, whose home began to crumble beneath her very feet when a 7.8 magnitude earthquake hit Aleppo, Syria a year ago. With help from PDA, her home was stabilized and rehabilitated. Bernadette says, “We offer our thanks to all who have given so generously. Our prayers likewise go out to all who stand by us and receive the Offering to ease our economic burdens and encourage us to stay in our country and continue witnessing to our Christian faith.”

That isn’t the only way our gifts made a difference. Through the Presbyterian Hunger Program, 525,000 pounds of seeds and seedlings were distributed to farmers around the globe. 875 chickens went to households in Guatemala and Colombia to provide an ongoing resource for eggs and meat. 105 women became self-employed in Malawi as they developed a bakery to serve rural communities. One Great Hour of Sharing doesn’t ask us to sell all we have and give the money to the poor, but it does invite us to consider how our thoughtful gifts can make a world-changing difference for our local and global neighbors.

In the last image that Mark’s gospel grants us of the “rich man,” he was shocked. Reeling from what Jesus had asked of him, he turned his back and walked away. We don’t know what happened after that. But I like to imagine that the rich man spent some time thinking about what he possessed, and he began to wonder if what he owned really owned him. He began to notice his neighbors more, especially the ones who suffered, who didn’t have enough food, who couldn’t afford to pay a daughter’s dowry, whose disability forced them to beg, whose hearts trembled every time the tax collector knocked at their door. As the rich man opened his heart to those in need, he saw that Jesus was right. He could help. He opened his hands, he loosened his purse strings, and everyone got blessed.

Resources:

Bureau of Labor and Statistics. “Consumer Expenditures—2022,” USDL-23-1943, September 8, 2023. Accessed online at https://www.bls.gov/cex

Claudio Carvalhaes, “Commentary on Mark 10:17-31” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 18, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 10:17-31 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Pat Cole. “Presbyterians celebrate 70 years of One Great Hour of Sharing” in Presbyterian News Service, March 6, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.presbyterianmission.org/story/presbyterians-celebrate-70-years-of-one-great-hour-of-sharing/

Jack Flynn. “Average Global Income [2023]: What Is the Median Income Worldwide?” in Zippia, April 13, 2023. Accessed online at https://ww.zippia.com.

Gloria Guzman and Melissa Kolar. “Income in the U.S.: 2022.” US Census Bureau, Sept. 12, 2023.

Raquel Lettsome. “Commentary on Mark 10:17-31” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 14, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 10:17-31 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

–. “Living on the Brink of Disaster” in Presbyterian News Service, February 13, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.presbyterianmission.org/weekly-offerings/2024/02/13/oghs-presbyterian-disaster-assistance/

Harry Truman. “Radio Address as Part of Interdenominational Program, ‘One Great Hour’” in the National Archives: Harry S. Truman Library Museum, March 26, 1949. Accessed online at https://www.trumanlibrary.gov/library/public-papers/62/radio-address-part-interdenominational-program-one-great-hour

Mark 10:17-31

¹⁷As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ¹⁸Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. ¹⁹You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” ²⁰He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” ²¹Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” ²²When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

²³Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” ²⁴And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! ²⁵It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” ²⁶They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” ²⁷Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

²⁸Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.” ²⁹Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, ³⁰who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. ³¹But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

By Heinrich Hofmann – Purchased by John D Rockefeller Jr, now residing at Riverside Church, New York, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14265296

Real Authority

January 28, 2024 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Real Authority” Mark 1:21-28

“Let’s get out of here! Floor it!” My friend Amy yelled in my ear. She had a death grip on my arm that would leave finger-shaped bruises.

I sat there frozen while Dr. Spahr tapped on my driver’s side window.

Dr. Spahr was the ultimate authority at CB West. At a time when dress codes were changing and administrators wore khakis, button down shirts, and blue blazers, Principal Spahr always wore a suit, black or charcoal. His somber neckties popped against starched white shirts. His thick, black-framed glasses might be considered hipster nowadays, but back then, they were seriously old school and uncool. He rarely smiled. He prowled the hallways with a ninja-like stealth that would catch you unaware. A trip to Dr. Spahr’s office could result in detention, suspension, or worse.

You did not want to run into Dr. Spahr when you were up to mischief, especially when you were on school property on a weekend night like we were. There was a collective gasp of anguish from my friends when I rolled down the car window. We were doomed.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel establishes Jesus as the new authority in Capernaum. Jesus was reading and interpreting scripture as a guest teacher at the synagogue on the sabbath day. The excellence of his words impressed everyone. Then, when an unclean spirit spoke out in the midst of the congregation, Jesus silenced it and demonstrated even more authority, driving the demon out of the afflicted man and setting him free. It was a synagogue assembly that no one would forget – great preaching and a miraculous healing, all thanks to Jesus who demonstrated a new and unprecedented authority.

The amazement of the people of Capernaum seems a little naïve to us. After all, we’ve been reading Mark’s gospel. We know that at Jesus’s baptism God spoke from the heavens saying, “This is my Son the Beloved.” And when Jesus was walking along the lakeshore, all he had to do was invite those fishermen to join him and they left everything behind. We expect great things from Jesus when he enters the synagogue. But those people in Capernaum? Not so much.

Those low expectations may have stemmed from the fact that there were plenty of “authorities” in Jesus’ day, but Jesus wasn’t one of them. There was a Roman garrison at Capernaum, and the centurion in charge controlled his men and the village. He wielded authority that came from the empire, with foreign occupation and the threat of violence.

Regional power was held by Herod Antipas, the Roman-appointed tetrarch of Galilee and Perea. Herod held authority to rule and collect taxes to support his kingdom and his emperor, oppressing and imprisoning those who might ask questions or resist his demands.

When it came to matters of religion, all eyes turned to the Temple in Jerusalem. There, priests held an authority that passed from father to son through the long generations. Standing in the middle between the people and God Almighty, a priest could pronounce you clean or unclean, offer sacrifices to atone for your sins, exclude you from the community of the righteous, or welcome you back home.

And when it came to scripture, authority was best left to the scribes, scholars who spent a lifetime studying the Hebrew Bible and memorizing the long history of biblical interpretation known as the traditions of the elders. The scribe’s authority derived from their eloquence, encyclopedic knowledge, and the prestige of the rabbis with whom they had apprenticed.

Roman commanders, client kings, priests, and scribes, these were the voices of authority for the people who had gathered for worship on that Sabbath morning in Capernaum. Yet one sermon from Jesus and one act of healing had people buzzing. Here was a new authority that made them sit up and notice. Here was an authority unlike any they had seen before.

Perhaps the buzz was about the big difference between how Jesus used his power and how all those first century authorities exercised their power. Jesus didn’t use his authority to exert control or curry political favor. He didn’t use his power to amass a fortune or build an impressive reputation. He didn’t use his authority to elevate himself above others or establish his unparalleled expertise. Instead, that sabbath day in Capernaum revealed that Jesus would use his power for others. He reminded those worshippers of God’s great love for God’s people. He chose to reach out with compassion in response to suffering. In God’s Kingdom, these are the hallmarks of real authority: to speak in ways that make the love of God known and to act in ways that bring healing and wholeness to others. This is the heart of the ministry that God would empower Jesus to pursue.

This is the sixth time that I have preached on this passage. That’s the blessing and challenge of years of experience. I often like to focus on the choice we face when we read this story, the same choice that those worshippers in Capernaum faced. Will we recognize Jesus’ authority for our lives? Will we build a life around him, placing the Lord at the center of our families and workplaces, our civic commitments and even the choices we make in the voting booth. It isn’t an easy thing to do, because it requires us to make some tough decisions about all those other authorities out there, the ones that would like to run our show. Year in and year out, I see this congregation making the tough choice to put God at the center, establishing the priorities that Jesus hoped his first listeners would make.

This time through the lectionary cycle, I have been thinking beyond our choice to affirm Jesus as Lord to questions about our own authority. Whether we are parents or grandparents, teachers or managers, community leaders or healthcare providers, elders or deacons, we have each been entrusted with authority. We choose daily how we will use the power that is at our disposal. Will we make God’s love known? Will we act with compassion to ease the suffering of others? I think these are the most essential questions in the life of faithful people. The choice for love, the practice of compassion, I think this is the heart of the ministry that God would empower us to pursue.

At the start of this message, I left myself rolling down the car window to face the authority of the totally terrifying Dr. Spahr. What kind of principal hangs out at school on a Saturday evening just to spoil the shenanigans of high school pranksters? He was even wearing his suit! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a can of spray paint roll out from under the passenger seat—a fact that the eagle-eyed Dr. Spahr would be sure to notice.

Dr. Spahr recognized me right away. We went to the same church, and my Mom had taught at the high school for a number of years. Once the window was down, the conversation went something like this.

Dr. Spahr: Why, Joann! What are you doing on school property in the middle of a Saturday night?

Everyone in the car: Nothing!

We were busted. There was no getting around it. I saw a future of detentions ahead of me. If the spray paint was brought into evidence, we were talking suspension. If it became known that although I was in the driver’s seat, I did not have a driver’s license, then who knew what horrors awaited me.

I must have looked pretty pitiful. I was an honors student, but things weren’t great at home, and Dr. Spahr knew it. The acrimony between my parents was showing up in some unfortunate ways in us kids. I wasn’t the only case in point. My brother had been in the dreaded office of Dr. Spahr twice that year, once for fighting and another time for setting off a fire extinguisher in a hallway (which was probably also related to fighting). That really did result in a suspension. My goose was cooked.

Dr. Spahr gave me a long hard look. He peered off into the night through those thick black glasses. He was clearly weighing his options. Finally, he sighed and patted the driver’s side door. “You girls go home,” he said. “I don’t want to hear about any more trouble.” He looked pointedly at what had rolled out from under the seat. We wasted no time, dropping the car into gear and driving off into the dark.

I’ve thought about Dr. Spahr over the years, all that authority at CB West. On at least one Saturday night, he helped a teenager know the love of God and the compassion that Jesus would have us extend to one another.

Resources:

Paul S. Berge. “Commentary on Mark 1:21-28” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 29, 2012. Accessed online at Home – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 1:21-28” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 1, 2015. Accessed online at Home – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Stephen Hultgren. “Commentary on Mark 1:21-28” in Preaching This Week, Feb. 1, 2009. Accessed online at Home – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

David S. Jacobsen. “Commentary on Mark 1:21-28” in Preaching This Week, Jan. 28, 2024. Accessed online at Home – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Mark 1:21-28

²¹They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. ²²They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. ²³Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, ²⁴and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” ²⁵But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” ²⁶And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. ²⁷They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” ²⁸At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

As the Ruin Falls

January 18, 2022 / reverendjoannwhite / Leave a comment

Poem for a Tuesday — “As the Ruin Falls” by C. S. Lewis

“All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through:
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin:
I talk of love —a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek—
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other gains.”

C.S. Lewis was perhaps the most influential Christian writer of the twentieth century. A noted scholar of Medieval and Renaissance Literature, he taught at Oxford and Cambridge Universities. Lewis wrote more than thirty books. His most distinguished and popular accomplishments include Mere Christianity, Out of the Silent Planet, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and The Chronicles of Narnia. To date, the Narnia books have sold over 100 million copies and been transformed into three major motion pictures.

No Biting

July 5, 2021 / reverendjoannwhite / 2 Comments

Sabbath Day Thoughts

“14 For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” 15 If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.”–Galatians 5:14-15

We all grow up with rules, guidelines that keep us on the right path and help us to live within our families. My Jewish friend Nan was taught to keep the most important rule of all posted on the doorway of her home, right about shoulder height. There, within a small metal container called a mezuzah, is a tiny parchment scroll inscribed with the words from Deuteronomy 6, “Shema! Hear, O Israel, the Lord your God is One. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul with all your might.” If that sounds familiar, it’s because I say it in church, each first Sunday when we share the Lord’s Supper.

When I was teaching English to seminarians in Chicago, I noticed that many of my Korean students had the Ten Commandments posted in their homes, imitation stone tablets with the words of the commands carved, not in Hebrew, but in Korean. In fact, one student gave me my own miniature tablets as a thank you gift. I can’t read a word of it, of course, but I know what they say all the same.

Now you families out there, I know from visiting your homes that you have household rules, and I even know a couple of families who post their rules as gentle reminders. It’s mostly positive practical wisdom like “be kind, be helpful, do your homework.”

We even get into the whole rule-posting act at the church. In 2006, the Session developed the “Statement of Respectful Communication.” The statement encourages all to interact with mutual regard and common decency. Then in 2007, the Session developed a Covenant of Conduct that provides helpful guidance and support for how we air our grievances. Those yellow and green policy statements have been posted on the walls, for us and for those who use our well-used building, ever since.

In my home when I was growing up, one of our rules was “No Biting.” We must have been much wilder children than those of you who only need the guidance to be kind, be helpful, and do your homework. My brother, sister, and I are all two years apart in age. My brother Scotty, being the only boy and the oldest, had his own room. He liked to keep the door shut and posted with signs like, “Keep Out” and “No Girls Allowed.” The trouble was that my little sister Mary and I adored our big brother, and his efforts to carve out some boy space only left us all the more determined to find our way in.

It happened one day while Mary and I were invading his space. Perhaps driven wild by our girlish pestering, my brother bit me, right there on the forearm, not gently either. It left a big angry red ring and tiny puncture marks where his sharp little eyeteeth poked the skin.

Drawn by the screaming and wailing that soon followed, my mother rushed upstairs, wanting to know, “What’s all this about?”

“He bit me!” I cried, waving my arm in front of her face.

“Andrew Scott White,” my mother said. We all fell silent at that. And then my mother, that earthy farm girl, did something that no parenting guru in their right mind would ever recommend doing. “Give me your arm” she said. We were all looking a little worried, and I had completely forgotten my mortal wound.

Scott showed her his arm. And then, she bit it, not hard or mean, like he had bitten me, but enough to leave a big slobbery spot on it. Our mouths all dropped open. “Did you like that?” she asked my brother.

“No! It’s yucky,” he answered.

“That’s right,” she said. “No biting.” Not one of us ever bit the other again.

In his letter to the churches in Galatia, the Apostle Paul cautions Christians about the dangers of biting. Just a few years before, Paul and his good friend Barnabas had made a brave first missionary journey traveling through the Roman province of Galatia, in what is now Turkey, taking the good news of Jesus Christ to Jews and Gentiles alike. In Galatia, Paul had planted a series of Gentile house churches, fledgling communities of faith that grew and worked together to follow the Way of Jesus.

“Who is right?” the Galatians debate. Is it Paul with his promise that in Jesus Christ, God has done something new by welcoming Gentiles as Gentiles into the covenant of Abraham? Or is it these new teachers, who want to turn us into a bunch of proselytes and get us in compliance with the Torah? The debate grows heated in Galatia with factions forming and feuding. Soon the conflict is so explosive that Paul cautions, “If you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.” It’s as if the Gentile Christians in Galatia have become like wild beasts, consumed in a deadly struggle that will undoubtedly destroy their churches.

Paul insists that God really doesn’t care whether or not we are circumcised or what we eat for dinner. What really matters to God is love. We are to love God and love one another as Christ has loved us. Love. That’s the law in a nutshell, the simplest, most beautiful, and most difficult path that we can choose to walk in life.

The path of love demands that we put an end to behaviors that exploit and demean others, like adultery, promiscuity, and pornography. The path of love insists that we stop the worship of false idols, like money, political party, our consumer culture, and celebrity. The path of love requires that we give up old bad habits that tear the fabric of our community, like racial hate, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, petty arguments, and factions. The path of love tells us that the abuse of drugs and alcohol is never a good way to go. The path of love is all about freely giving of ourselves for the up-building of our community. The path of love shines bright for all to see when we turn to one another with the qualities that Paul names in his letter to the Galatians: joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Along the path of love, there is no biting.

Whether we care to admit it or not, we know a little bit about biting and nibbling on one another, even in church. We get prickly about whether the candles are straight in worship, and we can get downright grumpy over who uses the building, if they pay, and what kind of condition they leave it in — and don’t get me started on the kitchen. We know a little something about strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, petty arguments, and factions.

It’s not just about being church, is it? It’s about our work places, our civic organizations, our classrooms, our homes. Love is always more important than being right, winning the argument, or getting our way. Wounding the spirit of our beloved ones is like taking a big bite. It breaks trust and tears down relationship. Wounds like that are hard to heal.

Neither Paul nor I are suggesting that we are called to be doormats for love’s sake. Rather, love must be the centering ethic that we choose for our relationships – and that naturally bids us to ponder well the role we play within the lives of others. Paul calls us to a better way. God really doesn’t care whether our candles are straight or crooked or lit. God probably doesn’t care whether we make all the best decisions about our building use. God probably really doesn’t give two hoots about the mess that gets left in the kitchen sink. What really matters to God is love. We are to love God and love one another as Christ has loved us.

Love. That’s the law in a nutshell, the simplest, most beautiful, and most difficult path that we can choose to walk. Let us walk that path together. The path of love is all about freely giving of ourselves for the up-building of others. It shines bright for all to see when we turn to one another with joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Let us love God and love our neighbors as ourselves. No biting, my friends.