A Case of Invisibility

Luke 4:16-30

And Jesus said,“Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown.”  --Luke 4:24

The past few days, I have been suffering from a case of invisibility.  It’s happened to me before.  Just the other day, a delivery truck seemed to think the lane I was in was empty.  At least, that’s what it seemed like when he tried to put his truck in the same space I was occupying.  Fortunately, I was able to swerve to miss him.  It happened again yesterday, except, this time, it was a old, already dented mini-van.  Then, I stopped by a restaurant for breakfast and, though they weren’t busy and servers were milling around, no one came over to seat me.  Several seemed to look right at me!  Or, should I say, through me. Invisible.  I finally managed to catch the eye of a guy in the very back of the restaurant, who found someone to get me a seat.

Sometimes, I think we all get a little oblivious to the things going on around us. The truck driver may have been thinking about getting home a little early.  The driver of the van may have been rushing to pick up kids from school.  The servers, tired from a busy morning rush, might have relaxed their vigilance in the slower pace of mid-morning.  

When Jesus visited his hometown of Nazareth, the people saw Joseph’s son who had built a reputation as a healer and teacher.  But, they couldn’t see any deeper than that.  They seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was more than just Joseph’s boy.  Distracted by their familiarity with Jesus, his identity as God’s Son and his true power were invisible to them.  Matthew’s Gospel tells us that Jesus “didn’t do many deeds of power there, because of their unbelief.” (13:58) In Luke, Jesus snubs their desire for miracles and reminds them that the purview of God’s interest is broader than the hometown crowd. It didn’t end well.

Life can distract us too. We miss important things like the car in the next lane, or the presence of the Son of God in our midst.  Familiarity might breed contempt, but it also can breed a certain kind of obliviousness. It’s hard to see the prophet – a messenger from  God -- in the hometown kid.  Our vision of God’s life changing, expectation challenging, prophetic presence and power can get blurred by the familiarity of church life.  Sometimes those on the outside of our communities of faith – like a Sidonian widow (1 Kings 17:8-16) or a Syrian general (2 Kings 5:1-19) or a Millennial young adult who doesn’t go to church or a person from a different culture or the poor, or the captives or the blind or the oppressed – can see God’s activity in the world clearer than those of us who hang out in churches and synagogues.

We should do more to listen to them.  Not try to run them off a cliff.  

Peace,

Bishop Mike

Thanks for reading. Pray that God might open our hearts and our minds, our eyes and our ears, so we can see God present and working in the world around us.  

Empty Jars

John 2:1-11

“They have no wine.”  --John 2:3

Six empty jars. 120-180 gallons of air.  Disaster in the wind.

“They have no wine.” Mary said to her son, her face pleading for him to do something to save the wedding banquet and the honor of the host.

I feel like there are a lot of empty jars these days.  Disasters in the wind.  The government shut-down continues, and talks are going nowhere.  Families are trying to figure out how to live without paychecks and the impact is being felt in many sectors of our common life. Churches continue to decline and can no longer sustain ministry, and yet are unwilling to even consider change. It’s depressing and frustrating. A few weeks ago, I was at a conference where we were discussing climate change and the bleak predictions for life in a much less stable ecosystem.  There are still things we can do, if we had the will, to mitigate the damage…  but not the damage has already been done. And that’s just three of the empty jars I see in the world around me.  I have always been a “jar half-full” optimist, but it seems like every day that perspective gets harder to maintain.

Like Mary, my prayers these days often plead, “Lord, we have no wine!” 

And then I remember the promise of the Prophet Isaiah,

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples

a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines,

of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.

And he will destroy on this mountain

the shroud that is cast over all peoples,

the sheet that is spread over all nations;

he will swallow up death forever.

Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces,

and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth,

for the Lord has spoken.   (25:6-8).

It was a promise spoken at a particularly difficult, empty jar period in the life of God’s people.

And I remember another mount called Golgotha, where Jesus died at the hands of human brokenness, and violence.  A bleak moment that scattered all of Jesus disciples except a few of the women, and seemed to crush all the hopes Jesus engendered in people. An empty jar moment if there ever was one!

But then, there was the empty tomb, that became the symbol of the fullness of life.  An empty tomb that proved that God’s life is stronger than death, and that God’s love is more powerful than hate, and that there is nothing in all of creation -- in heaven or on earth -- that can separate us from that love.

Proof that God does not abandon God’s people.  Ever. Proof that nothing in heaven or on earth can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus; that empty jars can be filled with water turned to wine.

As I look at the world around me, I admit, I don’t know how God’s going to do that, but I am confident that God can and will.  I can’t always see it happening but, I get glimpses now and again in the little acts of kindness, small miracles of compassion and quiet words of undeserved forgiveness and mercy I witness and observe.  And that’s enough to fill up my empty jars with the good stuff.  That’s enough to me keep working to proclaim and live out the Good News of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection in my life. I don’t know where the future is going, but the vision of the Risen Christ is enough to make me certain that, wherever we are going, God will go there with us…  just as God always has.  

Peace,

Bishop Mike

Thanks for reading.  Just keep praying…  and loving in the Way of Jesus…  and working for justice and peace in Jesus’ name.  

A Holy Fire

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

“He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”  –Luke 3:16

The campfire crackled in the center of the rusted steel ring that marked the boundaries of the fire pit. The red and blue flames danced on the crisscrossed oak logs, a collection of deep orange embers growing below the clumsy wood pyramid.  My family sat in lawn chairs circling the fire occasionally sliding left or right to avoid the smoke as it shifted in the faint breeze. The smoke always seemed to like me best.  Quiet conversations passed between the adults as the children poked at the burning logs with branches and watched leaves curl up in the flames.  Our dog lay curled up at the edge of the warmth.  

I have always loved camping and have many fond memories of summer nights spent with my family and friends around the campfire. The fire bound us together somehow.  Connected us.  Touched at some primal memory of our ancestors gathered around the flames to tell the stories that gave their people meaning, and hope and purpose. 

But fire has another side, doesn’t it?  The pictures of whole towns destroyed in the California wildfires this past fall were gut-wrenching.  I vividly remember the smoldering remains of our church in Wayne, NE on the day after lightning burned it to the ground.  Fire destroys. It is no respecter of people or property.  Its flames can bring destruction and death as easily as they can bring warmth and light. 

Baptism destroys the old life of sin and death, and raises us up to new life.  Baptism binds us to one another as siblings in Christ. Baptism purifies us, separating wheat from chaff.  Baptism connects us to the old, old stories of God’s steadfast love and mercy, and to the death and resurrection of Christ.  It is a fire poured out with the water, the Holy Spirit of God that washes us and burns us and blesses us on our journey from life to death to life. Baptism is a campfire and a forest fire and a lightning strike in a bowl or a bath.  

But, to ask a good Lutheran question, “what does this mean?”

It means every day is a new day.  Baptism, you see, is not just a once-in-a-lifetime event.  Baptism describes a relationship between us and our God, a relationship bound by the Holy Spirit and fire, and established and sealed by Christ.  Every morning the chaff is burned away, we are washed in the promise of Christ’s forgiveness, mercy and compassion, and set free to be forgiving, merciful and compassionate as we move through the day.    

There is a candle on my prayer table that I light every morning as I settle onto my cushion to listen for the still small voice of God.  A little light in the darkness.  A bit of warmth in the cold.  A reminder of the Holy Spirit who will walk with me through the day, sustains me when I struggle, and sometimes burns me too.  A reminder of the community of faith I was baptized into through Christ.  An imperfect community that carries the perfect love of God for me, and for all the world.

Peace,

Bishop Mike

I pray that all those effected by disasters of every kind might know the warmth of the Holy Spirit, the presence of our compassionate Messiah and the power of our loving God.   Thanks for reading.