Wednesday, March 27, 2024 – Holy Week: Jesus Asks! Tough questions for a Lenten Faith

At three o’clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15; 34, New Revised Standard Version)

            Here it is – the culmination of the Lenten season, ending in the most human of agonized cries in the most extreme form of terrible human suffering, “Why God have you abandoned me?”

Where is God when our world is falling apart? Where is God when our loved ones are dying from cancer and diseases?  Where is God when there are children dying in wars? Where is God when we can’t get out of our deep anxieties and despair? Where is God when we are caught in some spiral of self-destruction? Where is God when others abuse us, hurt us, use us, shame us?

 Why, O Lord, won’t you do something? You are omnipotent; so, fix it, change it, remove it, transform it. Where did you go? Where are you hiding? Why are you ignoring us? Why have you forsaken us?

“O Lord, how long will this go on?  Will you hide yourself forever?”  (Psalm 89: 46, New Living Translation)

Jesus speaks for all humanity from the cross. He identifies with our deepest pains, sorrows, sufferings, failures, dying and despair. From the cross, Jesus also looks for answers, relief, some divine response that might make sense of it all. “Since he himself has gone through suffering and testing, he is able to help us when we are being tested.” (Hebrews 2: 18) Yet, like Job of the Old Testament, we are still left with questions about the relationship between God and ourselves when we are suffering.

There are no easy, simple, black and white answers. “My heart is troubled and restless. Days of suffering torment me.” (Job30: 27) Like Jesus, Job refused to let God off the hook and so persisted in questioning God’s motives, God’s purposes, God’s fairness. I think we are encouraged to persist in our conversations or even arguments with God when we are most in need of God’s intervention and intercession. Remember the persistent widow who wouldn’t allow the arrogant judge to ignore her. Jesus sassed, “So don’t you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly!” (Luke 18: 7-8)

The crowd taunted Jesus that first Good Friday: “Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!” (Matthew 27:40) But that wasn’t to be. This was not the way it would end, for now. The cross was Jesus’ destiny, his work, his sacrifice. It must have pained God greatly to see his beloved Son in such agony. Yet, he allowed it for our sakes. “When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners.” (Romans 5:6) He suffered for us, in our place, so that we would have hope in the midst of our own human losses and sufferings. “Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later.” (Romans 8:18)

No one enjoys suffering of any kind. Not physical pain. Not mental anguish. Not grief. Not loss. Yet it is a part of our experience. No one gets through life unscathed. Wealth can’t protect us. Science can’t save us. Technology can’t help us. We are called upon to deal with suffering as best we can. For some, the existence of suffering becomes an argument that God doesn’t exist. But for us who believe, we hunger for God even in the midst of pain and suffering. We cling to God despite our questions or our fears and our confusion. We see Jesus in the moment of his agony and there, but with the grace of God, go you or I. But because of Jesus, even our crosses, our sufferings, our dying do not have the ultimate power to defeat us.

It is never easy to suffer. It will leave us with many questions and scars. Yet, hear Job who complains, out of the heart of all his anguish, when he needs help and no one answers; yet he fearlessly, boldly declares, “But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last. And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God! I will see him for myself. Yes, I will see him with my own eyes. I am overwhelmed at the thought!” (Job 19: 25 -27) Or Paul who echoes Job, “But I am not ashamed of it (suffering), for I know the one in whom I trust, and I am sure that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until the day of his return. (2 Timothy 1:12)

Jesus Christ identifies with us from the cross. He is not silent. He is not resigned to his death. He is not simply meekly submissive even though he knows this death is his ministry for the world. He cries out for us all that God will hear and open the way to God’s Love and compassion.

“Lord, you know the hopes of the helpless. Surely you will hear their cries and comfort them.” (Psalm 10:17)

Dale

Wednesday, March 20, 2024 – Lent Six: Jesus asks! Tough Questions for a Lenten Faith

Inside the city, near the Sheep Gate, was the pool of Bethesda, with five covered porches. Crowds of sick people—blind, lame, or paralyzed—lay on the porches. One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?” “I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.” (John 5: 1 -7, New Living Translation)

                Yikes! What a puzzling, terrifying and challenging question for Jesus to ask someone who had been suffering for 38 years. “Would you like to get well?” Jesus is usually so quick to heal, so generous with his love and mercy, so unjudgmental as to those whom he shows compassion, so limitless to give his time and energy.  I don’t know why Jesus chose this man out of the many who were there that day, all looking for healing, relief, remedy. Maybe he knew of the 38 years and that the man was overdue for some good news. But what a question to put to a long-suffering person!

                Let’s be clear about something. To some, the question may suggest that the man was at fault for his predicament or that he had some sort of choice in the matter. But I would argue that his suffering was very real. He was not faking it. It was not some figment of his imagination. He wasn’t trying to get sympathy or charity. He wasn’t some hypochondriac. His sickness, whatever it was, had kept him down on his mat for 38 years. There was nothing very “well” about this man, at all.

                If it was any of us, suffering many years of chronic pain or debilitating diseases or severe mental health issues or life-altering illnesses or tragic accidents leaving us deeply scarred or handicapped, we might take offence, understandably so, if we were asked such a question.  It just seems so unfeeling, so unjust, so callous, so cold…

                Jesus would have known all this and yet he still asks, “Would you like to get well?”

                Perhaps, it would do well to phrase the question somewhat differently. Can you imagine a life without all that pain? Or has it been so long that you are stuck in the suffering? Have you given up hope? Are you lost in the chaos of pain and suffering? Are you defeated, so overwhelmed that life has become one damnable thing after another? Debie Thomas wrote: “He sees a man whose hope has dwindled.  A man whose imagination has atrophied to such a point that he can’t even articulate what he wants for his body, his soul, or his future.” (Journey with Jesus)

                For a while, I facilitated a support group for those living with ALS and their primary care givers. Please note how I worded that, “living with ALS,” not dying from ALS or suffering from ALS. But living. Yes, there were plenty of tears and questions and no cures. But there was a vitality, a stubborn, pain-resistant joy that also brought much laughter, love and community. If you had asked any of them whether they would like to get well, of course, they would have answered yes, but they didn’t just give up; they lived as fully, and often defiantly, as they could. They taught me so much.

                Jesus is asking the man whether he could see beyond the limits of his infirmity. Did he have the grit to hope?  Did he have the spirit to endure? Did he have the ability to let go and let God?

                Debie Thomas wrote that the question is about the man’s “heart, his identity, and his desires: ‘What do you want?’” She then asks: “Has Jesus ever asked you this question?  Do you want to be made well from all that stymies, hobbles, paralyzes, and diminishes you?  Do you want to stand up?  Do you want to walk?  Do you want to move?”

                “And we believers also groan, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, for we long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering. We, too, wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us.”  (Romans 8: 23, NLT)

                No one is saying that such a faith in great adversity is easy. No one is saying that such a hope against hope is a rosy panacea. No one is saying that such Good News immediately fixes our problems and sufferings. But, when we finish this story, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!”, we are given a whole, grace-filled, new perspective on what it means to live and have our being and take a different direction from where we have been.

                “Sing for joy, O heavens! Rejoice, O earth! Burst into song, O mountains! For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on them in their suffering.”  (Isaiah 49:12, NLT)

Dale

Wednesday, March 13, 2024 – Lent Five: Jesus asks! Tough questions for a Lenten Faith

Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came over and spoke to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do us a favor.” “What is your request?” he asked. They replied, “When you sit on your glorious throne, we want to sit in places of honor next to you, one on your right and the other on your left.” But Jesus said to them, “You don’t know what you are asking! Are you able to drink from the bitter cup of suffering I am about to drink? Are you able to be baptized with the baptism of suffering I must be baptized with?” “Oh yes,” they replied, “we are able!” (Mark 10: 35 – 39, New Living Translation)

                Be careful what you wish for.

                Some people treat their faith like it is a wishing well. They are always wanting to be rewarded for their piety and good works. (Not you or me, of course.) Some folk entreat God or Jesus to bless them and prosper them because they have been such good Christians and are worthy of God’s recognition and special treatment. (Not you or me, of course.) Some people seek God’s recognition and praise for their religious devotion and religious practices. (Not you or me, of course.)

                Thus, "Teacher, we have something we want you to do for us…  Arrange it, so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory—one of us at your right, the other at your left.” (The Message Bible) It was not the first time that the disciples argued about their place and possible reward at Jesus’ side. Once, Jesus caught them arguing about who will be the greatest in the Kingdom when it happens. (Mark 9: 33 -37) It appears that there was a lot of jostling for Jesus’ approval and recognition, wanting special privileges and positions, leading to jealousy and friction.

                But again, I say, be careful what you wish for.

                “You don’t know what you are asking! Are you able to drink from the bitter cup of suffering I am about to drink? Are you able to be baptized with the baptism of suffering I must be baptized with?”

                The initial answer to Jesus’ question is that none of us has the capacity to suffer and die as Jesus did on the Cross. We are more apt, as did the disciples, to run away and hide in light of Jesus’ death. His sacrificial death is unique and one of a kind in terms of Jesus’ utter willingness to die to save us from our sins. This death is God’s work to redeem us and close the gap between God and ourselves. It is unrepeatable.

                Even so, there is more to it. We are called to sacrificial living or to sacrificial giving. We can’t duplicate what Jesus did on the Cross but we can replicate its service by putting ourselves on the front lines of compassion, service, love and good works, not for reward and glory but for sake of God’s Love in and through Jesus Christ. “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News, you will save it.” (Mark 8: 34 -35, NLT)

                As Jesus said, both James and John would die as martyrs for their faith. James was beheaded by King Agrippa and John died in exile. Now, of course, I am not saying that we should be prepared to die a martyr’s death but that self-sacrifice is the mark of a loving follower of Jesus. When the disciples were arguing about their greatness, Jesus rebuked them, “So you want first place? Then take the last place. Be the servant of all.” (Mark 9: 35, TMB)

                There is a news story, today, about an 80-year-old man who died from his injuries after being hit by a car after pushing a woman out of the way of that same car. A terrible tragedy, yet a noble sacrifice. Look, we all can’t be heroes but we can be the kind of folk who get on our knees and wash the feet of others, thereby sacrificing our pride, our self-importance, our superiority complexes.

                So yes, be careful what you wish for. There are no red carpets laid out for us on our way to the Kingdom. We are not the toast of the town. We are not the privileged and the elite. We are not meant to be celebrities or superstars. We are the brothers and sisters of Jesus Christ, called to serve, called to help, called to give a helping hand, called to put others ahead of ourselves. “I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” (Matthew 25:40, NLT)

Dale

Wednesday, March 6, 2024 – Lent Four: Jesus asks! Tough Questions for a Lenten Faith

In the crowd that day there was a woman who for twelve years had been afflicted with hemorrhages. She had spent every penny she had on doctors but not one had been able to help her. She slipped in from behind and touched the edge of Jesus’ robe. At that very moment her hemorrhaging stopped. Jesus said, “Who touched me?” (Luke 8: 43 -44, The Message Bible)

                Don’t touch the stove – you’ll burn yourself.  Don’t touch that vase - you’ll break it. Don’t touch that – it’s doesn’t belong to you. Don’t touch that – it’s dirty. Don’t touch that – I’m not buying it for you. Don’t touch that – who knows where it’s been?  Don’t touch that – those pies are for the church supper tonight.  Don’t touch that – you’ll spoil your supper. Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t touch that – it’s not polite.

                The imperative command, not to touch, has been instilled in our minds since we began to toddle around in our diapers.  Some touching can indeed be inappropriate, unwelcome, troublesome, uninvited, rude, intrusive, even risky. During Covid, even welcome touches – hugging, kissing, embracing, handshaking – became taboo. It hasn’t totally recovered, even now. Besides, our hands are too full and busy with our cell phones to actually reach out and touch someone as that old Bell ad used to say.

                The woman in our Gospel story was untouchable according to the Levitical Law. Her bleeding made her a pariah in Jewish society. She shouldn’t have even been in that crowd that day. If the others had paid any attention to her or knew about her condition, they would have sent her away. She was regarded as unclean and therefore unfit for human contact. She would have to be very careful as to how she could approach Jesus with such a large crowd about her.

                “She slipped in from behind…”  But it was much more than just that. The text, to me, implies that she was scrambling on her hands and knees. Maybe she had been pushed down. Maybe she fell down in the crush. But I get the picture of a woman crawling in the dirt just so she might touch the hem of Jesus’ robe. How humiliating. How desperate. How demeaning.

                Yet, Jesus, despite the crowd, shows his deep, compassionate sensitivity towards others. “Who touched me?”  Perhaps the woman froze at that moment. Was she in trouble? Would Jesus scold her, reprimand her, mock her, take back the healing. If she kept quiet, perhaps Jesus would move on.

                But Jesus didn’t move on. “Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me.” (v.46) I think that he needed to put a human face on the person. He needed to know the person first hand. He needed to create more of a relationship than a fleeting, anonymous touch. So, she came out of her exile, so to speak, and confessed her bold and audacious action, simply touching the hem of Jesus’ robe. There was no condemnation – just more abounding grace. She was made to feel welcome and joined the family of God “’Daughter,’ he said to her, ‘your faith has made you well. Go in peace.’” (v. 48)

                Reaching out to Jesus Christ is something that anyone, no matter what or no matter who, can do at any time. Whether we seem to be crawling along or lost in the crowd or bleeding inwardly, metaphorically, the Love of Christ is available to us. In suffering, in pain, in crisis, in emotional upheaval, even in dying, Jesus stands out as a source of power and mercy. He makes the difference in our well-being. He rescues us from the rigid standards of judgment and beliefs which make us out as outcasts. Jesus Christ draws us back into his fellowship as daughters and sons within the scope of his compassion and grace. When we reach out to Jesus, our faith finds a response. We are given a peace which passes all understanding.

                I used to think that the hymn, “He Touched Me” was too sentimental, too gushy.  But in light of this story, it makes total sense to me today.

            Shackled by a heavy burden
            'Neath a load of guilt and shame
            Then the hand of Jesus touched me
            And now I am no longer the same

            He touched me, oh, He touched me
            And oh, the joy that floods my soul
            Something happened, and now I know
            He touched me, and made me whole

 Dale