That First Day (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

Ever have one of those days? Seems like it's lasted a week?

We had one of those. At the end of that very long day we were discussing something that, to my mind, had happened several days before. Turns out it had occurred just that morning.

Our brains are spring-loaded to organize; doesn't matter if it's numbers, names on a list, articles arranged across a space, or, as in this case, events occurring over a timeframe. While our brains are aware of cause and effect, and that events happening serially may be related, there is also a sort of standard-events-in-a-time-period thing. That is, our brains become accustomed to, and sort of depend on, a "usual" number of events in a day.

We humans have patterns.

I doubt anyone is shocked to learn that our behaviors tend to fall into patterns. I think the surprise, at least for me, is to realize just how much our thinking mechanism depends on patterns. But, once you realize it ... well, it's not much of a stretch to accept that sometimes there's just so much happening, our brains have trouble believing it all happened the same day.

And that brings me to the Luke passage in this week's Lectionary scriptures. It's a slice out of chapter 24 usually referred to as, "The Road to Emmaus." Most of us are familiar with the story: two men on the way to the village of Emmaus meet-but-don't-recognize Jesus and He teaches them about the Messiah as they walk along. They finally recognize Him just as He disappears. The two men immediately return to Jerusalem and tell "the eleven and their companions" all that transpired.

And that's the end of the story ... or is it?

When I re-read the selection, I noticed it opens with the words, "Now on that same day...." I don't know about you, but I cannot resist following up on that kind of an opening, so I looked at the first 12 verses in chapter 24. You know what I found? The resurrection story ... the women coming to the tomb, the stone rolled away, the missing body, the angelic encounter, the women running to tell the Apostles and the other disciples (who disbelieve the women), Peter running to the tomb.

"...on that same day..."

I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know what happened, later, on that same day. You know what I found in verse 36? “While they were saying these things, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you.'” (New English Translation)‬‬

Do you see it?

On Sunday morning, Jesus rose from the dead. Then, through the women disciples who went to the tomb, the others learned of the resurrection. Then, Jesus encountered two disciples walking on the road to Emmaus, taught them about Himself from the scriptures, and disappeared as they were about to eat. Then, the two men rushed back to Jerusalem and told the disciples their story. THEN, just as they finished their tale, Jesus appeared to everyone in the room and, just to assure them He was not a ghost, ate some of their fish.

Whew! All of that in one day.

Until I read through Luke's description of those events, I've always thought of them as discrete; that is, separate things that actually happened on different days, maybe even weeks apart.

For me, it changes my understanding. Suddenly, I have a whole new appreciation for the love God has for us. Rather than allow His disciples to suffer and doubt even one day longer than was necessary, Jesus met them: at the tomb, on the road, in the upper room.

There were plenty of challenges coming their way in the weeks, months, and years to follow. But, that first day, He wanted them to know He was alive and well; a real, living person who eats fish! He knew they were going to need to have this certainty about His resurrection as they moved along into their individual futures.

And that is for us, too. Jesus wants us to enjoy that same "first day" certainty He brought to those original disciples.

No matter how full your day, even if it's so full you might get a little confused about when it all occurred, Jesus is in it with you ... today.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday of Easter (April 30, 2017)
First reading
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
Psalm
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
Second reading
1 Peter 1:17-23
Gospel
Luke 24:13-35
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I hope you can join us at Lectionary Breakfast Friday morning. Come at 8:00 to the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. Eat, laugh, read, pray, discuss until 9:00-ish. You'll be glad you gathered with us to break bread, and you'll be fortified for whatever the day may bring your way.

Blessings,
Steve

You Had One Job, Tomb Guards! (a Steve Orr Lectionary reflection)

They had one job. And they failed.

I can just see the Internet memes: a depiction of the empty tomb, large stone rolled to one side, and overlaid with the words, "You had one job, Tomb Guards!" I've been thinking about those men assigned to guard Jesus' tomb. We usually discredit them. But do they deserve that?

I know a lot of people associated with the military. Likely, you do as well. My dad served in Europe in World War II. My father-in-law served on General MacArthur's Honor Guard during the post-surrender Japanese Occupation. Various cousins and friends have served our country in conflicts across the globe. So, maybe it won't come as a great surprise for you to learn I have a bit of a soft spot for those who serve our nation, militarily.

If you know anything about military service, then you know that the basic events of the Tomb Guard story are not isolated to them. Yes, our folks usually accomplish the objective. But, from time to time, those in military service are tasked by their civilian commanders to perform a duty in the interests of national security ... and it doesn't work out as intended.

And that brings me to the guards dispatched to keep watch over the tomb in which lay the body of the discredited rebel, Jesus. Whether you read the Matthew 28 passage to mean that Pilate sent Roman soldiers to perform the task or you understand it to mean that these were Temple Guards dispatched by the Jewish leadership, it comes down to one thing: they were soldiers, commanded to perform a task by their civilian superiors. To their credit, when they failed in that task ---and who can defeat God?--- they immediately reported the truth to their superiors ... as good soldiers do.

Yes, they were paid and instructed by their superiors to tell a different story, one that, in the view of their leaders, served the national interest much better than the truth.

But, eventually, someone talked.

Yes, even though paid ----and, lets face it, threatened--- by their superiors, at least one of those guards, somewhere, sometime, spilled the beans. We have the entirety of the story in the Gospels, "on the record" if you will. So, someone on the inside told someone on the outside.

At some point, the soldiers and their civilian leaders arrived, as have we this week, on the other side of those three days ... the fourth day, the fifth, the 40th: the story continued. News of Jesus' resurrection spread far and wide. Lots of people struggled with just what to believe about Jesus, people like Thomas in this week's Lectionary passage from John's gospel. Those guards had seen things, heard things, experienced things vastly different than most humans in all of history. Their piece of the story was extraordinary in the extreme.

If you were one of those guards and had experienced what they had experienced, would you give credence to the claim that the person who had occupied that tomb had, in fact, risen from the dead? Could you believe the other things people were saying about Jesus ... that He was the Son of God, that he could forgive sins, that His kingdom was a heavenly one, that anyone could enter that kingdom by following His commandments?

I think you might.

And I think you, too, might break your silence.

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[Was it right for their superiors to ask them to do that? The lenses of time, spiritual understanding (and our own moral compass) tell us, clearly, "No." But, as scripture makes plain, the actions of those Jewish leaders toward Jesus were predicated on concerns for national security: their fear that Rome would wipe out the nation of Israel if any of the supposed "messiahs" ever led a successful rebellion. Sure, in their decision-making, they ignored the "signs and wonders" performed by Jesus; and they, like us, will someday have to answer for their choices and their actions.]

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
2nd Sunday of Easter (April 23, 2017)
John 20:19-31
1 Peter 1:3-9
Psalm 16
Acts 2:14a, 22-32

Table of Easter Lectionary Readings
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/lections.php?year=A&season=Easter

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Lectionary Breakfast continues to meet Friday mornings at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. Lately, we've been in the back meeting room (the outside entry is around the side near the back of the building). Ask at the host stand if you can't find us. Our times are flexible, but we usually start at 8:00 and wrap up in the neighborhood of 9:00. Late arrivals are not only welcome; they're common :-)

Blessings,
Steve

A Rose and Some Gravy (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Forgive me for thinking they were singing about a rose and some gravy.
I was a small child and that's the best my little mind could do. It was obvious this song meant a lot to them. All about me folks were singing their hearts out. The word to describe this forceful and heartfelt kind of singing, I would later learn, was "gusto."

Listening to the chorus, all I could picture was a rose rising up out of a bowl filled with gravy. In my mental picture, the gravy just sort of sluiced off the rose so that none remained on it once it was completely risen. And it just sort of hovered there, over the gravy bowl, looking blood-red beautiful.

At least I got the blood part right.

Fast forward a few years. I am paging through a hymnal and come across a song. Something about the lyrics seems familiar to me. As I read down through the verses, I come to the chorus. For a few seconds, I just sat there.

Then, I burst out laughing!

Like many children before me, I had "heard" the lyrics in a way that my childish mind could handle, but not as they actually were. There are lots of stories about children misunderstanding hymnal lyrics. Perhaps the most well known: "Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear." I'm sure you can think of some.

In my case, what I had thought I heard as a small child was "Up from the gravy: a rose!" Of course, those who know this song will probably realize the actual lyrics are: "Up from the grave He arose!"

It's a song celebrating what is at the very heart of christian belief: that Jesus rose from the grave on the third day following his crucifixion. This Easter, when you are taking a moment to reflect on what, to many, is the part of the story that actually makes the Gospels the "Good news," perhaps you will recall my experience with a smile.

And when you do, share that smile with a child, knowing that, even though they may not quite understand things right now, it will come in time.

Happy Easter!

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Low in the grave he lay, Jesus my Savior,
waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!

Up from the grave he arose;
with a mighty triumph o'er his foes;
he arose a victor from the dark domain,
and he lives forever, with his saints to reign.

He arose!
He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!

[Low in the Grave He Lay
Text: Robert Lowry, 1826-1899
Music: Robert Lowry, 1826-1899]
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(A version of the above reflection was first published at Easter 2014)

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Resurrection of the Lord (April 16, 2017)
Jeremiah 31:1-6
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Colossians 3:1-4 OR Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18 OR Matthew 28:1-10
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Table of Easter Lectionary Readings
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/lections.php?year=A&season=Easter

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Friday mornings are a special time for us. It's at Lectionary Breakfast that we celebrate the Word. We read and discuss the scriptures, pray for ourselves and our community, and there is a lot of laughter to complement the meal. We would love for you to join us. It is not necessary to bring a rose ... but, you could. :-)

Blessings,
Steve

Pa, Then and Now (a Lectionary reflection mostly by someone other than Steve Orr)

A friend wrote this about her Grandfather ...

He is in a "mood." Dementia is such a cruel thief. I remove his socks, and begin to rub lavender oil into his thin, flaky skin. "Just relax, Pa," I tell him. He closes his eyes. "That's just so nice, Sissy," he tells me. I massage the arch of his foot.
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I am 7 years old. I'm frustrated. I got a new bike for Christmas, but it's springtime now and I still can't ride. I fall over and over. I'm ready to give up. I can't do this. Then my grandpa, visiting from Ohio, appears outside. He's wearing black pants, a light button-down, and his classic suspenders. Always, the suspenders. His feet are steady as he holds the back of my bike, coaxing me to ride. I lean hard and brace for another fall, but his strong arms hold me tight. There will be no more falling this time, as he's not going anywhere until I can ride. Soon I am cruising, faster than I've ever moved on my own; warm sun on my face, cool breeze blowing my hair behind me. I'm exuberant. I turn, and see him still there, still ready to catch me, smiling as proudly as I feel.
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He can't remember my name. I see the recognition in his features, the love in his eyes, the warmth of his familiar embrace. I remind him. "I'm Jada. I'm your granddaughter." "I know who you are, sweetie. I just couldn't quite get ahold of your name." That's ok, Pa. Names aren't important.
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I am 9, and I want to paint his nails. He gets out Grandma's nail kit and hands me the tools I'll need to give him his manicure. He endures the poking and asymmetrical cutting. He hands me the clear polish, and assures me his fingernails have never looked better in his whole life. I feel like the most special little girl in the whole world. I'm smart, and talented!
********************

He's having trouble making his coffee. I gently take his spoon from him, kiss him on the forehead, and dole the sugar and creamer. As I turn the mug handle toward him, our eyes meet. We smile the same smile. We're a great team.
********************

I'm 15. My dad recently left. I feel rejected, sad, alone. He is visiting again. "Let's go practice driving," he says. I am nervous getting behind the wheel, but our neighborhood is quiet. The streets are empty. "We're not going to go far," he assures me. He tells me everything I need to know. He never slams the "imaginary" brake. He is calm, and I think I must be doing a good job. I learn to "let the engine slow me down; don't stomp your brake pedal." (I don't know it now, but I'll remember that advice every time I drive thereafter. I'll teach it to my own children one day.) We get back home, and when I cut the engine, he says, "You're going to be alright, Sissy." I don't know if he means the driving or life, but when I look at his confident eyes, I believe him.
********************

He is wet. He just woke up, and incontinence has left him embarrassed. I help him into dry clothes, careful to avoid eye contact to preserve some of his dignity. He can hardly move. He grunts and swears. "I've got you," I say. I hold him with strong arms. I won't let him fall.
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I'm 16, and giving my mom "a hard time" (to say the least!). He's there for yet another visit. He knocks on my bedroom door, interrupting my favorite Nirvana song. "May I come in?" he asks. I agree, but only because I have to. He looks serious, and takes a seat next to me on the bed. He reaches out and places his hand lovingly on my knee. "Your room is a pigsty," he lectures. I'm annoyed. I have eyes. I know this. He tells me about pride, and hard work. He talks about how hard my mom works to give me the nice things I throw all over my room. He talks about empathy, and self-worth. He challenges me to show love and gratitude by taking care of my room. I say nothing. I'm a teenager, and his words will not hit home for several years.
********************

I painstakingly strip the soggy sheets off his bed, peeling layer after layer of soiled padding from his mattress. I haul it to the washing machine. When it's all nicely cleaned and dry, I'll make up the bed again, only to do it all over the next morning. I pick up his teeth off the night table, brush them diligently, and hand them off to him, receiving a gummy smile before he pops them into place and rolls his chair toward the kitchen, where I'll serve him his breakfast and wash up the dishes. I watch him struggle, and I'm filled with love and gratitude that I get to share this time with him.
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I am 37. My grandma, his wife of more than 60 years, has died. I'm the one visiting, this time. His grief is overwhelming, but dementia has yet to claim his mind. (I don't know it now, but it's the last time I'll spend with him when he knows my name.) After all is said and done, it's time to go back home. I'm hugging him tight, willing his spirit to feel how much I love him. As we pull apart, he grabs both my hands in his and stops me. "I love you," he says. He looks intently into my eyes, his own brimming with tears. "I want you to have a good life," he tells me. Oh my god, he thinks it's the last time he'll see me. (Neither of us knows now that though it won't be, in a way, it is. The next time, he'll suffer from debilitating memory loss.) I swallow my heart back down to where it belongs, and kiss his forehead. Shaking, I walk to the car and get in. All I can do is drive away, when all I want to do is crawl into his lap and be little again.
********************

I rub the soothing oil into his 95-year-old feet, and I consider what this remarkable man has given me. It seems so brutal that he can no longer control his body or his mind. I can't help the couple of tears that escape, falling hot onto his feet. I'm remembering all these things.... and then I remember another. It's a Bible story. A woman knelt before Jesus, and "weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the fragrant oil." I am a little taken aback by the similarity, and then I understand - This is what love feels like.

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What she wrote really touched me. And, it made me think about Love. When the poet, Robert Browning, wrote about love, he used phrases like "do out the duty." I think he was on to something. It's not "sparkage," and it's not romance, as wonderful as these things are. Love is something more.

It's that willingness to do what previously would have been unthinkable, to perform duties that we would much rather not do. It's the act we perform that doesn't benefit us in any way; the actions we would, if not for the love we feel, prefer someone else do. In fact, if we're being honest, it is those things we would prefer not need doing at all. It is subjecting ourselves to circumstance and the demands of others when the result only benefits others and may well, in fact, lead to our harm.

That is the kind of love that drove Jesus to "do out the duty" of the Passion, despite His great desire to not do it. When we read Matthew 26 and 27, we get, maybe, an inkling of how horrible it was for Him. Hopefully, we also get that what He endured was for us, that by doing the duty, He was sending us a message across all the centuries: I love you this much, enough to do all these things I would much rather not do.

Jesus loves us like my friend loves her Grandfather ... and like he has always loved her.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Liturgy of the Palms (April 9, 2017)
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Matthew 21:1-11

Liturgy of the Passion (April 9, 2017)
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14-27:66
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We're coming up to a week of triumphal entry, horrible exit, and triumphal re-entry. It is a time of nobility and obedience. Join us at Lectionary Breakfast Friday morning as we spend time with Jesus and His disciples at the end ... and the beginning.

We continue to meet at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant, starting at 8:00 and ending around 9:00. The food is good, the fellowship better, and the discussion excellent. For an hour, we "do out the duty" in a unique way, sharing ourselves with each other through prayer, scripture reading, and a robust exchange of ideas.

See you there?

Blessings,
Steve

Alive! (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

The body on the table is completely covered with a large white sheet. Rain pours in through the hole in the roof. Crooked fingers of lightning lance the sky. The doctor's assistant slowly cranks the table up, up, up toward the opening. When he stops, the body is fully exposed to the elements.

Suddenly, a strike!

Massive arcs of electricity pour into the motionless form. The table is cranked down. There's movement under the sheet!

The doctor screams, "It's Alive!"
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The re-animation of dead flesh has been on people's minds ever since people started dying. But the power to do so never really presented itself. When author Mary Shelley suggested in her 1818 novel, FRANKENSTEIN, that electricity was the way to go, she was just reflecting the science of her day. It's unlikely she pictured the above scene from the 1931 film. And it's equally unlikely she ever envisioned what doctors are doing with electricity, today.

But even with the almost casual use of electrical defibrillators to shock people "back to life" ---we're even considering buying some for our church--- there is still a point beyond which people do not return. And that point was certainly long past when Jesus, in this week's Lectionary selection from John 11, finally came to Bethany. Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Not even modern medicine could have brought Lazarus back to life at that point.

But Jesus could ... and did.

Only the power of God can put life back into a dead body. The word for that is "resurrection" (literally, rise again). When Jesus told Martha "I am the resurrection and the life," she understood what He meant. She may have thought it an audacious claim to make, but it was not unclear.

And we understand him, too. Scripture makes clear what Jesus is saying: "I am life. I'm not just some magi who can wield some magic or other appropriated power to reanimate dead flesh. Life happens because of me; it comes from me. People live and move and have their being in me."

The fictional Dr. Frankenstein shouts "It's alive!" (in the movie, at least) because he has used electricity to reanimate the assembled parts of dead people. But our God doesn't need body parts. He can, like in this week's Ezekiel passage, use mere bones!

God declares, "I am life!" He fills us with that life, promising that each of us will one day walk from the grave like Lazarus, individual and whole, loosed from our constraining bonds ...

Alive!

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fifth Sunday in Lent (April 2, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

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Life moves pretty fast. Pause for an hour: join us Friday morning for Lectionary Breakfast. We've been meeting in the back room at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant for some time, now. The fun starts at 8:00 and is supposed to stop at 9:00 ... and sometimes it does.

Food, fun, fellowship, prayer, scripture, and the free flow of ideas. What an hour!

Full of life.

Blessings,
Steve
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More about the movie, Frankenstein, can be found at: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0021884/

More about the novel, Frankenstein, can be found at: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frankenstein

Photo Credit: Odishasuntimes.com