The Coming Bad Years (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Except for some narrow aisles, every cubic inch of my neighbor's garage was packed. The floor-to-ceiling shelving held such necessities as barrels and boxes of dried foods, bottles of water, vitamins, first aid kits, over-the-counter medicines, camp stoves, cots, and toilet paper.

What brought us to this impromptu garage tour was a question I had asked him just minutes earlier. Glancing over my fence, I had asked, "Hey Dave, why are you plowing up your back yard?" The answer, which in retrospect seemed obvious, was "To plant corn, a grape arbor, and other fruits and vegetables to supplement the dried foods."

You can see, now, how one thing led to another.

Eventually, I got around to asking what this was all about. Dave, a serious guy, a scientist in fact, studied me for a few moments, and then stepped into a corner of the garage. He handed out a well-thumbed paperback copy of Howard Ruff's How to Prosper in the Coming Bad Years. "Here," he said. "You need to read this."

I read it. The book was filled with lots of convincing information supporting Mr. Ruff's contention that we were on the cusp of a global meltdown. Not the end of civilization, exactly, but close enough that we would all want to have our garages filled with survival necessities ... at least until order was restored.

The year was 1982.

As you no doubt have noticed, we're still here. Sure, there were some bad years. Those were followed by some good years. And those were followed by some bad ones. Our local, state, national, and global economies have been up and they've been down, but none of them has been out. Now, I'm not downplaying the very real possibility of economic bad times. I, too, believe in being prepared. I just have a somewhat different definition of "prepared" than my neighbor did.

But he did get something right.

My neighbor was employing the "Joseph Model" of preparedness: store up during the fat years because the lean years are coming. It's the model we use when we add to our savings accounts, when we invest some of our paychecks so we can retire someday, when we lay in a supply of tissues in preparation for allergy season. When you've got it, save some of it. It worked for Joseph and it will work for anyone who can do the same.

Elsewhere in scripture, we learn that for four decades God provided the daily needs of the Israelites, and Manna was the central nutrient. Five days a week, they arose each morning and gathered the coming day's bread, and it had to be eaten that day. On the sixth day, they received a double portion so they could prepare the meals for the Sabbath before sundown.

Then, one day, it came to a full stop.

In this week's Lectionary selection from Joshua, we learn that "The manna ceased on the day they ate the produce of the land, and the Israelites no longer had manna; they ate the crops of the land of Canaan that year" (Joshua 5:12 NRSV). On the very day they no longer had need of it, God's provision of Manna ended. But don't misunderstand this scripture: God's provision did not end, just the provision of Manna. When God brought them into the abundant harvest awaiting them in the Promised Land, there was no longer a need for Manna.

My neighbor was not wrong to stockpile in his attempt to ensure the safety and security of his family. His actions did not indicate a lack of faith. Out of his abundance, he set aside what he thought would be needed. And even though society did not come apart at the seams, Dave's storehouse may have supported his family through a personal crisis. He was being prudent based on the information he had available. Joseph would approve.

God provided the Manna, and God provided the abundance of the Promised Land. We don't always need "miracle food." Usually, we just need to recognize that God is providing and not get too hung up on the source. And if, in abundant times, we set aside some of the abundance to get ready for leaner times ... well, that's in the Bible, too.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 6, 2016)
First reading
Joshua 5:9-12
Psalm
Psalm 32
Second reading
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Gospel
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
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We have abundance every Friday morning at Lectionary Breakfast. Can you carve out an hour to meet with us at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant? We start at 8:00 and spend the next hour enjoying abundant food, abundant fellowship, abundant spiritual food for scripture, and, quite often, an overabundance of laughter.

Enjoy the week!
Steve

Relative Hospitality

Relative Hospitality
(a brief Lectionary reflection at Advent by Steve Orr)

When I was young, vacations usually went something like this. We kids would be awakened sometime in the night or very early morning (all I can recall is that it was dark and I was sleepy). Our parents would herd us into (or perhaps carry us to) the back of the station wagon where we would find a pallet of blankets nestled in among the luggage. Once we hit those blankets, that's the last we knew until well past sunup.

Depending on how our family was doing with money at the time, and just as often on my dad's mood, we might or might not stop to eat at a roadside diner. It was quite common for them to have packed several bologna sandwiches, potato salad, and Jello into Tupperware containers (lids carefully placed and burped to ensure freshness) so we would not have to stop for meals.

We might be headed to Florida, Tennessee, Louisiana, or Michigan; we might stop to see things along the way or Dad might be so focused we would have to beg him to make bathroom stops; but one thing was certain: there was always a relative at the other end of our journey.

We stayed with family. That was our way. There might be a guest room for the adults; but even if not, there were always places for us to stay (maybe a foldout couch or a trundle bed, maybe in a den or basement-cum-family room), even if only on the ever-handy pallet of blankets on the floor. There was always room for visitors. I was a married man before I took a family vacation that did not involve staying with relatives at some point in the vacation.

For most of us, it is still the same, today. We call it hospitality, but with family it is almost a given. Family tends to take care of family. When they're in town, they stay with us.

So, with the foregoing in mind, I have to wonder: why were Joseph and Mary looking for an inn? Why weren't they staying with family? We have this mental picture of the two of them: Mary astride a donkey, Joseph holding the rope, both looking forlorn as the Innkeeper informs them there is no room (perhaps due to the influx of people in town to register for the Emperor's census).

That picture is unlikely.

First, Bethlehem is only five miles outside Jerusalem. It's a long walk, but it is unlikely there was a need in Bethlehem for what we think of as an "inn." While there were open-air enclosures along the major trade routes where travelers could stop for the night, don't think "Inn of the Prancing Pony"; more like "biker bar." Not the kind of place a respectable Jewish man would take his pregnant fiancé for the night.

No, the word we usually translate as "inn" is better translated as "guest room," something every Jewish home had (even the poorest of one-room homes had a partitioned area where guests could bed down for the night).

The other matter is the fact that scripture says, "While they were there, the time came for her baby to be born." It's not that they showed up in Bethlehem only to be shuttled to a nearby barn just in time for Jesus to be born. They were already in town, probably staying with some of Joseph's relatives, but they were not welcome into one of the family guest rooms (unmarried? pregnant? perceived to be adulterous? ... you fill in the reason).

But someone finally decides that even though the couple has, apparently, broken some pretty serious Jewish laws, such a pregnant girl can't be forced to stay out in the open. So, taking pity, they put the couple in the cave with the animals. It's protected from the weather, and, perhaps just as importantly, from the prying eyes of the neighbors.

It's not a pretty story, but it is much more consistent with having the unsavory shepherds (those low men) show up to be the human heralds of the Messiah. Low key, low station, low people. A fitting birth scenario for the kind of king who would someday ride into the capital city on the back of a donkey rather than a warhorse and then usher in a new kingdom by ignobly dying on a cross.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday of Advent (December 18, 2011)
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Luke 1:46b-55 or Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26
Romans 16:25-27
Luke 1:26-38

The Wild Bunch (a slightly different Christmas story)

Photo courtesy of middle-east-pictures.com

(A brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr for Christmas Eve)

On the surface, "The Wild Bunch" sounds like a pretty interesting movie: an aging group of “old west” outlaws has trouble adjusting to the very modern world of 1913. From that premise we could build almost any kind of movie; a comedy, a love story, a heroic epic; maybe even a heart-warming Christmas tale. But that premise is not the whole of it.

When Roger Ebert reviewed the movie back in the summer of 1969, he called it "the most violent movie ever made," a movie in which "there are no heroes; just some bad people we know killing some bad people we don't know." And if that doesn't give you pause, let me add my own caution: even though some mainstream movies may have matched the violence of this film in recent years, the cruelty depicted in it is still truly disturbing all these decades later. While we could spend a lot of time engaging in the ongoing debate about the value of the film (it is considered by many to be one of the top ten westerns of all time), that's not why I raised the topic here.

I want us to consider the wild bunch, themselves.

Here is a group of men who are hard; who spend a lot of their time out in the badlands, sleeping rough, living rough. They look rough, and they smell bad. Not the kind of folk most of us would choose to spend any time with at all. For any reason. We immediately mistrust them. There is something about the look of them that makes us want to turn and go the other way. Not someone you would wish to have join the family, and if they were already in the family, well, we would want to send them as far away as we could possibly arrange.

In short, a lot like the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night . . . on THAT night.

What?!

Oh, yes. Scholars tell us that at the time of Jesus' birth, shepherding was a despised trade, comprised of despised people. They were considered thieves; in fact, people were strongly discouraged from purchasing milk or wool from shepherds because it was widely assumed they had come by those goods dishonestly. Loving fathers refused to teach their sons the trade.

Wow. That really changes how we see the events of that night of nights. Picture it with me. These low men are out in the fields with the sheep. Some are sleeping. Sheep don’t smell any better at night than in the day; and they don’t smell any better when asleep. But these men have grown accustomed to the smell. In fact, the men smell exactly the same as the sheep. Those who are keeping watch are alert to the sounds of the night; more concerned for their own lives than for the lives of the sheep.

Suddenly: an angel just APPEARS out of nowhere! Right there in the middle of them! Glory and light shine all about. The shepherds’ first thought: RUN! But the angel, who knows they are afraid (and probably should be) calms them down. He gives them the message about the Messiah being born in the nearby town and describes how they will recognize him. And if that was not enough, suddenly, there are even MORE angels surrounding them; an army of them, shouting in unison “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to people who please Him!”

Then, just as suddenly as they appeared: they are just not there.

After all that, what would you do? The shepherds did just what I think any of us would do (after we got over the shock); they went to investigate.

Now picture THIS scene: Mary and Joseph (surrounded by livestock, having wrapped their newborn son in cloths and placed him in the feed trough because, well, there is just NO WHERE ELSE) hear a noise. At first, it is unidentifiable; but soon, they recognize it as the many voices of excited people; and the sound appears to be rushing toward them. In short order, the little stable is crammed full of shepherds; not exactly the kind of people parents would want near their newborn. And the smell, already bad, only gets worse. There is a lot of pushing and shoving; finally the whole crowd tells the tale; talking over each other, each one trying to tell it.

Then, like many have over the ensuing millennia, the shepherds took to the streets to tell what they had seen and heard that night. And---maybe for the first time ever---people stopped to listen to them; these hard, low men; these thieves. And the people marveled at what they heard.

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Our own wild bunch is going to meet (unofficially) for breakfast this Friday (12/24/2010) at Kim’s. It is very easy to spot on the corner of 26th and Waco Drive. The traditional time is 8:00 a.m., but the Orr’s and Hamerly’s are aiming for around 7:30 . . . What? Why, yes, we ARE bringing Luke ;-)

Hope to see you there!

Readings for the Coming Week

Isaiah 9:2-7; 52:7-10; 62:6-12
Psalm 96; 97; 98
Titus 2:11-14; 3:4-7; Hebrews 1:1-4, (5-12)
Luke 2:1-14, (15-20); John 1:1-14