The Beatitudes – A Reflection

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

These statements that Jesus makes during his “Sermon on the Mount” are often referred to as the Beatitudes. They are counterintuitive—poor people, in spirit or otherwise, are not “blessed” or “happy,” not in my experience anyway. Nor are mournful, meek, hungry, or persecuted ones happy. In fact, in our culture, happiness is tied to the pursuit of getting more—more stuff, more friends, more likes, more, more, more!

But what if that pursuit is a distraction from something…more?

Among other things, Jesus introduced in these statements a completely new set of values—ones that lifted the lowly, offered hope to the hopeless, and marked the miserable with a sign of redemption.

Often we operate with a different set of values, so I wonder: what might happen if our quiet prayer, deep within our hearts, echoed the counterintuitive words of the Beatitudes? Would we be changed? Would we change the way we engage others? Would they be changed as well, and would the world change around us?

Trees and Taxes

By Jim Bahn (Sherman Tree Uploaded by hike395) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Those who organized the Revised Common Lectionary think they’re so clever. As so many churches make a push for members to begin or increase their giving, they throw in readings like this one from Matthew about paying taxes:

“The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” They answered, “The emperor’s.” Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away” (Matthew 22:15-22).

The Pharisees thought they would surely trap Jesus by forcing him to either confirm that the Roman emperor was due taxes or else anger Rome and provide himself a ticket to jail without passing “Go.” Does the emperor deserve this money, or does it belong to God? But unless these Pharisees are also ready to answer the question for themselves, they are barking up the wrong tree.

There’s a lot of this—barking up wrong trees—going around the United States right now as simplistic and often despicable campaign ads and debate performances intentionally churn up negative emotions about opposition in order to win votes by default.

After November 4^th, I’m going to be in need of a major detox.

Sometimes I wonder if all of the wretchedness in campaign season is motivated by the candidates’ desire to have an overall low voter turnout—to dissuade conscientious people from the thought that their votes make a difference, leaving a select groups of voters to bring about more controlled and predictable results. Wherever the actual practices come from, those in power too often put humanity and progress at risk for the sake of maintaining power.

I was glad to see that the mayor of my old stomping grounds, Vancouver, Washington (no, not the one in Canada) recently risked at least some popularity by boycotting a prayer breakfast which is to be keynoted by, “former Army Lt. Gen. William G. ‘Jerry’ Boykin, who in interviews, speeches and writings has said that the war on terrorism is a Christian war against Satan and that followers of Islam are ‘under an obligation to destroy our Constitution.’”[1] But the mayor’s boycott is merely a political stunt if it does nothing to bring about acceptance, tolerance, and compassion, for which he claims the community strives.

It’s possible to hear Jesus’ phrase, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s,” and think that Jesus is making a quick getaway from an uncomfortable situation—when, in fact, he’s saying something quite radical: namely that where, when, and to whom we give our time, money, votes, energy, and compassion matters…

…and that we must think for ourselves how we go about making those decisions. To that extent, he’s not only talking about taxes, but about priorities. In a world where so much is too often sacrificed for the sake of power and control, how are we to give to God what is God’s?

Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree.

 

[1] http://www.columbian.com/news/2014/oct/15/leavitt-will-boycott-fridays-prayer-breakfast/

The Bible is Alive!

If in one thousand years some archeologists unearth evidence of a caped crusader who protected the streets of a place known as Gotham City, they are going to have a hard time nailing down a concise timeline of his career in crime fighting. Even if said archeologists only track down the several major motion pictures that have been produced over the last fifty years [Batman (1966), Batman-Batman and Robin (1989-1997), and The Dark Knight Trilogy (2005-2012)], they’ll never be able to put together one solid storyline.

There are major conflicts between the origin stories of Batman and some of his foes, and the timing of his career seems to suggest Batman battled crime well into his golden years. Of course, the historicity of Batman’s story isn’t really the point, is it? There is something in the content and something about the effect this character had/has on people that gives us the opportunity to make meaning…Batman is more than a comic book, television show, series of films, character, Batman is alive (in my conscience, at least).

If you think I’m about to compare Batman to Moses, and his stories to Exodus and the Pentateuch, you’re kind of right—except I wouldn’t go as far as to say that they were written for the same reasons or about the same kind of subject or even in the same genre…so don’t go crazy.

Trying to explain the kingdom

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

“Illustration Lolium temulentum” is public domain and licensed by CC BY 2.0

Proper 11

I feel really bad for Jesus sometimes. He spent so much energy delivering clever, practical, wonderful illustrations in order to describe the kingdom of heaven. Somehow, somewhere along the way, a huge amount of the population decided to settle on a “pie in the sky” approach in which you die and your soul floats up into the clouds to a gated community guarded by Saint Peter…

…and that’s about it.

Put that interpretation safely on a shelf for a second and really look at the Parable of the Weeds, which begins, “the kingdom of heaven may be compared to…”

It’s a parable of the kingdom…remember that.

In the parable, a sower sows good seed in his field. All of the seed is good. Remember that too. He and his workers do their jobs and go home to sleep–like you do. In the middle of the night, an enemy comes and sows weeds among the wheat seeds. Specifically, the enemy sows a grass called “darnel” that’s seedlings look like wheat. Some times goes by, the wheat comes up, and so do the weeds. The workers rush to tell the sower about the weed problem, asking if he planted good seeds, where could the weeds have come from? The sower responds that an enemy must have done it (probably bird poop though, right?). The workers, eager to make the field perfect, suggest that they go and pick out the weeds. (Of course we all know that the worker who suggested this is like the kid who asks for homework at the end of the school day.)

The sower declines the offer–he’d have to pay them overtime after all. Plus, they’d probably just destroy the wheat in the process of getting rid of the weeds. When harvest time comes, those workers will separate the bundles of wheat and weeds, saving the wheat and burning the weeds.

The parable ends here.

Now I know you’re thinking about the good, moral, baptized people and how they’re the wheat and all the wicked people are the weeds and how this stupid story is antiquated and irrelevant and the product of stupid people trying to make themselves feel better blah blah blah. Stop it. Step back. Take a breath, and think about what is really going on in this parable because that allegorization is not the point; it may be important to understanding the point, but the allegorization alone is not the point. Stopping at that easy interpretation robs you of the difficult conversation Jesus is trying to have here.

Hinene

© 2008 carulmare, Flickr | CC-BY | via Wylio

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Proper 7

In Hebrew Scripture classes in seminary, we would occasionally take attendance responding with the Hebrew word for “here,” “הִנֵּֽנִי׃” or “hinene.”

“Hinene” doesn’t exactly mean “here” in the same, casual way that we often use it. “Hinene” implies that not only am I physically present, but I’m mentally and emotionally present and at your disposal.

You say “jump,” and I ask “how high?”

When God reaches out to Abraham, Abraham responds “hinene.” God, somewhat sadistically, orders him to sacrifice his son Isaac—his promise fulfilled of a future for his bloodline and security for his family. Abraham has already sent off his other son Ismael into the wilderness with mom, Hagar, and now God seems to want to devastate Abraham again.

“Hinene,” Abraham says, ready to do whatever God commands, much to his family’s dismay.

Jesus and Violence

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Proper 7

I’m going to use the summer months to pose questions and more brief reflections connecting to the lectionary. The immediate reason for this is that I have a lot on my plate with a wedding to drive to in Ohio this weekend, a mission trip/pilgrimage to the Dominican Republic in a week and a half, and a wedding to plan. Another reason is that in the summer months I find that I have less motivation to do significant writing and reading, or rather, I read more for pleasure during the summer. If you’re the same way, you may enjoy these questions and reflections. My hope is that they will set your mind on a particular topic as you do whatever it is that you do during the summer.

So here we go:

In Matthew 10:24-39, Jesus says, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.”

This is one of those uncomfortable images of Jesus that sound violent, and it doesn’t stop there.

“For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.”

I think the last part of that is the most violent suggestion—could you even imagine? We don’t even keep those foes as friends on Facebook!

I saw a quote this morning by Preston Sprinkle, in which he writes,

“In a world swimming in violence, in a land where “messiah” meant militancy, Jesus never acts violently. Whenever violence is addressed, Jesus condemns it. Whenever His followers try to act violently, they are confronted. Whenever Jesus encounters people who deserve a violent punishment, Jesus loves them. And in doing so, He leaves His followers with a nonviolent example to follow.”

Sprinkle’s point only goes so far for me. No, Jesus did not abuse his political influence to overthrow Jerusalem, but he did speak violently (as in the case of this week’s passage from Matthew), and he did throw that holy tantrum in the Temple when he overturned the moneychangers’ tables. But that isn’t even the problem I have with statements like this about Jesus and nonviolence.

The problem is who tells who to be nonviolent.

One could argue that the kinds of racial and economic oppression embedded in complex systems in the United States and across the globe are violent. This violence doesn’t usually look like guns being fired or punches being thrown, but it sure seems like violence to me. Yet we hardly speak of it as violence—some among us even congratulate the abilities of a select few to find so much success at the expense of so many others.

Yet we hardly ever talk about these daily occurrences as being violent. In fact we’re more likely to point the finger of justice at those who are disadvantaged by such systems and react with what could be considered an appropriate response.

When Jesus says that he comes not to bring peace, but a sword, could he mean that violence has its place in uprooted systemic oppression? Is God on the side of the oppressed? Whether or not you think violence has a place, what kind of violence is a more pressing issue?

The Rev’d Curtis Farr is the assistant rector of St. James’s Episcopal Church in West Hartford, Connecticut. He offers reflections on the lectionary readings for the upcoming Sunday. His website is FatherFarr.com, and his Tumblr blog is BowingToMystery.com.

Image: “NZXT Sword” by Lemsipmatt is licensed by CC BY 2.0

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Spiritual Gifts Don’t Exist in a Vacuum

“Eucharist” by Gabrielle Westcott, taken at “6-Day, 2008,” when I began this crazy journey.

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Pentecost A

Jesus ascended into the clouds not so long ago. Before he did, he told us that the Holy Spirit would soon come to empower us that we would be witnesses to the whole world. Then came the Holy Spirit, in all of its confusing, slobbery glory, enabling us to speak in different tongues in order to spread the good news beyond our circle, beyond our community, beyond our tribe, beyond our religious group, and even beyond that. This Holy Spirit gives us a variety of gifts, but remember that though there is variety to the gifts and services, we’re talking about the same Spirit and the same God. We all possess—or rather, are stewards of—different combinations of these gifts. The gifts might include communicating wisdom or knowledge, having faith, being able to heal, work miracles, or prophecy, or discerning the presence of spirits or other languages.

Basically, these gifts include any number of skills, talents, or affinities that involve connecting and relating with each other…and they are all under the umbrella of God’s powerful love/loving power.

This is a summary of the events of the Book of Acts’ chapters one and two as well as Paul’s discourse in his second letter to the church in Corinth about spiritual gifts. On a celebration of this day (of the liturgical calendar) six years ago, immediately after hearing these readings along with a homily by the Rev’d Dr. Canon Marda Steedman Sanborn (I think I got that order correct), I began the discernment process for the priesthood.

Water Sources

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Easter 6A

When I visited Las Vegas for the first time last October, I stood on the strip and marveled at the awesomeness of Caesar’s Palace, the magnificence of the Venetian, and the size of everything in this bizarre metropolis of extravagance. I thought to myself, “This place is the embodiment of everything I am against—the excessive worship of wealth, sex, and reckless behavior. And yet, wow…there’s something wonderful about it all—ooo look! Fountains!

I imagine that the Apostle Paul feels this way as he wanders around Athens, gazing at the impressive architecture and at the abundance of golden statues of the posse of gods. Paul is distressed at the site of it, but a small part of him gets it and maybe even appreciates the grandiosity. Still, he’s on a mission to speak about the richness of life that God offers to all mortals—not just ones who live in spectacular settings or possess tremendous wealth or build statues to the gods of wind and rain and the kitchen sink. He’s on a mission to remind everyone that the things of our world are not the makings of abundant life; God is one in whom we “live and move and have our being.”

Where I think this conversation can go wrong is when Paul’s type of mission turns into inspiration for moralizing. Yes, a golden statue can be the object of one’s idolatry, and yes, the pursuit of ridiculous wealth can become one’s god, but so can the attempt to be obnoxiously moral or painfully superior.

It is a delicate balance to try and seek authentic relationship with God without turning our means of pursuit into the object of that relationship; as soon as we think we have found the way to God, we lose our way and forget that God is a parent to all of us.

To put it another way, I’ll borrow an analogy a mentor of mine uses; he uses it for evangelism, but I’m going to do a remix.

If we are fish, God is the water in which we live. God is not the water in one pond, one lake, or one ocean; God is the water. We find water where we find it—from the garden hose, the shower, or the creek near our house. But it is from a place of naiveté that anyone would imagine that God is only the water from the garden hose, only the water from the shower, or only the water from the creek by our house.

As we come across these new “sources of water” in churches or other communities, in liturgies, in the Bible, in knowledge or scientific discover, in solidarity movements, in politics, in personal relationships, in art, in nature, or in any number of things, it is helpful to remember that we can deepen our relationship with God in those things, but we can also tread into the shallow waters of idolatry quite quickly.

Authentic relationship with God is a lifelong process that probably extends beyond what we know life to be. Through all of the places and things with which we encounter and engage, God is present, and through those things God may be glorified, even in—ooo look! Fountains!

The Rev’d Curtis Farr is the assistant rector of St. James’s Episcopal Church in West Hartford, Connecticut. He offers reflections on the lectionary readings for the upcoming Sunday. His website is www.FatherFarr.com, and his Tumblr blog is www.BowingToMystery.com.

Don’t You Get It?

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Easter 4A

“I don’t get it.”

The child sits there quite sullenly, math homework strewn across the kitchen table.

“Yes you do,” Mom says encouragingly. Remember when we laid out thirty straws, and how you put them in groups of ten, and when there were three groups of ten there were thirty straws? Which means that three times ten equals what?”

“Thirty?”

We’ve all been here, right? Either as the parent or the child, we’re all familiar with times when we realize what we’ve been learning, even when we didn’t understand it all. Then you have a teacher come along who puts it all in perspective for you.

Sometimes the teacher gets ahead of him/herself and tries to explain more than is called for…I think that’s what Jesus does for Thomas and Philip and the others in John 14, and I imagine that readers of John centuries later still have those learning moments followed by even more confusion.

Jesus lets the disciples in on what is going to go down in the not too distant future; to say the least, they’re disappointed. So he begins to comfort them—with a heavy helping of him-ology…or would that be him-nody?

Not what I would’ve chosen to say, but then again, I’m not Jesus.

“Believe in God and in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms. I go to prepare one for you, and I will take you to myself so that you may be with me. You know the way” (my own paraphrase).

“But if we don’t know where you’re going,” Thomas says, “how could we know the way.”

“Don’t you get it Thomas? I am the way…and the truth…and the LIFE. I’m the living example of both God and the way to God. I’m both the gate and the shepherd. By knowing me, you know God. You know God and see God.”

Makes sense, right? Thomas has seen the thirty straws, he’s sorted them into three groups of ten, and he understands multiplication…but is everyone on board?

“Jesus, just show us God and we’ll be satisfied,” Philip says, probably causing Jesus to pop a neck vein and break out in hives.

“What, you don’t know me, Philip? I tell you that you know God because you know me, and you ask me to see God? One of these days you either need to be good with my words or with my actions…or both…I don’t know what else I can do for you…well, except what I’m going to do soon for all of humanity.”

Based on the chapters that follow, the immense confusion of the disciples, and the tragedies surrounding Jesus’ crucifixion, the disciples still have a lot of learning to do.

So do we.

We are all on a path of maturing spirituality—a developing relationship with God. Not one of us remains in one place for long. Sometimes we walk on this path with others; sometimes we walk alone. Sometimes we feel quite distant; sometimes we feel we’ve already reached the “end.” But really all of us are that child, sitting at the kitchen table trying to compile what we’ve experienced into concepts that help us to deepen our learning.

Perhaps one thing we can pull from this scene in John is a little bit of Jesus’ patience—patience with ourselves and patience with others. Much of the dialogue regarding religious/spiritual matters is fraught with so much condescension—the sense that your spirituality is a failed attempt at reaching my spirituality (or vice versa).

None of us know the ultimate truth of anything, but we can demonstrate how deepening our search and desire for Truth is a rewarding and important search. We can demonstrate how that search is best pursued when it is done with a sense of solidarity with our fellow brothers and sisters in creation.

Jesus tells Thomas, Philip, and the others that he is the Truth, and the Way, and the Light. If you’re reading this, you probably are at least willing to flirt with the possibility that he was right. Whether or not that is the case, consider what it would mean for that to be true. What could it mean for your spiritual life? What could it mean for our world?

We’re all learning together.

The Rev’d Curtis Farr is the assistant rector of St. James’s Episcopal Church in West Hartford, Connecticut. He offers reflections on the lectionary readings for the upcoming Sunday. His website is www.FatherFarr.com, and his Tumblr blog is www.BowingToMystery.com.

Photo: Many Colored Straws Thrown On Top of Each Other by Horia Varlan is licensed by CC BY 2.0

Making Invisible Visible

By The Rev’d Curtis Farr

Easter 3A

It’s amazing how we can walk right by and even look directly at someone we know and not recognize them.

A video caught my eye this week—one in which friends and family members of unsuspected people were dressed up and posed as homeless people on a city street in an attempt to see if their loved ones would recognize them. Of the five test subjects recorded, not one of them recognized their loved ones as they sat or stood right in front of them. As they saw the footage of the experiment, the subjects sat in silence—perhaps a mixture of surprise, confusion, and a little bit of guilt.

The experiment is part of New York City Rescue Mission’s campaign Make them Visible with the hope that it will change the way many see homeless people. Apparently how many see those who are homeless is not at all.

When two of his followers were walking away from Jerusalem toward a place called Emmaus, Jesus (three days after his death) joined them on the walk. He talked with them, asking about the prophet who had been killed whom he seemed to know nothing about. They expressed their grief—they had hoped Jesus would redeem Israel; instead, he died a gruesome death.

Sure, some of the women in their group saw a vision of angels who said Jesus was alive, and sure, some of the men checked on the tomb and found it as the women had said, but they didn’t see Jesus…so…all is lost.

And then as they sat down for supper, Jesus broke bread; in that act of taking, blessing, and breaking bread, they recognized Jesus.

And then he vanished.

Poof!

What the heaven, Jesus?

What does it mean that Jesus would vanish from his friends and followers the moment they recognize him?

Historically what it has meant is that his followers continued to break bread in a similar fashion, perhaps hoping to summon the Risen Christ back into their midst. Don’t worry, I’m certainly not out to attack the Eucharist; I simply mean to point out that in this post-resurrection account, Cleopas and company aren’t trying to summon Jesus when he appears to them—nor are they trying to do so when they actually recognize him.

Jesus is with them long enough for them to realize only in hindsight that the entire day they experienced their “hearts burning within [them].” It’s a bit like how those in the NYC Recue Mission’s experiment responded to seeing themselves walk past their loved ones dressed as homeless people.

When our hearts and minds are focused on who and what we expect to see, we often fail to recognize the unexpected.

About a year ago, my friend Oscar planned to fly into Virginia from Minnesota to propose to my friend Liz. A bunch of us tried ardently to keep Liz at our table at the restaurant where Liz and Oscar had first kindled their relationship. Oscar called Liz from just outside the front door to initiate the surprise, but unexpectedly, Liz jumped out of her seat and walked out the restaurant—out the front door. Oscar held the door for her and sidled into the restaurant as she exited.

Liz did not recognize Oscar.

We have the capacity for deeds done with great love (to paraphrase Mother Teresa), but quite often those deeds and those relationships are unrecognizable. We have to go looking for them. We have to take charge of making the invisible visible. Our lives don’t depend on ceasing every possible opportunity to engage other people, but it is in companionship and sharing moments and breaking bread that we know and recognize those in front of us.

Maybe one way we can make the invisible visible is by setting a daily goal for ourselves to do just that…just once a day. One small intention for the day could change the way we engage each other and the world. So whether you are walking to Emmaus or down a city street or to your table in a restaurant, take a moment to consider the invisible opportunities that surround you.

Before you know it, “they” will be “us.”

The Rev’d Curtis Farr is the assistant rector of St. James’s Episcopal Church in West Hartford, Connecticut. He offers reflections on the lectionary readings for the upcoming Sunday. His website is www.FatherFarr.com, and his Tumblr blog is www.BowingToMystery.com.

Photo: Badjonni, Flickr 2007