There’s no standout theme that can be traced through October’s lectionary, which means that teaching and preaching will not be able to rely on the nice packaging of cool titles and catchy series. And those reading devotionally should not expect pet clichés. I suspect we need seasons of spirituality that are off the grid. It reminds me of my friends that live almost completely off the land. They are hard to track, but they maintain an abiding centeredness. Their keen sense of attention to their surroundings and their own bodies is unparalleled, because they have to anticipate both nurture and nature, rhythm and surprise, order and spontaneity.
We will need to be ready for no less surprises, twists, and turns in the lectionary for this month. We will also need the centeredness to act and lead. Scripted leadership and lessons won’t cut it. Improvisation is the skill to cultivate. Samuel Wells offers a framework that will guide us: “Improvisation means a community formed in the right habits trusting itself to embody its traditions in new and often challenging circumstances ... this is exactly what the church is called to do.”
This is the way of wisdom – a far cry from the pop Christianity of our day that offers formulas and platitudes. The vision of leadership and spirituality this month should be toward living lives of faithfulness and character despite contradictions and uncertainties along the journey.
[ October 2 ]
Acting on the Vision
Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4; Psalm 37:1-9; 2 Timothy 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10
Within a week, three black men were killed by police officers: Alton Sterling (in Baton Rouge, La.), Philando Castile (in St. Paul, Minn.), and Jai Lateef Solveig Williams (in Asheville, N.C.). At times like these the prophets must cry out in complaint before God, like Habakkuk: “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save?” (Habakkuk 1:2). Our prophets have spoken, none more clearly than Rev. William Barber II: “Blood is crying from the ground, and let it trouble the very soul of America until justice is a clear reality.”
God’s reply must have been disappointing for Habakkuk. The appointed time is now for those who feel as if time has failed them. God has yet to deliver her healing. This is why time and faith are at odds. The proud die by the myth of progress. The righteous live by their faith (Habakkuk 2:4b). The substance of this faith is the truth of God’s vision of vindication, inheritance, and light for the righteous. Until that vision is reality, we need both writers and runners. We need those who tell forth God’s vision by confronting the powers that seek to overcome it, and those who foretell the vision by comforting the people of God that grow weary. May both scholars and activists, priests and prophets, clergy and laity commit their way to the Lord, and have shared trust in the God who will act on the vision.
[ October 9 ]
Community with the “Other”
2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c; Psalm 111; 2 Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19
“The deepest theological distortion taking place is that the earth, the ground, spaces, and places are being removed as living organizers of identity,” Willie Jennings wrote in The Christian Imagination. “The loss here is ... of the possibility of new identities bound up with entering new spaces.”
The close reader will immediately notice the geographical significances of the Lukan story. “On the way to Jerusalem” is a signaling of Jesus’ resolute journey to the cross. If Jerusalem marks the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, Galilee signals the place of the beginnings of the Jesus movement, particularly in Luke’s gospel. Galilee also signals marginality and economic vulnerability, a place on the boundaries of Jewish geographical, cultural, and religious identity. As the place where Jews intermingled with Gentiles, Samaria is a site of heresy, of desecration, of impurity in relation to Jewish identity.
Place is not inconsequential to Jesus’ ministry and identity. Jesus enters spaces whose contestation is tied to the transgressive bodies of its inhabitants. And yet these lepers’ identities are not reduced to their physical ailment. That they keep their distance identifies their social status as “unclean.” That they approach, call out to, and name Jesus as “Master” and believe mercy is possible for them identifies their theological status as children of God. Jesus cures their physical ailment, but their healing is more than physical. That the Samaritan is the only one that returns to Jesus in celebration and praise heightens the claim of this story: that beloved community springs forth from those places and people we consider “other.”
[ October 16 ]
Now and Not Yet
Genesis 32:22-31; Psalm 121; 2 Timothy 3:14 - 4:5; Luke 18:1-8
My strength is gone, my nature dies, / I sink beneath thy weighty hand, / Faint to revive, and fall to rise, / I fall, and yet by faith I stand: / I stand, and will not let thee go,/ 'Till I thy name, thy nature know. – Charles Wesley (from “Come, O thou Traveler Unknown”)
The eschatological tension is thick between God’s “now” and “not yet” kingdom. The widow in the parable faces a judge who refuses to make things right for her. In the age to come, we are promised a righteous judge in Jesus. For now, injustice, enemies, and sin regularly conceal the light of the age to come.
Many have tried to articulate this tension’s impact on humanity. From ivory towers, theologians asked: “How then shall we live?” From hush harbors, the invisible institution sang, “Nobody knows the trouble I see.” Even Jesus wonders “will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:8b). The psalmist anticipates that this tension will tempt believers to lower their heads, not knowing where to turn for help.
The author of 2 Timothy casts a vision for human engagement in the midst of this tension: to patiently and persistently proclaim and practice the gospel. We find a model in Jacob. Living faithfully in the midst of this eschatological tension is to wrestle, to live a life struggling toward and for God’s kingdom to come ... right now. This means nothing less than having to wrestle God for this kingdom of love, justice, and peace because the transformation we seek in the world, we need in our own souls and bodies. And there is no true peace in this world without going through pain. Like Jacob, you’ll walk away broken and limp but with true life, with a new name!
[ October 23 ]
A Heart of Humility
Sirach 35:12-17; Psalm 84:1-7; 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18; Luke 18:9-14
It’s hard to believe that in ancient times the Pharisee’s prayer, as recounted in Luke, was common. It would have even been seen as an expression of gratitude to God. Not today. The prayer would be seen as the height of xenophobia and arrogance. How could a person pray such a thing? The same way political rallies celebrate building walls. The same way religious folks carry signs saying “God’s Punishment” at the site of violence against queer people. The same way the religious Left and Right maintain their lines.
Bigotry has no expiration date. At the heart of the prayer in Luke – and all bigotry – is pride. The tax collector is a traitor to the Jewish community for cooperating with a foreign corrupt government to collect taxes from his own people. His occupation was reprehensible enough that he was categorized as a sinner. The shock of the parable is the reversal of theological and social expectations. The one who is justified is the one that is not righteous by the social and religious mores of that day.
Ethnic, religious, or social stature is no guarantee of God’s favor. “Do not offer him a bribe, for he will not accept it” (Sirach 35:14). What the Lord accepts is a heart of humility, the kind of heart found in those who have felt the scorn of pride. The outcast. The judged. Misfits. Sinners. There is no room for human pride in God’s house because it is the Lord who blesses and exalts; it is God who deserves eternal glory.
[ October 30 ]
Tough Love
Isaiah 1:10-18; Psalm 32:1-7; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10
Isaiah unsettles any politically correct images of God as a sentimental parent. Nothing about Isaiah’s theology here says “But God knows my heart.” God is fed up! Ever met a fed-up parent? Their ears are deaf to the next excuse. Tough love is what’s left – emphasis on “tough.” God has little tolerance for religious ritual that is a cover for social injustice. Saying “sorry” is a weak response. This is guilt, not a simple mistake.
Isaiah charges that such an offense is like having blood on one’s hands, the blood of the disinherited and abused. Oh, the blood that is on the hands of the church! The blood that is on the hands of America! The indictment is personal too. Whose blood is on your hands? Who have you sacrificed in order to have your stacked resume, your highlighted Bible, your vacation home? God is straightforward on how to make things right: “learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow” (Isaiah 1:17).
Who can bear the weight of such guilt and responsibility? Neither our bodies nor our spirits can endure (Psalm 32:3-4). Acknowledging this is crucial (Isaiah 1:18a; Psalm 32:5; Luke 19:3-4, 8). With our confession the Lord makes possible what we can’t for ourselves: forgiveness, acceptance, renewal (Isaiah 1:18b; Psalm 32:1-2, 6-7; Luke 19:5-6). From a deep internal awareness of being God’s beloved, we are able to bring restitution and redistribution to those who’ve been wronged and deprived in the world.
"Living the Word" reflections for September 2016 can be found here. “Preaching the Word,” Sojourners’ online resource for sermon preparation and Bible study, is available at sojo.net/ptw.
Brandon Wrencher is a provisional elder in the Western North Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church. He has written for The Other Journal, Missio Alliance, and other publications.
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