Bible Study With The Bishops:

Reading Plan Text for May 6: John 12:1-8

I'm going to "cheat" today and post a sermon from Holy Week three years ago.

Peace,
Jeffri
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John 12:1-11
by Jeffri Harre
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Fairfield, Connecticut
March 21, 2005

“Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany…” Before the cheering crowds of his entry into Jerusalem, before Judas’ betrayal, before being arrested by the temple guard and taken first to the chief priests and then to the Roman governor, before, before, before… For a brief evening of quiet, Jesus stops at the house of his friend Lazarus. “There they gave a dinner for him,” John tells us.

This story or ones similar to it can be found in all four Gospels, but only Mark and John place it before the final trip to Jerusalem. And only John gives such a detailed account naming names and including specific descriptions of certain people and things. In John there is no “excess baggage,” every phrase has a reason, even if it isn’t always clear to us immediately. So, who are these people, and why are they here?

The first one mentioned is Martha, dependable, steadfast, practical Martha. When Lazarus died, it was she who ran out to meet Jesus. It was Martha who worried about the stench when they opened Lazarus’ tomb. And it was Martha who proclaimed her belief in Jesus as the Messiah. However, there are guests in the house, and Martha’s immediate response is to make sure that the meal is prepared and everyone is served. This time, unlike the last time there were guests in the house when she complained to Jesus that Mary wasn’t helping with the meal, she goes about her business quietly.

Next is Lazarus who “was one of those at the table” with Jesus. Even though he would obviously be the host of this evening, he also has nothing to say. However, this is not out of character given his complete silence after Jesus raised him from the dead. Lazarus may be a beloved friend, but anything he might actually have actually said is superfluous to the story of the Christ John is weaving for us.

John now turns to Mary, who plays the crucial role in this little drama. She brings a twelve ounce jar of very expensive imported perfume into the dining area. We know it is expensive both because John names it and Judas tells us it could be sold for 300 denarii. Nard is short for spikenard, which grows in the Himalayas and was used in perfume by wealthy Romans. Very few people in Roman Palestine would have been able to afford this luxury. Yet Mary takes this costly perfume, pours it over Jesus’ feet and then wipes it away with her hair.

This brings us to Judas, the first person to actually speak in this scene, and the only one to speak besides Jesus. He complains that the perfume could have been sold and the money given to the poor. But the Gospel writer does more than give Judas a couple of lines of dialogue. We are also given two additional details to make sure that we know Judas is, to quote Dorothy talking about the Wizard, “a very bad man.”

At this point, Jesus intervenes. He tells Judas to, “Leave her alone. She has bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.”

Finally, there are the growing crowd in Bethany that has come to see the local celebrities and the chief priests who are even more nervous about their waning influence in the wake of Jesus’ ministry. These groups not only provide a marked contrast to the oasis of calm in Lazarus’s house, but also a transition to the entry into Jerusalem and Jesus’ final days.

But inside the house are people who know who Jesus is. Lazarus knows from his experience of being raised from the dead. Martha knows and has proclaimed her belief. Judas knows. And Mary knows. All of them know at some level or another that Jesus is the Messiah, promised to the world. But only Mary understands fully what it means and what is to come in the days ahead. While Martha serves, Lazarus sits, and Judas complains, Mary takes the expensive perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet—something usually done only while preparing a body for burial. Through her actions Mary shows that she knows that Jesus will die, and she knows there will not be an opportunity to do this loving service for Jesus before his burial.

Mary knows that without the events of the coming days—the entry into Jerusalem, the betrayal by Judas, the arrest, the trial, and the crucifixion—there can be no Easter. As Joan Chittester writes, “We go through death so that life can become new over and over again, so that over and over again, we can see the lives of those around us with new eyes.” If we take nothing else from this short scene from John’s Gospel, let us remember to take time with Mary to face head on the events of this week so that we may fully understand and celebrate the coming resurrection of our Savior.

Amen.

Bible Study With The Bishops: In The Beginning

Today I started my catch up reading on the Lambeth Conference Daily Reading Plan. Since the commentary has not yet arrived, I pulled four translations of the Bible and the EfM (Education for Ministry) Year Two binder (the New Testament) from my bookshelf. That's essentially the same thing I do when I start to prepare a sermon.

The four translations I have are the King James Version (KJV), the New International Version (NIV), the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), and The Message. I like each of them for different reasons, and they are the four I tend to consult most frequently. That's why I own one copy of each--two of the NRSV, because I have a small edition for traveling. When I need to see one of the myriad of other translations, I can look just about any of them up on the Internet.

The EfM texts are not the be all and end all of biblical commentary or scholarship, but they do provide a good place to begin. And since I am a graduate of the program and currently co-mentor a group at St. Paul's Fairfield, they are a reference on my bookshelf. If I need other commentaries, I usually borrow them from a friend or coworker, check them out of the library, or look them up on the Internet.

A couple of comments about John in general. To me, and to others, John is the most mystic of the Gospels. John is also the source of some of our most familiar and beloved images of Jesus--The Good Shepherd and the Vine and the Branches, to name just two. I have some things to say about these, but I'll wait until they come up in the reading plan to discuss them.

So today I read Chapter 1 in the four translations. What follows are my thoughts about the opening of John's Gospel.

The first thing I noted was that Verse 1 remained unchanged through the first three translations:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Peterson's Message paraphrases it this way:

The Word was first,
the Word present to God,
God present to the Word.

I'm not always fond of the way Peterson paraphrases the ancient texts, but usually his rendering is clear and understandable. Not in this case.

The second thing that jumped out at me was that the author of John glosses over Jesus' baptism. John the Baptist testifies that he saw the Spirit descending on Jesus like a dove, a familiar image, but the actual baptism is not mentioned. Nor do we hear God saying "This is my beloved Son" in the manner found in the Synoptic Gospels (or "You are," in Luke).

It was also interesting to note that the KJV and The Message make the Cephas/Peter means stone/rock connection directly in the text rather than in a footnote.

The story of Nathanael's reaction to Jesus struck me as a foreshadowing of Thomas' need to see the resurrected Jesus for himself, both stories like bookends of the need for concrete proof at the beginning and the end of the story. Both Nathanael and Thomas are also present when Jesus appears in Galilee after his resurrection.

The EfM text, like most commentaries and other introductory texts, talks about the similarities and differences between John and the other three Gospels. A couple of passages that caught my eye when I skimmed through it:

Seeking to understand the Fourth Gospel does not commit us to any particular theory of its origin. What is at stake is not how it got that way, but what it means. (p. 180)

It seems to me that "how it got that way" does have some impact on "what it means," but then I tend to be of the Historical-Critical school of thought when it comes to bible study. Which shouldn't surprise any of you who know me.

Of course, then there is John the Mystic:

As we see again and again, Johannine words and phrases and even whole passages often seem ambiguous, very probably because the evangelist intends the text to carry more than one idea or image. (p. 185)

There are times when looking at John's Gospel from the Historical-Critical method just doesn't work. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut, your heart, and/or your faith.

And finally, this little gem from the EfM text:

One might think of this Gospel as a Greek drama, with Jesus as protagonist, the Jews, antagonists, and the disciples and /or crowds as chorus. (p. 178)

This brings to mind a discussion about Corneille's Polyeucte during one of my college French literature classes as to whether or not the protagonist had the "fatal flaw" necessary to make him a tragic figure. Whether or not Jesus is a tragic figure might make for an interesting discussion, don't you think?

Tomorrow we'll begin Chapter 2 and be caught up with the Reading Plan. If you've been following along, did you note that there are no readings for Saturdays or Sundays? I wonder why they did that? Anyone have any ideas about that?

Peace,
Jeffri

This Is The Night

I attended the Vigil at my former parish, Grace Episcopal Church here in Norwalk, primarily because they asked me to play flute for one of the canticles and one of the hymns. It was a rare opportunity to play for someone/something other than myself and to play with other musicians. Several years ago I participated in my very first Vigil there and was asked by the rector and the choir director to sing the Exsultet. During my years at Grace, I had the chance to experience a wide variety of music and worship styles that I do not have the opportunity to do at my current parish. Sometimes I miss that, so I jumped at the chance to play for this service this evening.

The music was a mix of the familiar and the new, but it was the Liturgy of the word that proved to be the most powerful and meaningful I've experienced in a long time. The first reading, "The Story of Creation," was done by two people--one reading the story and one acting it out in the front of the chapel. Lois, the priest in charge, adapted a Godly Play story for "Israel's Deliverance at The Red Sea." The "Valley of Dry Bones" was done as a dialogue between two members of the congregation. The final reading was a story, "The Stolen Mother Moon," which became the sermon as Lois used the story as a metaphor and an introduction to the story of Christ's coming among us, his death and his resurrection.

We renewed our baptismal vows in the narthex of the chapel and then moved into the church to celebrate the first Eucharist of Easter.

It was not the most well-attended Vigil I have ever attended. It was not the most organized, nor the most magnificent. It was, however, full of joy and life, a celebration not only of the resurrection of our Savior, but of Grace Church as well, a parish that has suffered much over the past few years.

Tomorrow I will attend services at my current parish, St. Paul's in Fairfield. The people will celebrate joyously. Some of us will be wearing rainbows as part of the Rainbow Presence, which may cause some discomfort. I am sure it will be very powerful in its own way, but it will lack the intimacy of the Vigil and the connection with the ancient roots of our faith.

How blessed is this night, when earth and heaven are joined and we are reconciled to God.

Peace,
Jeffri

Tell Me A Story

Last Sunday after Epiphany, February 26, 2006
Year B: 1 Kings 19:9-18, Mark 9:2-9
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Fairfield, CT

Tell Me A Story
by Jeffri Harre

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

“Tell me a story about your baptism.” I was eating lunch with my boss a couple of weeks after starting my job at the Episcopal Church Center. I paused and said, “I don’t really have one, I mean I don’t remember my baptism, and there aren’t any family stories about it.” She didn’t say a word but went on eating her fruit salad, so I started talking.

I was baptized in the basement of the Episcopal church my parents attended because the parish was in the midst of a building program. I suppose it would have been a private ceremony, like most baptisms were then. My parents left the church a couple of years later, and my brother and I grew up unchurched. I found my way back to church during college and joined the Congregational Church. A number of years later, I returned to the Episcopal Church and had to be confirmed by the bishop. I dug out my baptismal certificate for the Rector and was floored to find that my confirmation was scheduled almost 30 years to the day of my baptism.

She smiled at me and said, “See, you do have a story.”

A few weeks later, again at lunch, Robyn looked at me across the table. “Tell me a story about an encounter you’ve had with God.”

“Ummmmm….well….” I mumbled before lapsing into silence. She continued to eat, saying nothing. I did have a story. I just didn’t feel very comfortable talking about it. After all, as the old joke asks, “Why is it that when we talk to God we’re praying, but when God talks to us we’re schizophrenic?” In our society, even in most of our churches, we just aren’t comfortable talking about our own experiences with God. We are children of the scientific age, and it’s easy to dismiss such stories as bits of fantasy or as some kind of mental aberration. We want to be able to test, measure, and study something before we accept it. We want logic. We want things to make sense to our rational minds.

Yet our scriptures are full of stories about burning bushes, pillars of fire, visits from angels, voices from the heavens. The Season of Epiphany begins and ends with two such stories—Jesus’ baptism on the First Sunday, and the Transfiguration, which we read today. In both stories we are told that God spoke, “This is my son, the beloved…” For Peter, James and John, the experience was more than just hearing God speak, they SAW things—Jesus shining, his robe whiter than anyone on earth could whiten it, Moses and Elijah appearing to talk with Jesus. Now how do you go back down the mountain and talk about that? Maybe Jesus had the right idea, “Tell no one…”

The other story we are told in today’s readings is just as dramatic. Elijah is instructed to go up on the mountain and wait for God. First comes the great wind, followed by an earthquake and then the fire. Yet, God is not in any of those things we are told. It is only when sheer silence descends on the mountain that Elijah covers his face and goes to the mouth of the cave to listen to God. And how do you go back down the mountain and talk about that experience?

Yet, Christians have been telling stories about experiences with God from the very beginning. It’s how we engage the Gospel. It’s how we share those stories of the Good News. And that Good News doesn’t stop with the Gospels. If Christ is truly present in our lives, then we will have our own stories to share. And it isn’t always easy. Sometimes it’s downright dangerous, as we know from the stories of the early Christian Martyrs. Even after Christianity became “the norm” in Western Europe, it could be dangerous. Joan of Arc was burned at the stake because she dared not only to share her story but to act on it. It is still risky today. It means opening ourselves up to others and being vulnerable.

Part of our work in the Office of Children’s Ministries and Christian Education is to help people, especially children, share in the Good News, including the telling of it. We want people to know that their stories are part of The Story, and that sharing those stories is part of how we share the Gospel. We do this, in part, by teaching people how to create safe spaces for themselves and others to tell their stories, and we emphasize that listening is as important as telling. Part of creating that safe space is to start with “safer” stories, or by answering a series of questions over time that start us thinking about what it means to be part of that story. When I started working for the office, we were in the middle of preparing a video tape of people’s stories to be shared at an upcoming conference. The questions we asked people were:

Do you believe in God?
How did you first learn about God?
How do you tell others about God?
Why do you think people go to church?

Another set of questions you might think about is:

Who am I?
Who are my people?
Who or what is God calling me to be or do?

Or simply ask them to tell a story about their baptism. It’s a story we all share. It is, after all, how we are brought into the Christian community.

What Robyn did those first few weeks I was on the job was to create that safe space for us, where we could share our stories with each other. So, here is the story I was eventually able to share with her.

It happened when I was in graduate school in Madison, Wisconsin. It was one of those perfect Fall days. There are days even now when the sky is just the right shade of blue, or the smell of the leaves will take me back to that day. I was standing at a corner waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street. Suddenly—or at least it seemed very sudden—everything seemed to be sharper, brighter. Even now the logical part of me wants to try and explain the sensation away as a cloud moving away from the sun, or a shift in the way I was standing so that I was no longer in the shadow of a building. But I don’t think it can be explained away that easily. Then along with that sharpness, that brightness, I became aware of a message—it wasn’t exactly words that I heard aloud or in my head. It said, “I need you. You have a ministry in my church.” And then just as suddenly, it was just another Fall afternoon on a Madison street corner. Now, how do I go back down the mountain and talk about that experience?

Over twenty years later I am still struggling with the implications of that experience, and what it means to minister in God’s church and in the world. I have come back down the mountain and shared the story, sometimes with ease and sometimes with unease. I have been blessed by many people over the years who listened to my story and told me theirs. Together we are finding the many ways to live out God’s call to us.

So, tell me a story…

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Yes, I know it's from last year, but I think it is as relevant now as it was then. It also fits with the storytelling theme of my blog, which I didn't have last year.

Peace,
Jeffri