“Hell and the Mid-Terms”based on Amos 6:1a, 4-7 and…

September 25, 2022
by Sara Baron

If
you want to watch me get internally up in arms quickly, you can give
me a Biblical narrative about heaven and hell that directly suggests
that God sends bad people to suffer in hell. I’ve spent much of my
life trying to counter the narrative that God is someone to be afraid
of, along with countering the idea that God arbitrarily punishes
people with eternal condemnation. Therefore I can get rather quickly
irritated at scriptures supporting condemnations to hell.

Enter:
this week’s gospel lesson, in which a rich man and a poor man die and
the poor man is carried away by the angels to be with Abraham while
the rich man is being tormented in Hades. HEY BIBLE, I’m trying to
teach people about loving God because God first loved us, NOT trying
to scare people into conformity. COULD YOU TONE IT DOWN A LITTLE?

Obviously
not. Getting myself up in arms about a text doesn’t actually make it
go away, so I’m going to have to deal with this story. I can calmly
remind myself that it is a parable, and parables are meant to help us
break down our assumptions about how the world works, NOT be taken
literally. That helps some. I can remind myself that the Jesus
Seminar doesn’t’ think this story goes back to Jesus, but rather to
Luke. But that doesn’t do too much for me, because I find Luke to be
a pretty significant teacher in his own right.

Or,
I can let the story stand as it is written, try to put my concerns
aside, and see what the story can teach as it is. Which, I’m pretty
sure, is the best way forward.

So,
who is Lazarus? He is a poor man, reduced to begging, whose body was
covered in sores. He was hungry, and he was aching, and the comfort
he received was of dogs licking his wounds for him. Oh my. Unlike
in other parables and unlike the rich man, he is given a name. His
name means “One God has helped.” In having a name, we are
confronted with his humanity. We are invited to look at him, and see
his pain.

Many
of the first followers of Jesus were people like Lazarus. Or people
one step from being people like Lazarus. They knew his pain, they
saw his humanity, they could look at him and see his reality because
it was familiar. They also knew the ways other people looked away
from them, and worked to not see them. They knew people wanted them
to be invisible so they could go on their merry way.

In
a conversation I once witnessed, a person who had recently been
housed was asked about how to best respond to people begging on the
street. While only one opinion, hers has stayed with me. She said
it mattered much less to her if people gave money or not, but it
mattered a lot if they looked at her and acknowledged her. She often
felt invisible, and dehumanized, and someone responding when she
spoke mattered a whole lot.

Lazarus,
I’m thinking, knew what that was like.

Who
was the rich man? We know he was rather seriously rich and had 5
brothers. We also know that he didn’t see Lazarus. Not in the
beginning of the story, nor in the end. He thought Lazarus was
disposable, he thought Lazarus should be sent to do his bidding.
Lazarus should be sent to soothe him, Lazarus should be sent to warn
his brothers. (Not warn EVERYONE, mind you, just his brothers.)

As
Debbie Thomas, theologian and writer of “Journey with Jesus” puts
it:

But here’s the scariest
part of the story for me: even after death, the rich man fails to see
Lazarus.  Privilege just plain clings to him — even
in Hades!  Though he piously calls on “Father” Abraham,
he refuses to see Lazarus as anything other than an errand boy:
“Bring me water.”  “Go warn my brothers.”  No
wonder Abraham tells him that the “chasm” separating the two
realms is too great to cross.  Let’s be clear: God is not
the one who builds the chasm.  We do that all by
ourselves.¹

That
is a scary part, that the things separating us from seeing each
other’s humanity are so powerful that they could remain even beyond
our deaths.

When
I stop myself from having an instantaneous defensive reaction to this
parable, I can see it has some powerful truths. It rejects the
world’s hierarchies, and humanizes everyone. Similarly, it
challenges the assumption about who is “good” or “worthy.”
For those who are living in poverty, it showed them that they were
seen in their full humanity. For those not living in poverty, it
makes people who live in poverty visible. It also makes clear that
the rich man may have been rich, but he was definitely poor in
understanding. Finally, we are reminded that this is not a new
teaching brought by Jesus, but the essence of the Hebrew Bible spoken
in a slightly new way.

Now,
I’m always grateful for reminders like those, but I want to also
point what I don’t think we should take from this parable: I do not
think it should lead us to condeming others to hell; nor to feeling
complacent about this world assuming that what is wrong here will be
fixed “in the next”; I don’t think we should dismiss the rich man
as heartless without looking at who in the world we try not to see;
nor (finally) should we use this parable as permission to dismiss
ANYONE as other – not the rich man, not Lazarus, and not anyone
else either.

One
of the great costs of a theology that includes hell is the idea that
the division between good and bad people is between PEOPLE, instead
of accepting that all of us are good people and bad people, and
trying to work with God to maximize the good. That is, a theology of
hell makes space for us to dehumanize and “other” some of God’s
beloveds.

John
Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, said, “if your heart
is with my heart, give me your hand.” He understood the
difference between disagreements about details and implementation and
disagreements about what matters in the world. He feared people
would let little things divide them, instead of working together on
the things that really matter.

Similarly,
my colleague Rabbi Matt Culter has invited fellow members of
Schenectady Clergy Against Hate to speak this weekend about divisions
in our society and how to not let them live in our hearts. We have
an election cycle coming up, and as he said, “Intense rhetoric is
only exacerbating the tensions. We are in a unique role to help
de-escalate the tensions that surely will grow in intensity as
the mid-term elections grow closer.” (He didn’t even know about
this parable coming up in the lectionary!)

This
weekend, Rabbi Culter will remind his congregation that every voice
matters so no one should be dismissed, that there is a need to
respect each other’s character – which means not speaking of or to
one another in anger, and finally that we are all on the same
journey.

Now,
I have to admit that I struggle with attempts at peace or unity that
do so at the expense of the vulnerable or minoritized. And I think
there are real differences in vision for our country, ones that
include very different perspectives on – say – Lazarus and the
rich man. I think those are the sorts of differences that matter,
too. AND, I think that those whose values are different from mine
also have reasons why they think their system is best over all, they
are also on this journey called life, they are also worthy of respect
and being heard. (Not the sort of respect that is obedience, the
sort of respect that honors humanity.) I don’t have to agree with
someone or their values to find them worthy of full humanity, care,
access to health care, enough food to eat, and respect.

Divisions
between us make space for hate. Dismissing someone because of a
different point of view makes space for hate. EVEN dismissing
someone for a different set of values makes space for hate.

NOW,
what about the times when someone else’s “point of view” is one
that, say dismisses the humanity of others? For me, the answer comes
from Rev. Dr. King’s sermon “Love Your Enemies” (which quite
clearly also goes back to Jesus, but I like how Dr. King says it)

Now there is a final reason I
think that Jesus says, “Love your enemies.” It is this: that love
has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that
eventually transforms individuals. That’s why Jesus says, “Love
your enemies.” Because if you hate your enemies, you have no way to
redeem and to transform your enemies. But if you love your enemies,
you will discover that at the very root of love is the power of
redemption. You just keep loving people and keep loving them, even
though they’re mistreating you. Here’s the person who is a
neighbor, and this person is doing something wrong to you and all of
that. Just keep being friendly to that person. Keep loving them.
Don’t do anything to embarrass them. Just keep loving them, and
they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the
beginning. They react with bitterness because they’re mad because
you love them like that. They react with guilt feelings, and
sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period,
but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will
break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive,
and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that
builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears
down and is destructive. “love your enemies.”²

I
wonder what would have resolved the parable? Perhaps, the rich man
seeing Lazarus as a fellow human, another person beloved by God, and
in need of care. Giving him a blanket, or inviting him to a feast,
cleaning his wounds, offering him a job, maybe just letting the table
scraps fall to him, maybe as much as welcoming him into the household
for care. Yes, I know that means another person would have replaced
Lazarus at the gate, maybe two if generosity was known. Because a
single act of mercy doesn’t create social change and prevent people
from being poor. But until the humanity of the rich and the poor can
be seen TOGETHER, the will to change society can’t be created either.

Oh,
also, a pragmatic suggestion: maybe try to use social media less? It
is designed to create division, and we want to create space for love.
Thanks be to God, the God of love.

Amen

1 https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2374-the-great-chasm

2 https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/loving-your-enemies-sermon-delivered-dexter-avenue-baptist-church

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

September 25, 2022

Uncategorized

“Mother Hen” based on Psalm 118:1-6, 26-29 and Luke…

March 13, 2022
by Sara Baron

There are these contrasts in the Bible, these ways that
what is written is so shocking that we can’t even hear it most of the
time. Human brains are mostly set on autopilot, and we conflate what
we hear with what we already believe to be true. This can make it
hard to hear the Bible as it is, because we end up softening edges
that are actually quite hard!

Specifically, I think it could be easy to hear Jesus
say, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as
a hen gathers her brood under her wings” and think, “aw, that’s
sweet, Jesus loves me and wants to protect me.” Which, I grant
you, is a part of the meaning. But, it overlooks the radicalness of
that meaning.

Debie Thomas starts to explain it this way:

Here’s what I find so startling about the image.
If maternal power, acumen, or success were the characteristics Jesus
wanted to emphasize in his choice of metaphor, he could have used any
number of more appropriate Old Testament images to make his point.
God as enraged she-bear (Hosea 13:8). God as soaring mother
eagle (Deuteronomy 32:11-12). God as laboring woman (Isaiah
42:14). God as mom of a healthy, happy toddler (Psalm 131:2).
God as skilled midwife (Psalm 22:9-10). But those are not the
images he chooses. Instead, on this second Sunday in Lent,
Luke’s gospel invites us to contemplate Jesus as a mother hen whose
chicks don’t want her. Though she stands with her wings wide open,
offering welcome, belonging, and shelter, her children refuse to come
home to her. Her wings — her arms — are empty.
This, in other words, is a mother bereft. A mother in
mourning. A mother struggling with failure and futility.¹

Whoa.

And, I think, since this is about Jerusalem which was
the Jewish center of power and influence (and lack of power and lack
of influence), and because Luke’s gospel was written AFTER the
destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE, I don’t think we’re supposed to
miss the contrast between a mother hen reaching out empty wings and
wishing to protect her chicks with…the golden eagle that the Roman
Empire used as a symbol of its imperial power.

This is where we are dealing with God and Jesus upending
our expectations. In a contrast between an eagle and a chicken, we’d
expect God to be the eagle, RIGHT? (We do have that imagery in
Deuteronomy, as Debie mentioned.) But, no. Here we have a contrast
between a strong predator and a vulnerable prey, and we’re told that
Jesus is like the prey- and WORSE, like the prey trying with all her
might to protect her even more vulnerable young and failing to do so.

This sort of turns my stomach.

I see in my head Ukrainian and Ethiopian mothers holding
their babies while bombs drop around them.

But, that also clarifies the image for me. If bombs are
dropping on mothers hovering over their babies to try to keep them
alive, and the choice is to see God in the bombs or in the mothers,
then the choice is easy – God is the one hovering trying to
protect, even when God can’t protect.

It still turns my stomach though.

And I can see why people might prefer to think of God in
the power of the bomb rather than the powerlessness of the mother. I
think we’d expect the eagle, not the mother hen. But, that’s not the
God we worship.

I don’t think it can be ignored that Luke is using this
passage to foreshadow Jesus’s death and resurrection. The Jesus
seminar believes this whole passage to be a creation of Luke, a way
he was trying to make sense of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection.

The Pharisees are warning Jesus that if he doesn’t
change his ministry, he’ll get killed. This is true. But Jesus
responds that he isn’t done doing the work he needs to do. They want
him to be afraid, and have that fear change his path. Jesus seems to
understand, but he holds strong in the face of the fear. He knows
his own vulnerability, he understands it, but he doesn’t let it
change his path. A mother hen is vulnerable, but she still stretches
out her wings for the MORE vulnerable chicks.

The mother hen metaphor fits terrifyingly well with the
reality of Jesus’s impending death. Debie Thomas writes, “Yes,
Jesus mocks Herod by calling him a fox. But he never argues
that the fox isn’t dangerous. He never promises his children
immunity from harm. I mean, let’s face it — if a determined
fox wants to kill a brood of downy chicks, he will find a way to do
so. What Jesus the mother hen offers is not the absence of
danger, but the fullness of his unguarded, open-hearted, wholly
vulnerable self in the face of all that threatens and scares us.”²

This, of course, suggests that the sort of strength God
offers, the sort of strength God asks for from us, isn’t the golden
eagle or bomb kind. It is the vulnerable kind.

That’s the world-turned-upside-down-by-faith bit. What
on earth is vulnerable strength? (Except maybe everything?) Isn’t
that just strength in weakness? Yeah. It probably is. That’s the
God being unexpected thing. Vulnerable strength is a mother hen,
with wings open, ready to protect any chick willing to huddle under
them, when even she herself may be swept away, but if she is, the
chicks may be able to live.

To get good at vulnerability as strength though,
probably doesn’t require having to practice at the threat of life
level. To be ready to do that sort of vulnerability requires
practice with the so-called easy stuff, to build up our vulnerability
muscles. Vulnerability is saying, “I’m scared,” or “I’m sad,”
rather than putting on a mask of impenetrability and pushing through.
Vulnerability is saying, “I don’t know,” and taking the risk
someone might think we’re ill-informed, or “I can’t” when someone
might find you weak (or not trying hard enough.) Vulnerability is
allowing ourselves to see other people’s pain without looking away or
running to a quick fix. (This. Is. Hard.)

Vulnerability is staying with our own pain, rather than
pushing it away, or pushing it down, running to a quick fix, or
trying to push it off on someone else. (#blame).

For many Christians, the “incarnation” is the
ultimate example of vulnerability. The idea is that God who is GOD,
the creator of all that is, takes on human vulnerability, pain, and
mortality in the form of Jesus, and in doing so moves from
invulnerable to vulnerable to be with us.

Truth be told, I have never resonated with that even
when theologians I otherwise adore say so. A friend of mine, for
whom incarnation is one of the most important parts of his faith,
laughed at me once about that and said, “but aren’t you a
panentheist?” (Translation: don’t you believe that God is
EVERYWHERE, in EVERYTHING, and all that is exists within the Divine?)
Well, yes, I am. He said, so doesn’t that make the incarnation sort
of… redundant for you?

That was a helpful ah ha moment, because, for me it is.
(If you are a person who derives great meaning from incarnation,
please know that you are in the majority, and I’m the odd one out,
but I’m going to keep talking because sometimes others are also “odd
ones out” and like to know they aren’t alone.)

I believe God already has all the vulnerability in the
world – literally. God is with ALL those who are struggling, in
EVERY way. I believe in a vulnerable God.

Which is to say that I believe vulnerability is sacred.

And, because I try to practice it regularly, I believe
vulnerability is really, really hard work. Especially when one is
trying to practice vulnerability for the sake of honesty and
connection, and modeling that none of us are impenetrable – but
trying to do that without causing undo harm to others. The balance
is not easy to find, and I am quite capable of having “vulnerability
hangovers” (a term I believe was coined by Brene Brown). That is,
while I’m pushing vulnerability today, but I’m acknowledging that
it can also be wielded as a tool in some cases, and that’s not what
we’re going for here. We’re dealing with weakness and vulnerability,
not to use them as tools to manipulate others, or gain power over
others.

Rather, if God is vulnerable, then we are not excused
from our own vulnerability, nor asked to pretend it away. I think
this is why Ash Wednesday starts Lent by asking us to remember that
we are mortal, so that we can remember to live our lives with
intention. When we are vulnerable, we remember how tender we are,
how easily hurt, how close things that could harm us are, and we open
ourselves to those who are hurt, or harmed, or displaced, or
attacked. And when our hearts break open to allow others in, we are
moved – once again – to create a world that is more just and
equitable so that the MOST vulnerable are no longer forced take the
pain the most powerful avoid.

That, I think, is the power of vulnerability: the power
to break our hearts open which moves us to create a better world.

May God help us, all.

Amen

1Debie
Thomas, “I Have Longed” Lectionary Essay for March 13, 2022,
https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3341-i-have-longed

2Ibid.

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

March 13, 2022

Uncategorized

“Like a Tree” based on Jeremiah 17:5-10 and Luke…

February 20, 2022
by Sara Baron

In this time of disruption
and destabilization, I am fed by even the metaphor of constancy and
stability.

“They shall be like a
tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream.”
(Jeremiah 17:8a)

I want to spend a moment
with those trees, and think about what it might be like to be like
one of those trees. To have constant, easy access to water. To be
able to grow strong. To know the world as dependable place. To be
able to BE dependable because of having constant access to needs
being met.

Jeremiah speaks to people
who know and live in a desert. Sun is abundant. Air is abundant.
Water is not. To be a tree planted by streams of water in a desert
is to be: safe.

To have deep roots. To be
able with withstand whatever comes.

The tree, “shall not
fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of
drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit.”
(Jeremiah 17:8b)

Oh my! “It is not
anxious!” What a delight to think about!

Jeremiah presents these
trees as being like those who trust in and depend on God, in contrast
to those who put their trust in their own powers or in the ways of
the world. Jeremiah urges us to seek God, to trust God, to be lifted
up and fed by the Holy, and to seek the WAYS of God rather than the
WAYS of the world. (To make that difference overly simple, the ways
of the world are competitive, hierarchical, violent, and value some
lives and not others. The ways of God are cooperative, un-ranked,
nonviolent, and values all.)

Now, I’m going to say
something pastors don’t say much: this metaphor shouldn’t be
extended TOO far. If God is like water that keeps a tree alive and
enables it go strong and bear fruit, great. But, water is not the
need of a tree. And, with a few possible exceptions, God is not the
ONLY need of humans.

I mention this because
even before the pandemic we were living in a society with a crisis of
loneliness, and the pandemic has deepened the crisis. A tree needs
water. Yes. We need God. YES! AND, a tree needs air and sunlight.
And we need each other, and we need REST. Jeremiah warns people not
to depend on our own strength or on “mere mortals” but I’m going
to remind you that as a human being you need God, and people, and
rest.

If you are lonely, that
doesn’t mean you are unfaithful.

If you are tired, that
doesn’t mean you are unfaithful.

In fact, those warnings
Jeremiah offered about what NOT to trust may apply here. We cannot
depend on our own strength in a system that demands more of us than a
human can give without getting tired. Tired comes because human
systems are set up WRONG. Likewise with lonely. Our society is set
up to keep us distanced and displeased so we’ll BUY more things, and
the forces that keep us distanced are POWERFUL. Being lonely

is a part of living in our
world today, which is set up wrong.

Part of what we dream
together as a Body of Christ seeking to build the kindom of God is
what a world would look like where people are able to SURVIVE and
THRIVE. We are seeking to use our lives to build a world where
people have dependable access to God, to live-giving relationships,
and to sustainable patterns of rest.

We dream of a time when
people are like trees planted by streams of water, with plenty of
fresh air, and sunlight, so that they can grow up strong and bold,
courageous and loving, whole and able to provide healing for others.

(As was recently mentioned
after I went off on another ramble about trees, you see very clearly
how passionate I am about trees when I am given the chance to talk
about them.)

Now, perhaps you thought
that if I was given one of the most famous texts in all of
Christianity to preach on, I might focus on that, and you aren’t
WRONG. I’m getting there. Except, that interestingly enough, Luke’s
version of this particular story is NOT the famous one. Matthew’s
is, because Matthew’s is a lot easier to stomach. Matthew gives only
blessings. Luke includes woes. Matthew talks about the “poor in
spirit” and “those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
Luke talks about the “poor” and the “hungry.”

Right from the get-go,
Luke’s story isn’t Matthew’s. Matthew tells of the “Sermon on the
Mount” – a pragmatic choice as a mountain would help with
acoustics. Luke tells of the “Sermon on the Plain,” making
emphatically clear that Luke is telling a story of God’s interest in
LEVELING.

Debie Thomas, an
incredible theologian, on the incredible blog “Journey with Jesus”
summarizes well:

Then,
standing “on a level place” with the crowd, he tells his would-be
followers what life in God’s upside-down kingdom looks like.
Those who are destitute, unfed, grieving, and marginalized can “leap
for joy,” because they have God’s ear and God’s blessing.
But those who are wealthy, full-bellied, carefree, and well-liked
should watch out, because their condition is precarious, not
enviable. The material “blessings” they cherish most, the
very possessions and attributes they consider signs of God’s favor,
are in fact liabilities that might do them spiritual harm.¹

Ms. Thomas reflects deeply
about the material blessings she has, and how they may in fact get in
the way of her awareness of her dependence on God. She points out
though, that this text isn’t about celebrating misery or hardship,
because immediately before this teaching, Jesus heals and eliminates
suffering. We aren’t told to seek hardship. Rather, we’re invited
to see the world as it is.

Ms. Thomas reflects:

Notice also that Jesus
doesn’t offer four blessings to one audience, and four woes to
another. His sermon is not a sorting exercise between the good
folks and the bad folks; he addresses every
blessing and every
woe to every
person. As if to say: this is the human pattern. This is
where all of us live. We move from blessing to woe over and
over again in the course of our lives. We
invite blessing every time we find ourselves empty and yearning for
God, and we invite woe every time we retreat into smug and
thoughtless self-satisfaction. …I think what Jesus is saying in
this Gospel is that I have something to learn about discipleship that
my life circumstances will not teach me.

She
uses this as an invitation to humility for learning from those who
have learned discipleship from a different place.

I’ll
admit, that when I think about those metaphorical trees planted by
streams of water, with their healthy fruit, their strong trunks, and
their sense of dependability in the world, – a place I’d like
everyone to get to,I currently worry a little bit that they may look
at the trees whose access to water is less dependable and think them
unproductive. Or, the trees planted near air polluting factories,
and think them weak. Or, the “full light” trees planted in the
shade, and think them not trying hard enough.

(Our
yard doesn’t ever have “full sun” and we keep trying to plant
veggies anyway, and they always seem less productive and less healthy
than, say, those planted where they get what they actually need. And
the perfect amount of water doesn’t actually overcome the lack of
sun.)

Worse,
yet, I fear that the trees planted far from the streams of water may
judge THEMSELVES in the ways that the trees near the stream do,
without taking into account the differences in access.

I
think, as well, about tree line. About the point on the mountain
when it is too high, too cold, too oxygen deprived, too windy for
trees to keep growing. And I think about the trees JUST BELOW “tree
line” that look short, sickly, and quite often bent by the wind.

Jeremiah
is encouraging us to be dependent on God and focused on God’s will.
I agree, AND I think what Debie Thomas is saying is that the trees
just before tree line, and the shrubs in the desert, as well as the
ones influenced by pollution have a whole lot to teach the trees by
streams of water about scrappy survival, resilience, trust, and
faith.

So,
dear ones, where ever you feel planted, may you thrive as much as it
is possible. AND may you take note of where you are planted, and
where others are planted, and make sure to learn from those whose
location is different from yours. After all, God is with us
everywhere, and each of us are therefore able to glean the wisdom of
the Divine from exactly where we are. Thanks be to God. Amen

1Debie
Thomas, Journey with Jesus (webzine), Lectionary Essay for 2/13/2022
entitled “Leveled”
https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3319-leveled.

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

February 20, 2022

Uncategorized

“Journey with Jesus” based on Psalm 133 and John…

April 11, 2021
by Sara Baron

Have
you ever thought about what it would be like to journey with Jesus?
I’m not actually talking about spiritual metaphor here, I suspect if
I was many people could openly say, “Yes, that’s my life!” I
mean, what it was like for the first followers of Jesus to journey
around Galilee and later Judah with the historical Jesus.

Being
a part of the 21^st century, my capacity for 1^st
century historical accuracy is lacking, so I’m sometimes hesitant to
to project myself into those experiences. Nevertheless, it feels
like I can’t enter into this story of “Doubting Thomas” without
letting my questions about journeying with Jesus come front and
center.

I
wonder how often those first followers were uncomfortable, especially
in the face of Jesus’ teaching. This is likely projection on my
part, a reflection of how challenged I am by what he taught. “Love
your enemy,” “give to anyone who asks of you,” “everyone is
your neighbor,” and “love your neighbor as you love yourself”
are all important, profound teachings. They’re also ones I fail to
live up to every day. Did the disciples squirm like I do? Or is it
that I come from a position of relative power and wealth that leads
me to squirm, and those who followed him more often had nothing and
could more easily accept his teaching?

What
about the parables? Even the Jesus Seminar believes that Jesus
probably taught in parables. The thing about parables is that
they’re lessons that keep on giving. Every time you think about
them, you can see something new. They grow with you. This is,
obviously, amazing as a teaching tool. But was it hard, as a first
follower, to be stretched and grown every day? Did it feel like
drinking from a fire hose? Did they ever feel like they got it, they
knew what he was up to, they were following along?

I
wonder too about the pace of life for those first followers. The
gospel writer of Mark likes the word “immediately” and seems to
tell a rapid fire story. But that just means he skips the quiet,
slow parts. Did they linger of meals, talking and laughing? Or was
everything GO-GO-GO like in the midst of an advocacy campaign with a
legislative deadline? I suspect it was the former. I don’t think
you actually build a movement that lasts unless you work at the pace
of human trust, and that pace requires a lot of talking, laughing,
story telling, meaning making, and even sitting around the fire in
quiet wonder.

Some
of my questions really add up to, what kind of spiritual development
happened to those who were following Jesus? The first followers were
members of a powerful faith tradition already, one that Jesus was
using and drawing from. They were also, mostly, disenfranchised
people without any reason to have faith or trust in the systems of
the day. They were marginalized people. (And that’s where I have to
be so careful to pay attention to the fact that I am not one, and not
to project myself more than I should.) In some ways, marginalized
people have an advantage in seeing what God is up to in the world,
because God is always up to upsetting the status quo to allow more
people to thrive AND survive and that is GOOD NEWS for the
marginalized people but threatening for those who are not.

And
they were spending all their time with Jesus, and with each other,
and that feels like the very best set up for rapid faith development.
Jesus was deeply connected with the Divine, likely a mystic, and
ready and able to put the needs of others before his own. In my
life, people like that have taught me SO much, and I’d imagine being
with Jesus for a year would change EVERYTHING.

I’m
wondering this because of the easy way with which Thomas is able to
express his doubt to his fellow disciples. This is an expression of
a rather well developed faith. I want to consider a few “stages of
faith development” according to James Fowler, and wonder about
where the disciples were with those. Yet, I want to be a little bit
careful. It can be really easy to hear about stages like these and
try to characterize one’s self as HIGH as one can, as well as to
deride others for being in LOWER stages. That is NOT the point. In
fact, I suspect that most of us move around between stages based on
the level of stress we’re under, the strength of the teaching we’d
received on any given topic, the level of stress around us, and the
number of other things we’re trying to do at the same time. God is
with people wherever we are, and while we do want to “develop” as
people of faith, part of that development is making peace with the
honesty of where we are and being peaceable about where others are –
without judgement. This is also to say that if you feel like you’ve
moved backward over the past, say 15 months, then have grace with
yourself – that means you’ve been under unsustainable stress.

The
least developed “adult faith”¹
is one that easily yields to authority and quietly pushes away any
conflicts in faith in order to minimize the threat to faith. To help
grasp the stages, I think it may be instructive to see how the Psalm
might be heard from within this stage. The Psalm’s opening verse,
“How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in
unity!” can be heard as an encouragement to keep the peace, quiet
one’s own questions, and silence the concerns of those who raise
issues – in the name of “unity.” Unfortunately, this
understanding of unity has the impact of silencing people who are
marginalized and preventing growth. Yet, it is easy to see how it
can be heard that way, right? “How very good and pleasant it is
when kindred live together in unity!” So— be quiet about issues
and experience the good and pleasant!! Thomas is well past this
stage when he easily, immediately, questions the statement of TEN of
his friends and faith companions.

The
next level of “adult faith”²
is characterized by angst and struggle as the person takes
responsibility for their own faith, instead of just following
blindly. In this stage is greater nuance, greater open-mindedness,
and more potential conflict. How might people in this stage hear,
“How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in
unity!”? I wonder if the word “unity” becomes more complicated
here, or if “kindred” are subdivided. Is this a place where the
unity of the kindred reflects similar thinking groups, but there are
several different areas of unity? Does challenging authority become
a means of separation? (There are many other possible answers.) It
is clear that Thomas is AT LEAST at this stage, as he speaks his own
truth clearly. He stands in his own integrity whether anyone is with
him or not, although it is worth pointing out that he remains with
the whole, and that might suggest that this sort of unity is large
enough for everyone’s integrity.

The
next level of “adult faith” seems like the one all of the
disciples were in the midst of transitioning into after the death of
Jesus. It generally comes after a significant crisis, and James
Fowler calls this “Conjunctive Faith.” This is faith that can
handle paradoxes and mystery, and let go of pieces of tradition or
faith from prior stages that don’t work anymore. It is a stage and a
space where multiple truths can be held simultaneously, without
conflict. So how might, “How very good and pleasant it is when
kindred live together in unity!” be heard here? Perhaps this is
when “unity” becomes about seeking each other’s well-being
regardless of differences of perspective or differences of need.
Unity doesn’t require similarity, only love, and love flows from God.

I
cannot tell for sure if Thomas or the rest where in this stage yet.
I think most likely they were growing into it, and this is a story
about that transition. This is, after all, a story remembering that
different people have different experiences and rather than all the
value going to the ones with greater experience, there is an
acknowledged blessing of those who follow without the experiences.
This is a story that anticipates us – the ones who did not
experience the first resurrection first hand, and yet celebrate it.

There
is, for Fowler, a rare final stage of adult faith development, one
neither this story nor most people of faith reach. I suspect that
most of the disciples reached it by the end of their lives, and I
further suspect it is what John Wesley was talking about when he
suggested that people could reach perfection in living God’s love
during their lifetimes. I think that people in that stage would
hear, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together
in unity!” and immediately grasp that “kindred” is universal
and “unity” comes when all the people have the peace that comes
after the needs of justice are met.

Was
it because the disciples had time with Jesus that they reached the
final stage? Or was it because they lost Jesus and had to find the
ways to go on that they did? Or both? Or neither? It is
unknowable.

As
United Methodists, we are taught about that idea of reaching
perfection in living God’s love during our lifetimes. It is most
often called “going on to perfection” and most frequently it
serves to make me sad when I realize how far I am from that goal.
Yet, when I slow down enough to listen to the voice of God, I hear
God saying that I don’t have to be there yet, God hasn’t asked that
of me. Rather, God says, I’m asked to be where I am, and be open to
the next means of grace that will help me walk along my journey.
And, that seems fair, because God is a just God, and God doesn’t ask
more of us than we can give, and what we can give is based on who we
are today and where we are on our faith journey.

Which
means, really that I’m back to the metaphorical journey with Jesus,
and am encouraging you to think about how your journey is going, and
what the next steps are, and to check to see if you need any help
along the way. I can think of no clearer role for the church than to
help each other as we move along our journeys with Jesus. Or, in
other words, we help each other move onto perfect. May God help us
all!! Amen

1James
W. Fowler Stages of Faith: The Psychology of Human Development
and the Quest for Meaning (San
Francisco: Harper&Row, 1981). Fowler’s stage 3:
Synthetic-Conventional”
Faith. Summary found at
https://www.institute4learning.com/2020/06/12/the-stages-of-faith-according-to-james-w-fowler/
(I have and love the book, but thank God for other people’s
thoughtful work.)

2 Fowler’s
stage 4: “Individuative-Reflective
Faith”

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

April 11, 2021

Uncategorized

“Lifted Up, I Guess” based on Numbers 21:4-9 and…

March 14, 2021
by Sara Baron

I
don’t like the Numbers story, or how it portrays God. I don’t like
that John references it, and adds it to his conception of Jesus. I
gave serious thought to avoiding both of these scriptures today, but
I don’t actually believe in avoiding difficult things. (Fine, also I
didn’t have a better idea.)

Just
in case you didn’t listen to the Numbers reading, or don’t naturally
object to scriptures, let me be clear about what I dislike about it.
It says that the people got impatient with God, and God punished them
for their impatience by sending poisonous snakes to kill them, and
when the people were upset about that Moses intervened and God told
Moses to make bronze serpent and put it on a pole for the people to
look at and be healed, and they were. So…. I dislike the narrative
that God punishes, and even more so that God punishes impatiences,
and even more that God’s punishes by killing. As a bit of an aside,
it also seems distinctly unfair that there was that whole golden calf
incident where making a golden calf was BAD, but in this story making
a bronze snake is the solution. But that is relatively unimportant
in comparison to the “God killing people for getting impatient”
theme.

Ok.
Thank you for letting me get that off my chest, because now I can
approach the story from a different angle. The first piece of making
peace with this story is acknowledging that people are meaning
makers, and that means that sometimes we make meaning where it
doesn’t exist. So, if the people in the wilderness encounter
poisonous snakes, it makes plenty of sense that they’d make meaning
of out of it and claim that it is God’s punishment. People do that.

Having
said that, I think we can get more out of this story by (hesitantly)
entering into the mindset of the story than fighting with it. I
don’t actually think God punishes people by sending poisonous snakes
– or having a person lose their job – or creating hurricanes – or
creating a virus to kill millions. However, I think the “solution”
in this story is interesting part. Also, since people still
attribute struggles in their life to Divine punishment, so we don’t
have much space to stand on to judge the ancients.

From
within the story, the problem is that poisonous snakes are killing
people, and the people request Divine intervention so they can live.
Replace snakes with a virus, and we are right there with them. We’ve
prayed for God’s help on this. (Most of us think the vaccines were
God’s answer, and like many things, God’s answer came through the
hard work of people.)

The
ANSWER for “poisonous snakes are killing us” being “make a
bronze snake and put it on a pole for the people to look at” is
REALLY WEIRD. As in, if you asked me to brainstorm answers to
poisonous snake bites, I don’t think it would come up in my first
1000 options. (Ready: move camp away from the snakes, find
something to absorb the venom, look for an antidote, find ways to
pacify the snakes, figure out how to avoid the snakes, find out how
to repel the snakes.) See… none of that has gotten anywhere close
to make a bronze snake and put it on a pole.

So,
for just a moment, what if we take this story as more parable than
historical narrative? What if the SUPER WEIRD SOLUTION is something
designed to make us THINK and PONDER and consider, rather than, say,
replicate?

Then
where is the metaphor? Debie Thomas in “Journey with Jesus”
says, “In order to be saved, the people have to confront the
serpent— they have to look hard at what harms, poisons, breaks, and
kills them.”¹
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Avoidance
doesn’t solve problems. Systemic change doesn’t come without a deep
understanding of what is broken and who benefits from the breaking.
In making a replica of our problems, we may just learn how to fix
them. There is some GOOD STUFF here once the space is made for it to
speak with its own voice. Thank you metaphor and parable
perspective.

Interestingly
enough, this sort of fits the virus + vaccine issue – you don’t get
to a vaccine without looking at the virus very, very carefully. You
also don’t get immunity without some access to CREATED replications
of aspects of the virus. (Metaphors make life. Humans are meaning
makers. Did I mention that?)

OK,
having found some actually useful meaning in the Numbers passage, now
we’re tasked with connecting this with John’s take on Jesus’s death.
#buckleup

As
you might have noticed, John 3:14-5 says, “And just as Moses
lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be
lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”
By “lifted up” John is talking about crucifixion, but he is
doing so in a very intentional way. Clearly, physically speaking,
crucifixion could be understood as being “lifted up” but it was
DESIGNED as a means of public shame and punishment that was so
horrible as to discourage others from engaging in anti-Empire
activities. This was capital punishment in an extra public and
grotesque form. So, calling crucifixion “lifting up” is
RECLAIMING it, denying its power to shame, and reframing it from a
faith perspective instead of a worldly one.

To
call it “lifting up” is to claim that they saw God in Jesus, and
the most extreme shame and pain and death the Empire had to offer
didn’t change that. In fact, to call it “lifting up” inverts it,
taking an experience meant to shame and suggesting it brought honor.
Calling it “lifting up” refuses the power of the Empire to make
meaning, and claims that power for the community of faith.

But
the gospel writer doesn’t even stop there! Instead John reframes the
Numbers story to make meaning out of Jesus. As the bronze snake
replica healed the people who had been poisoned and would have died,
so the crucified Jesus heals the people and offers them full and
abundant life with God. Or, as Debie Thomas puts is:

So why did Jesus die? He
died because he unflinchingly fulfilled the will of God. He
died because he exposed the ungracious sham at the heart of all human
kingdoms, holding up a mirror that shocked his contemporaries and
still shocks us at the deepest levels of our imaginations.
In other words, he unveiled the poison, he showed us the snake, he
revealed what our human kingdoms, left to themselves, will always
become unless God in God’s mercy delivers us. In the cross,
we are forced to see what our refusal to love, our indifference to
suffering, our craving for violence, our resistance to change, our
hatred of difference, our addiction to judgment, and our fear of the
Other must wreak. When the Son of Man is lifted up, we see with
chilling and desperate clarity our need for a God who will take our
most horrific instruments of death, and transform them, at great
cost, for the purposes of resurrection.²

The
death that is human violence, fear, and competition is transformed
when Jesus is “lifted up” and shows the power of compassion,
grace, hope, and collaboration. The powers that harm are subverted,
the power of love is …. lifted up. In THIS is life.

It
is so in our lives as well, may we pay attention. Amen

1 https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2944-looking-up

2Ibid.

Rev. Sara E. Baron
First United Methodist Church of Schenectady
603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305
Pronouns: she/her/hers
http://fumcschenectady.org/
https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

March 14, 2021