Friday, April 15, 2022

Jesus' Jewish Imagination

On Palm Sunday and at yesterday’s celebration of the Holy Eucharist, I spoke about the importance of grief and voluntary suffering as aspects of prophetic criticism and resistance to evil.   To follow Jesus means following him in the way of the cross, rekindling the fire of divine love through tears and hard work. 

 

But lament is not the only tool in the prophet’s toolkit.  The other tool is imagination.  Prophetic imagination envisions alternatives to the way things are: the possibility of life beyond oppression, suffering, and death.  Grief must be paired with hope.   On Maundy Thursday, we celebrate Jesus’ prophetic imagination, expressed through the signs of a shared meal and an act of humble service.  His is a specifically Jewish imagination, and it is important to acknowledge and honor the Jewish roots of our own practices of hope as we celebrate the rite of foot-washing and the sacrament of Holy Communion. 

 

In Jewish practice, every common meal as well as the meals held on festivals is an act of thanksgiving for God’s gifts of creation and redemption.  Thanksgiving is expressed in the table blessings prescribed for every meal, and include a specific commemoration for the various festival meals.   The host of the meal recites a special blessing at the breaking of the bread at the beginning of the meal.  At festive meals, a special blessing is also recited over the cup of wine at the conclusion of the meal.  

 

Our accounts of the Last Supper depict Jesus reciting these blessings over the bread and wine consistent with traditions familiar to every Jew from their earliest childhood.  Such table fellowship, however, was not only an act of thanksgiving but also a sign of unity and peace.  To share a meal with someone was to include them in the promise of God’s future reign of justice and peace.  Eating constituted community.  This is why some of Jesus’ contemporaries were scandalized by his eating with tax collectors and sinners.  It signified an invitation to them to share in the blessings of the future reign of God. 

 

For centuries before Jesus, the prophetic tradition of Israel imagined the reign of God under the sign of a celebratory banquet or meal.  Jesus’ table fellowship during his public ministry was a visible sign anticipating the fulfillment of God’s promised reign now.  It was an enacted parable of the kingdom. 

 

The Synoptic Gospels present the Last Supper as a Passover meal, the festival celebrating the Jews’ liberation from slavery in Egypt, and connect it to Jesus’ death (and resurrection).   Through the lens of the Passover, we are invited to interpret Jesus’ death and resurrection as an act of redemption (liberating us from sin and death) and renewal of God’s covenant (re-establishing a community of justice and peace).   The Church takes up this symbolism in our practice of Holy Communion, a ritual meal signifying the future to which God is calling us and gifting us with a foretaste of that future now.  Only, in our table fellowship, Christ’s death and resurrection, rather than the Exodus from Egypt, is the sign and guarantee of God’s promise of salvation for the whole creation.

 

Sharing this meal is a practice of hope.  It manifests our union with God and one another, and nourishes our capacity for faith and love.  By it, we are given the grace to persevere in the work of love for God’s promised future, and the blessing of tasting the fulfillment of that promise in our life together now.  The sacrificial love of God manifest in Jesus’ death and resurrection is made real in this meal.  Each time we gather around the table, we affirm that life is meant to be like this; not the world of division and death that we too often experience.  There is another way to live.

 

In John’s Gospel, Jesus adds another dimension to our practice of hope.   Unlike the leaders of his time and ours, who are preoccupied with status and control, Jesus admonished his disciples that he has come to serve, not to be served.  At the table we set to celebrate God’s reign, the leaders are servants.  How much better would the Church be, if its clergy could only understand that we are the wait staff!  Jesus underscores this understanding of leadership by washing his disciples’ feet after sharing the Last Supper with them.   God’s reign is manifest in a community where power is exercised through mutual vulnerability and love, rather than through domination and manipulation. 

 

Imagine a community in which all are welcome at the table, and no one goes hungry!  Imagine a community in which leaders are trustworthy servants.  Imagine a community that gives thanks for the gifts of the earth, and shares them freely and equally in the service of liberation and life!  Imagine a God who comes close to us to break bread, pour wine, wash our feet, and die to set us free to live because God loves us that much, and for no other reason.  Imagine!   And give thanks for our Jewish brother, Jesus, and for our Jewish siblings then and now, for this gift of prophetic imagination.  May Passover and Easter inspire us to realize God’s hope for the world.

Wednesday, April 13, 2022

Suffering joyfully?

 

Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and his face to be spit upon: Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

When was the last time you prayed, as our collect for today does, “to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed?”  I feel a little uncomfortable with this prayer.  It is not a way of praying that I would commend to someone in the midst of great trauma or loss.  It leaves something to be desired as a pastoral response to other people’s suffering.  So, what do we do with this prayer?

 

I am reluctant to tell other people how they should respond to their suffering.  At the same time, there is a sense in which religion is precisely about what we do with our suffering.  If our faith cannot help us meet the challenge of suffering, then what good is it?  I am reluctant, but I can tell you what I do with this prayer.  Take what is helpful and leave the rest.

 

There is a big difference between suffering that I can or cannot accept – suffering that presents itself to us as a choice – and suffering that is imposed upon us, that simply crushes our will.  We might call this the difference between voluntary and involuntary suffering.  It is not always so easy to distinguish between the two, but I believe it is a distinction that makes a difference.

 

Any choice to serve a good that is larger than myself involves a kind of voluntary suffering:  the sacrifices one makes to raise children, or create art, or secure human dignity and freedom.  Jesus’ suffering, it seems to me, is voluntary in this sense:  the result of his absolute commitment to stand in solidarity with all who suffer and to embrace them in the healing power of love – no matter what. 

 

Suffering undertaken voluntarily is always done in the hope of a better future:  confident of the glory that shall be revealed.  We may not experience that future.  Like Moses, we may not get to the Promised Land, but we will suffer so that others can get there.  It seems to me that such suffering is an unavoidable aspect of the evolution of human consciousness, and the realization of love in the concrete circumstances of life. 

 

If you’ve ever participated in a movement for justice or shared in the life of a congregation to which you are committed, you have probably experienced the paradoxical joy that comes with voluntary suffering:  the sense of meaning, of community, of discovering one’s rightful place in the world; dare I say, discovering God’s will for you.   Such joy is not about pain or pleasure.  It is about purpose. 

 

And it is about love.  The love of God and God’s love for us, can be stronger than every form of affliction.  This is the mystical core of our capacity to accept suffering joyfully.  In her profound and lyrical book, simply titled, Suffering, Dorothee Soelle beautifully expresses this understanding of “accepting” suffering. 

 

She writes, 

 

It is paradoxical but true that unconditional love for reality does not in the least defuse passionate desires to change reality.  To love God unconditionally does not mean to deny our concrete desires and accept everything as it is.  To put it in mystical terminology, unconditional love can allow itself the most absurd desires – it can pray for them and work for them, precisely because it does not make the existence of God depend upon the fulfillment of these desires.

 

Mystical love . . . transcends every God who is less than love.[1]

 

We can pray with the psalmist, “O Lord make haste to help me,” even as we willingly accept the suffering occasioned by the resistance we face in our determination to persist in the work of love.  All of our scripture readings today are addressed to communities facing persecution and suffering, precisely because of the resistance to the work love they were facing.  It isn’t so much that they chose suffering, but that they were willing to suffer for choosing love.

 

In each case, they were encouraged to persevere because (a) all suffering is temporary and (b) God will vindicate the work of sacrificial love.  Such voluntary suffering is a participation in the “glory” of God:  it is a sharing in the reputation or identity of God.  The image of God is revealed within us through the tempering fire of sacrificial love.   We cannot love what we do not accept.  And we cannot change what we do not love.  That seems to be the order of the divine economy:  we do not need to change in order to be loved, but having been loved we will be changed.   Thus, Jesus washed the feet even of Judas, the one who betrayed him, and accepted Judas’ betrayal as a step toward sharing God’s glory.

 

Now, there is also involuntary suffering.  Suffering we do not and should not choose.  When it comes to involuntary suffering, love demands that we seek to ameliorate the causes of that suffering and repair the damage that has been done.  It is for this purpose that we accept voluntary suffering.  This is the clear teaching of holy scripture from Moses to Jesus.   

 

And, yet, I have witnessed a capacity for acceptance of even involuntary suffering when circumstances cannot be changed.  “Acceptance” in this sense does not mean that such suffering should be desired or that it is somehow justified – a punishment for sin or a necessary lesson.  It is the very opposite of thinking that suffering is sent by God for our own good.  “Acceptance” in this sense is the freedom to integrate suffering into our experience without being defined by it, without it reducing our world to a single point of pain, confident of God’s vindication.  Love is stronger than every form of affliction. 

 

Moses did not enter the Promised Land.  Not everyone experiences liberation from suffering in this lifetime.  We know this.  Even so, I take comfort from the image of Moses and Elijah with Jesus on the holy mountain where Jesus was transfigured.  The horizon of love’s healing power extends far beyond the compass of our lifetime.  This is not a reason for quietism or withdrawal from the work of love; rather, it is a source of strength, as the glory that will be revealed is even now reaching out to embrace us from beyond the horizon.  It is in the light of the Resurrection that the darkness of Holy Week casts its shadow.  Amen.

 



[1] Dorothee Soelle, Suffering (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1975), p. 94.