An odd kingdom metaphor

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

Many things came to mind when I read all of Jesus’ metaphoric descriptions of the kingdom of heaven.  First, I thought, ‘again with the seeds’?  Haven’t we had enough of those stories already?  The next three metaphors are a little more interesting.  Yeast – that, like the mustard seed, starts small but grows until it takes over and leavens the entire measure of flour.  A hidden treasure in a field and a pearl of great price, which are known only to the purchaser: the one who is willing to give up everything to own it. A burgeoning net, full of fish, which are separated at harvest time.

Seeds, soil, weeds, yeast, pearls, treasure, judgment.  The kingdom of heaven is like all that. It’s like something else, too.  It’s all so ordinary.  Yes, even the ordinary is someone’s treasure.  Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.  Barbara Brown Taylor, in her sermon on this text, bids us to look deeply into these metaphors. Find the extraordinary in the ordinary.  I love that strategy. Yet, as I kept reading and re-reading, I couldn’t shake another metaphor that kept invading my brain.  It was stubborn. It was crazy.  Yet, there it was.  And, I’m sure that Jesus, having the sense of humor of his heavenly Father, probably would have used it also, if the two-wheeled apparatus had been invented in his time. 

God help me (and I know She will), I think the kingdom of heaven is like World Naked Bicycling Day.

Okay…first – a little history.  I had not heard of this particular observance until last month when I was in England with our little pilgrimage group. Apparently it is an annual event – held all over the world – to bring attention to the vulnerability of those who ride bicycles.  Three of us had spent the day at the museums and decided it would be best to take a cab to Westminster Abbey for Evensong in order to get there on time.  My companions shall remain anonymous unless they decide to identify themselves.  (Of course, some of you already know who they are…)  As we approached Trafalgar Square, I looked out the cab window and caught a glimpse of someone riding a bicycle. He was, as my granny used to say, ‘buck nekkid’.  “There’s a naked guy on a bicycle back there!” I said to my companions. They were a little skeptical.  Well, they were skeptical until the cab began to slow down.

There wasn’t just one ‘nekkid’ guy on a bike.  There were hundreds. HUNDREDS!!! 

The crowd was mostly men, but there were a few women scattered hither and yon.  They had stopped in front of Buckingham Palace in order to sing happy birthday to Queen Elizabeth…in their birthday suits. The cab had ceased to move.

Holy Mother of Pearl.  What does a priest do when she’s wearing her clerical collar, accompanied by parishioners, and surrounded by nude people on wheels?  Well, first she looks at them and says – if either of you take a picture of me with these naked people, I will excommunicate you.  And then, well, she observes.

She observes the cab driver dying of embarrassment.

She contemplates blessing the crowd from the safety of the cab. 

She decides not to.

She observes her traveling companions capturing the moment with complete and utter hilarity, one of them declaring this to be “the most awesome cab ride ever!”

She laughs, she giggles, and she’s awestruck that anyone would subject themselves to a bicycle seat in a condition of undress.

She observes the extraordinary diversity of creation and human—okay, mostly man--kind…with amusement, amazement, shock, disbelief, and finally, ‘Oh Lord, enough already!’.

And so, you all must be wondering, what the heck any of this has to do with the kingdom of heaven? Remember that Barbara Brown Taylor said to look for the extraordinary in the ordinary.

So, let’s go back to all of Jesus’ stories.  Multiplied harvests, great trees from small seeds, pearls and hidden treasures…all of these are exaggerations.  None of it could have been expected.  I assure you, the sight of hundreds of unclad cyclists was very unexpected and quite beyond the norm.  The kingdom of heaven takes us by surprise.

Forty years ago this weekend, eleven brave women, a few brave bishops, and the presence of the Holy Spirit said to the church “Our time has come.”  The seeds planted by Philadelphia Eleven paved the way for women’s ministries in the church to grow to great heights and bear much fruit.  Even our British friends have finally grafted themselves to these branches. Who could ever have expected so much in so little time. Surprise!

A sower who distributes seeds everywhere is to be seen as an extravagant giver. What the seeds become is up to the soil.  Of course, the meaning of this parable needed to be explained.  

It wasn’t completely understood by the disciples.  Just like not knowing the cause behind the bicycle ride kept me from fully appreciating the message that was being sent.  “Be careful. We’re vulnerable. We have as much right to be here as you do.”

Missiles are fired and bombs explode across Israel & Gaza.  Immigration policy is debated. People we consider to be adults try to solve their differences by shouting at each other and committing violence on each other. As we continue in these ridiculous practices, our children look up to us with eyes filled with fear, eyes that are being taught not to trust. The kingdom of heaven is still far off as long as we refuse to acknowledge the vulnerable ones among us who just want to be loved and deserve to inherit more than a life of continued anger and hatred. They have as much right to be here as you and I do.

You know, this nude parade on wheels probably only took about 15 minutes.  But, as I reflect on it now, it’s scary how quickly the novelty wore off and I was ready to get on to the next thing.  I was a bit miffed to arrive at Westminster Abbey so late that we had to sit in the overflow section and not in the quire.  I may have marveled at God’s creation for a moment, but boredom followed closely.  I could say the same thing about kivas in the southwestern United States or one more automobile in the Henry Ford museum.  If I’m honest with myself, I realize that I do the same thing with God’s kingdom sometimes.  Each year rolls through with another stewardship campaign, another Vacation Bible School, another EfM class…another….sermon.  If I’m not careful, I can get trapped in a cab full of cynicism and miss the indescribable show outside the window.

When I get distracted by my own wants and desires I forget to look for the kingdom of God in the ordinary stuff I encounter every day.  The ordinary becomes extraordinary when we search for God in it. It becomes extraordinary as we reflect upon it.  It becomes extraordinary when we invest ourselves and our resources in it.  The ordinary becomes God’s kingdom when we quit trying to control everything and appreciate the gifts God sends our way…even when it derails our perfect plans to serve or worship. I have to remember, also, that the kingdom of God – the shalom of God – is exceedingly fragile.

Having said that, though, if I do have another ‘most awesome cab ride ever,’ I really hope it’s not clothing optional. I realize that in heaven everything will be revealed, but ewwww.

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

To do the right thing

(c) 2014 C. B. Park/July 6/St. Patrick's, Dublin, OH

 

Many of you have asked me about the recent pilgrimage that many of us made last month.  The most frequent question “What did you like the most?”  This is a terribly difficult question to answer.  I don’t think there is much about England I don’t like!  Maybe London traffic?  However, I think if I had to pinpoint one memory and claim it as favorite, it would be seeing T.S. Eliot’s play Murder in the Cathedral. 

Why?  Well, first because we were all together that evening.  And, unbeknownst to us at that time, one of our merry band of pilgrims was to become a guest of Britain’s National Health Service and her spouse stayed behind to care for her.

Second, it was staged inside St. Bartholomew the Great Church – famed for being the set for one of the weddings in Four Weddings and a Funeral among other films.  Third, I’d read this play several times when I was in seminary but had never seen it produced.  It is the story of the martyrdom of Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral.  St. Bartholomew’s was built before Thomas Becket was born and he very likely worshipped there during his lifetime.  We really don’t appreciate the concept of “old” in this country.  There, you can scoop out history with a spoon.

At one point in the play, Becket is visited by four tempters.  He recognizes three of them. They suggest that he give in to the desires of the flesh, of wealth, and of power to pre-empt his struggle with Henry and bring peace to England. (Sound familiar?)

The fourth tempter is unexpected.  He is Becket’s ego and it is this tempter that gives him the most demanding choice.  Becket must decide whether to continue his course to keep the laws of the church and the power of the king separate  for the glory of God or in order to elevate himself to the status of holy martyr.  T.S. Eliot gives these words to the beleaguered archbishop:

The last temptation is the greatest treason:

To do the right deed for the wrong reason.

This theme is so profound that Eliot repeats it in “Little Gidding,” the last of his Four Quartets, when he writes:

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

By the purification of the motive

In the ground of our beseeching.

It was this theme that came to me as I read today’s selection from Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Paul, too, is wrestling with his ego and his inability to keep the law because of its unattainable standard.  And here’s the rub: we read this on the very weekend that we, as a country, celebrate our freedom and independence. 

If there is anything I take away from this it is that we are not independent and we certainly aren’t free.  We are enslaved by sin and dependent upon God’s grace.

Oh, we’re good people.  No argument there.  God loves us. No argument there either. But, beneath the façade of “everything is fine” lies the uncompromising truth that we are so steeped in our own desires and our own egos that, try as we might, we cannot always do the right thing.  Worse yet, we too often do the right thing for the wrong reason. 

In these few verses, Paul is inviting us to turn a mirror to ourselves and ask us to describe what we see.  Paul isn’t interested in whether or not we’ve made a misstep in our actions so much as he’s asking us to be honest about our relationship with God.  Is the good we do for God’s glorification or for the building up of our own ego-slash-resume?  How often have we turned from God-centeredness to self-centeredness? 

One of the confessions of sin that we use states that we have denied God’s goodness everywhere and has us repenting of the evil we have done and that others have done on our behalf.  In this confession we are acknowledging what Paul understood well, that we are up against a force so strong that we cannot begin to break it on our own. 

Sin is a force that bends our good intentions.  It is a force that lowers us to our base level where we simply hurl blame at each other instead of seeking Christ in each other. It is a force that threatens to keep us from yoking ourselves to Jesus like a child…trusting and full of hope.

It is not enough to confess our sins and ask for God’s forgiveness.  We so easily say those words without meaning them. We easily confess what we’ve already rationalized. Absolution doesn’t come solely via a priest’s words and the sign of the cross.  As Christians, it is in our embrace of the cross, in the surrender of our will to the Spirit’s, in our relationship with God our Father and Christ our Brother, where true absolution lies.  We cannot do this alone. We need each other. We need the example of the saints. We need the prayers of the martyrs.

In Eliot’s masterpiece, after the soldiers have murdered Becket, they turn the audience into the jury of their peers and state their case that we – the people in the pew – have murdered the archbishop. The soldiers simply did as they believed the people wanted…as they believed the king wanted.  Besides, Becket could have avoided everything if he’d just done the right thing. 

I think that the chorus of the Canterbury women said it best. 

Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of the common man,

Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire;

Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of God, the surrender required, the deprivation inflicted;

Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God;

Who fear the hand at the window, the fire in the thatch, the fist in the tavern, the push into the canal,

Less than we fear the love of God.

We acknowledge our trespass, our weakness, our fault;

we acknowledge

That the sin of the world is upon our heads; that the blood of the martyrs and the agony of the saints

Is upon our heads.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Blessed Thomas, pray for us.

Amen.

The metaphor of Abraham and Isaac

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

The story of Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac brings up raw emotion any time it is read and discussed. There are so many complications! The first is the utter conflict of this story with God’s promise to Abraham that he would be the father of nations.  The second is that God would actually ask Abraham to do something so heinous. The third, that Abraham would actually go about the doing of it without question.  Add into this the fact that this story is told to our Muslim friends, albeit with Ishmael facing the knife, means that all of the children of Abraham need to wrestle with the meaning of this tale of terror.

I would love simply to fall back on one rabbinic interpretation that this story is a story of Abraham’s failure.  The interpretation hinges on Abraham’s past experiences with God where he argues over Sodom’s destruction.  Why would Abraham argue with Yahweh over complete strangers and not argue over his progeny? To my chagrin, the Jewish Study Bible upends this interpretation.  There, the text notes point out that Abraham’s earlier arguments with God are based on forensics – what past actions God has done should figure into God’s decision over Sodom. 

The story about Isaac is about sacrifice…and only the most perfect, most unblemished, first-fruits of the earth or the womb are to be offered to God. And, good heavens, that makes this whole situation even worse.

This discovery left me looking for loopholes, in the truest W.C. Fields’ deathbed fashion, because I really don’t want to stay in this place.  “Well,” I said to myself, “if this story is in the Quran, maybe it’s more like the creation story – something that is built into every culture to prove a point.  I wonder where else this type of mythology could be found.”                   Hello Internet.

Lo, and behold, there is a Greek myth that is related to this near-sacrifice story.  It’s not the same, but there’s enough similarity to make you say “hmmmm.” Before Jason and the Argonauts was a lad named Phrixus.

King Athamas lived in Boeotia and his wife Queen Nephele. Athamas, who had grown tired of his bride decided to take for himself another. Though Nephele was still very much alive, the amorous king chose to wed Ino, a daughter of King Cadmus of Thebes. Ino at once came to live in the palace and in due time bore her husband two children. This posed a great problem for the king's new consort. Athamas already had two children by his first wife; a daughter named Helle and a son named Phrixus.

Phrixus was the eldest of the king's two boys and considered to be next in line to inherit the throne. Ino knew she needed to dispose of Phrixus to make way for her own son to become king of Boeotia.

Afraid to openly oppose the children of Nephele, Ino devised a plan that would guarantee the death of Phrixus without drawing any attention to herself. She secretly entered the granary and scorched all the seeds that had been set aside for the next sowing. This was to prevent the upcoming season's crops from sprouting and thereby threaten the city with starvation. Just as Ino hoped, Athamas dispatched a group of couriers to seek advice from the Delphic Oracle. While the messsengers were away, Ino hid herself among the dark corriders of the palace and awaited their return. She then bribed the men, asking them to deceive the king with a false story. Instead of the true words of the priestess they were instructed to recite a script which Ino had written herself. 

The messengers appeared before the desperate king and revealed their tale of deception. Athamas was told the corn would not grow again unless his son Phrixus was offered as a sacrifice.At first the sorrowful king resisted, but after much pressure from the townspeople, he decided he had no other choice but to obey the Oracle. Reluctantly, Athamas led Phrixus to the altar of Zeus and prepared him for the ritual. Just before the fatal moment a beautiful ram with fleece of gold appeared in the sky. Phrixus climbed upon his back and the glorious beast flew towards the northeast, never to be seen in Boeotia again. Phrixus made it safely to Aea, where he sacrificed the ram to Zeus in a grove sacred to the god Ares, and presented the fleece to King Aeetes as a gift. The king fastens the fleece to a tree for good luck.  (From http://www.medeaslair.net/phrixus.html)

There’s more, but I’m going to stop here. There are differences – the king argues, it’s the stepmother who is the mean one, not the mother.  But the similarities – deceipt, the ram, the tree, the escape leading to the building of kingdoms.  Not only does this little tale prefigure Abraham, Isaac, Ishmael, Sarah and Hagar, it continues with Rebecca and on and on and on.  

So, what do I believe about all of this?

Obviously, there’s nothing new under the sun.  People have been treating each other badly since the beginning of time.  Theologically, though, I think there is much to ponder.  I believe that the story of the near-sacrifice of Isaac tells us that God is God and we are not; that God’s justice and fairness are not ours to define.  And, folks, that’s just scary.  God expects us to offer our very best…something pure and unspotted…not something left over after we’re done with it. God also expects that this offering will most likely grieve us at some level. 

I believe that offerings may be sacrificial but that sacrifice is not synonymous with execution. We need to carefully discern whether or not the call to sacrifice is one of offering or one that requires someone to die – physically or metaphorically.  I think about how driven we all are in our lives.  That drive may be internal or external, but often we are driven to the point where our successes require the sacrifice of family or relationships. We need to discern whether or not this is divine or something masquerading as divine.   Remember the destruction of human lives at the hands of Jim Jones in Guyana or David Koresh in Waco, Texas, and realize the danger of believing someone who says they and only they have heard the word of God or that they or only they have all the answers.

I believe that God allows us to fail in order to teach us something.  We make light of those “gosh-darn learning experiences” – you know, the times when we find ourselves at the mercy of our own bad choices or the victim of someone else’s. However, if we’re honest with ourselves and give ourselves enough time to grieve, forgive, and look back, we’ll admit that it is in the most difficult times that give us wisdom and help us experience God’s presence.

Therefore, I think that what I need to do with this is to discern carefully what God is asking me to offer and remember that discernment requires community. I invite you to do the same.  I know that this may require some personal sacrifice, but I have no need to be afraid.  My office is full of sheep and other stuffed animals.

Agnus Day, on the other hand, should be very afraid …...             Amen.

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved