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

Stay salty, my friends (sermon for 5 Epiphany)

How appropriate that our gospel reading today talks about salt!  Where would we be without salt these days?  In our driveways, most likely. Or, on our bums on the sidewalks.  Salt makes it possible to survive winter.

Actually, you would be amazed at all that salt can do.  This chemical combination of sodium and chlorine has quite a history.  The need for salt led animals to natural deposits and early hunters to animals.  Ancient Britons set up a small city near the Thames to wait out the tides as they carried salt from the north to the south of their island nation.  That city is now London.

Salt was used as money in many cultures.  You could purchase slaves or pay soldiers with it.  If someone wasn’t worth their salt, you knew exactly what that meant. The word salary comes from the same root word as salt.  So, does salad…as long ago, people used to salt their green veggies.  Ranch dressing hadn’t been invented yet.

Spilling salt means bad luck to superstitious folks. This stems from that famous Leonardo da Vinci painting of the Last Supper, wherein Judas overturns the salt container. However, throwing salt seems to counteract this bad luck.  If you pitch the salt over your shoulder, you hit the devil in the eye and chase him away.  Sumo wrestlers still throw salt in the ring to purify it before a match. 

Battles have been fought over salt!  The French Revolution grew from the people being forced to purchase salt from royal providers only.  Lord Howe of England stole George Washington’s salt reserves during the Revolutionary War in America.  The salt factories in the Confederate south were of the first to be captured by Northern armies.  Gandhi led a march, in protest of British salt taxes, to the sea, where he made his own salt.  That action began India’s journey to independence. 

The Brits are slow learners.

Salt is an absolute necessity for life itself.  Our nerves wouldn’t know how to synapse without salt. The electrical systems that keep us breathing and keep our hearts beating both need salt to work.  Of course, the amount of salt needs to be in perfect balance.  Too much salt gives us high blood pressure.  Too little, and we just shut down.

So, when Jesus calls his disciples “the salt of the earth” – he wasn’t messing around!  This was one serious metaphor. There were three attributes that I believe Jesus was trying to get his disciples to think about with this salty metaphor:

Number One: Salt is a preservative. Jesus’ disciples were called to preserve his message.  But, this isn’t a call to let the good news settle in, dry things up, and keep them the way they are.  This preservation is about keeping the essence of Jesus’ message of God’s love throughout the ages.  The good news is for all times and all peoples.

This is kind way to say “this isn’t about you.”  Being a disciple wasn’t about how far you could go or how famous you could become.  Being a disciple was about learning the message and sharing it.  Like anyone using salt, you have to be aware of how much to use.  The good news, while refreshing and hopeful to some, may be somewhat of an acquired taste to others.  There are times to hold back as well as times to just let it pour.  To do that means to pay attention, to get to know the people around you. Share what you can, when you can.  Know when to stop so that you don’t turn people off.

We’re also salty in a preservative way when we embody the love of God through acts of mercy and kindness.  Keeping a child fed or a family housed or a prisoner visited helps preserve their dignity as human beings.  This is a great segue to the next attribute.

Number Two: Salt is used to purify.  Jesus’ disciples were called to be purifying agents. Now, there’s an impossible task if I ever heard one. 

But then, who would think that tiny little crystals would turn dark pavement white as snow or turn slippery ice into evaporating water.

Made aware of God’s love, we are to go about our world making it a better place.  Thankfully, there are lots of us out there charged with this task.  I think one of the most important sentences I ever heard during one of my Cursillo experiences was “Jesus has already saved the world.  You don’t have to do that.”  It was a sentence that reminded me that while I did have responsibility to discern what I could do in my sphere of influence, the entire planet wasn’t on my to-do list.    

Discernment, though, is as multifaceted as a salt crystal.  It requires education, prayer, listening, patience…and that’s just on your end!  It also takes community.  Rarely does it happen that God knocks on the door of your heart with a message like “Go be a teacher” or “See that kid over there, go read to her.”  No, usually we find out what God has in store for us because other people have seen talents inside of us that should be shared in specific ways.  Or, it is the conversation between friends that ideas come forth or needs get discovered.

Once we’ve discovered our calling we do move about this world making it a little brighter.  Individually and collectively, as we share the love of Christ, we melt the iciest hearts and make the darkest of perspectives as clean as new-fallen snow.  How amazing is that!  Which brings me to…

Number Three:  Salt was/is valuable.  We call veterans of the sea “old salts” because their experience and wisdom is to be honored and respected.  Jesus’ disciples were of infinite value to him when he walked this earth and we are of infinite value now.  Each and every one of us has experience and knowledge that are needed: each and every one of us. I was reminded of this just a few weeks ago when a young person asked me why grown-ups make everything so complicated.  “It’s easy,” she said. “Love God, don’t judge, be nice to people.”  I needed that.  I needed her fresh, untainted perspective.  I didn’t need a Master’s degree to figure that out – I just needed her. 

Wisdom comes from all people.  We just need to value each other the way God values us in order to discover that.

So, my friends, be salty.  Preserve the good news of Christ within yourselves and share it with those you know.  Make the world a little brighter.  Remember that you are of infinite value. 

Amen.

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

Joseph's Annunciation (Sermon for last Sunday in Advent 2013)

Writers describe the season of Advent with the words expectation, hope, and patience.  Today, we can add miraculous.  There are lots of miracles happening in Matthew’s birth narrative.  First is the miracle that a young woman conceived a child in a way we simply are unable to understand.  The most important miracle, though, is that she didn’t end up the way that most young women in her situation ended up.  The responsibility for that miracle was completely in Joseph’s court.  Yes, I know, he had a dream.  But even before the dream, Joseph planned to treat Mary very differently than most.  Other women in this delicate position would most likely have been put to death, or at least maimed, by stoning.  You see, adultery in that age was not a violation of a person’s morality, it was a form of robbery.  Joseph would have been well within his rights to have had Mary punished, but he didn’t.

It was a miracle.

Joseph planned to ‘dismiss her quietly’.  Joseph had compassion despite his disappointment and anger.  He put Mary’s needs before the community mores and before his own embarrassment.  And, that was pre-dream!  

The angel’s message to Joseph was much more than a request for him to go ahead with his plans to make Mary his wife.  Joseph was the subject of another annunciation.  God needed Joseph’s “yes” as much as God needed Mary’s “yes” to set out the plan of salvation.

Poor Joseph.  His “yes” gets lost in the midst of all of our nativity scenes and images of Mary great with child.  All the attention is on the pregnant one.  It’s still the same in our day, too.  Not too many people throw baby showers for the dads.  Even though the prevailing politically correct reference is that WE are pregnant, WE all know who’s taking the brunt of this new life in her womb.  The dude isn’t working through morning sickness, the swollen ankles, the elevated blood pressure, the exhaustion and eventually labor and delivery. (Now you know why my son Kevin is an only child.)

Thankfully, once every three years, we are asked to consider Joseph and how much his “yes” mattered.  Without him, Mary would have had no guardian – something that was a matter of life and death at that time.  Thanks to Joseph, Jesus had brothers and sisters – a family who eventually would join the apostles in sharing the good news of God’s coming kingdom.  

Without Joseph, Jesus would have had no one to teach him a trade or insist on his learning the faith. The Incarnate Word needed a place to grow up.  Thanks to Joseph, Jesus had an earthly mansion – a home – in which to become fully human.

God didn’t ask for a “yes” that Joseph and Mary could just forget later, their “yes” took a great deal of courage.  It required a leap of faith.  I know that we sometimes use that term lightly.  It was even used for the title of a movie starring Steve Martin a while back.  This isn’t fair to the commitment that Soren Kierkegaard had in mind when he coined it.  For him, a leap of faith was not convenient nor did it guarantee the person making the leap would benefit from doing so. A true leap of faith is a permanent choice made with total commitment, knowing that the success may not be the payoff. 

According to Kierkegaard, the moment of leap-taking is the pinnacle of a person’s freedom.   It is a fall you cannot reverse.  There are many ways of looking at this leap – from one perspective it is outrageously foolish, from another it is courageous.  Most of the time, it’s both!

When I think about Joseph saying “yes” to God by taking Mary to his side and treating Jesus as his own son, it occurs to me that there are many men – and women – out there who have done the same thing.  Stepparents, adoptive parents, even some godparents and grandparents:  they are our modern day Josephs.   Everyday there are people in our midst who have said “yes” to God and a child of God in order that love might build a family.

I also believe that our responsibility to God’s children doesn’t end when they grow up and move on to new adventures.  First of all, we never stop being parents, no matter what anyone says.  Just ask my mother.  But, we also have little ones who don’t belong directly to us who need us too.  There are kids who need to be read to, kids who just want a hug, and kids who need a warm meal. 

There are godchildren and grandchildren to play with and tell the Christmas story to so that another generation knows the love of Jesus.  To them, we are Joseph, the grown-up who adopts them out of love and because God’s dream for all of us is to be one family.  On their behalf, let’s take a leap of faith and say “yes” when they need us because too many others are quietly dismissing them.

Amen.

It's not about us.

The reading from the prophet Haggai reminded me of an old joke for which there are several punch lines.

Question:  How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?

A:  Seven: Five people to form a committee, one to mix the martinis, and one to call the electrician.

B:  Whaddya mean change the light bulb – my grandmother gave that light bulb!

C:  None…we just sit around and reminisce about how wonderful the old light bulb used to be.

In 520 BCE, the exiles have returned from Babylon, thanks to Cyrus, the emperor’s, decree.  Now they are attempting to restore the temple to its former glory with the blessing of the new emperor Darius.  Things aren’t going so well.  There are several reasons:

A: The priority of faith is lost to the priority of personal security and comfort.  A spiritual center is no longer the focus of the people’s lives.

B: Those who have some institutional memory of the first temple (even though they probably never saw it) sit watching the work and reminding the community of all they’ve done in the past to keep the faith and that the young people will never measure up.

C: The rest just want the same church they’re parents had without having to make a commitment toward its restoration.

That’s when the light bulb went on over my head:  the more things change, the more they stay the same!  The call of the prophet Haggai to the people of ancient Judah bidding them to reconstruct the Temple is our call as well.

The Episcopal Church, as a denomination, and the Diocese of Southern Ohio are both undertaking projects to re-imagine and restructure the church as we know it.  I believe both are at the stage we find the Jerusalem community in Haggai’s time.  We search through the rubble and charred ruins of what was once loved trying to find something to resuscitate.  We have no doubt that the way we are doing business needs to change if we’re to be in relationship with people today.  It’s just that we want it to change for other people and not ourselves; we think it is someone else’s job; or, we’d rather just cocoon ourselves into our safe abodes and forget about the rest of the world. 

We are going to spend time, talent, and treasure to eventually face what is already a foregone conclusion: The rational, scientific, overworked, overcommitted, world the church lives in thinks we’re boring, irrelevant, and optional.  The problem is that in doing so, we’re looking backwards.

Our theme for the month of November is “What God has been and done, God will be and do.”  This is not a statement of the past – it is a proclamation for the future.  And while it never hurts for an organization or institution to examine its structures and work to improve how it operates, we so often forget that we’re really not about the institution. 

We forget that this isn’t about us.

I was reminded of this on Wednesday at the noon Eucharist when we remembered William Temple, the Archbishop of Canterbury in the early-1940s.  Temple wasn’t remembered so much for being an archbishop as he was for encouraging and empowering the laity to take their place in the ministry of the church. He also understood that the church was not an extension of the nearest country club or the private religious home of the perfect. Temple didn’t believe that the church existed for the people in the pews at all!

He is oft quoted as saying “The church is the only social society that exists for those who aren’t here yet.”  His work challenged the status quo within the institutional church as well as of the balance of profit and service to the community. 

It was interesting to hear our keynote speaker at convention talk about the role of the deacon in the church. She talked about the ministry of deacons in the context of the baptismal covenant in order to remind us that we are all in ministry together.  She said at one point that one role that deacons play is to help goad the church into exile.  INTO, not out of….exile.  At the time it seemed like such a contrast to this lesson.  Or is it?

When the people of Israel were in exile, they had to trust God.  When they were in the wilderness with Moses, they had to trust God.  Now that they have returned from exile, God has taken a back seat to security and privilege.  Having returned from exile, it was now all about them. 

It’s not about them and it’s not about us, and it isn’t about the institutional church. It’s more than balancing a budget or growing attendance. 

Ultimately, it all comes down to how much we’re willing to trust God and work toward the reign of God in our lifetime.  Ultimately, that’s what Advent is about.  We know things are a mess. We know the ‘good old days’ are gone.  But, do we remember that God is with us?

God’s encouragement rings through the voices of the prophets.  “Take courage.” “I am with you.” “My spirit abides with you.”  “Do not fear.”   

Each time we courageously step out to do a new ministry as individuals or as community, we are making a choice for the reign of God.  Each time we say “no more” to a ministry we’ve done but it doesn’t work anymore, we are saying “we trust God” with the future.  When we stop thinking about ministry as “we” helping “them” and begin understanding it as “us” helping “each other,” the shackles of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and prejudice will begin to rust and crumble. As we become aware of the presence of God in every aspect of our lives, we will discover that people around us will get caught up in the Spirit’s transformative power and we all will be changed for the better.

God has been for God’s people a constant source of glory and confidence.  God will be this source no matter what new things might signal God’s presence. 

God has always and will always do great things for God’s people.  However, God requires that we have courage, remember that it’s not about us, and work for justice.   We too are called to rebuild – not a temple made of stone, but a temple of commitment to our relationship with God.  Remember that as we begin our Advent season. 

Amen.