What's carved above your church door?
Commentary
There is a certain irony here as we approach the Sunday before Labor Day and the
unofficial end of summer. The lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures proclaims that, "winter
is now past, the rain is now over and gone. The flowers appear on earth...." This Sunday
seems to be the last gasp before we return to the more familiar prosaic pace of life that
governs us most of the year. Vacation is over, the pictures we have taken go back into the
closet, here in New England, reality will set as we settle in to the Red Sox not quite
making it again. We hear the letter of James loudly and clearly that playtime is over, it is
time to be doers of the Word not merely hearers of the Word. It is time to put into play all
those ideas that you have picked up at the summer conferences of your choice. The
inventiveness of vacation Bible school will soon be a dim memory. The novelty of new
music combinations made necessary by the absence of the regular choir will soon fade
from memory. The permission granted in summer time to attempt the new and novel on a
regular basis will soon be withdrawn. As we get back to the more familiar routines, we
will soon struggle with the guilt inducing words of Jesus, "In vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines. You abandon the commandment of God and hold
to human tradition." Many of us will find our Christian education efforts stymied by the
pedagogical design of classrooms built in the 1950s. Some of us will long for more
intimate worship space and liturgy but find ourselves and our congregations abandoning
the commandment of God and holding fast to the tradition of men, stymied in our efforts
to bring about a more vital worship. Others of us will endure the lecture from one of our
members as to why we cannot have the kind of simple praise music that they have at the
growing church down the street.
For many of us, the sense of anticipation and joyful tension that is found in the Song of Solomon seems painfully absent in churches. I do sympathize with the letter of James. Unlike Martin Luther who thought it a straw epistle worthy of being dropped from the canon, for me the emphasis on doing well and James' take on the consequences of not doing is well worth our consideration. However, I wonder if Martin Luther was not on to something. A child of the '60s, I have often been haunted by the fear of not doing the gospel. I am apprehensive about the fate of any church that remains only sanctuary from the world rather than being a launching pad into the world. I fear for the church and the world in that circumstance. Yet, I have often found among the doers of the Word a reliance on taking votes at church meetings that do not help people hear each other. I find mantras of guilt among some doers of the Word that leave folks feeling more ashamed than hopeful. I am bothered by litanies of political left or right that seem to reflect as much human traditions as the promise of the kingdom of God. I am sometimes more than mildly irritated by the sense I get from many of the doers of the Word in our time that they have not come short of the glory of God like the rest of us.
I believe it was the television commentator, Andy Rooney, who pointed out that Labor Day more than January first marks the turning point toward a new year. More is at stake here on this Sunday than the sin of wearing white after Labor Day. If in some sense the vitality and vigor and irrational exuberance of the Song of Solomon are normative, then the letter of James and the gospel passage for this Sunday remind us of what may be getting between us and the kingdom of God.
I have seen many different passages of scripture carved above the doors of churches and painted on sanctuary walls. I have yet to ever see these words from the Song of Solomon, "The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." I suspect that would be quite an eye opener if not a heart healer.
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Just say the words, "Song of Solomon," and you can unleash a dash toward the exits and cries of, "Check, please" as folks want to bring the conversation to a quick close. The kind of sensuality let alone sexuality that comes to the surface of this book is not usually heard in the sermons of the churches of most of the pastors who read this publication. These words lightly considered or facilely expressed from the pulpit have the potential for the career ending moment. Let's face it; this is not on your top hit parade of the most favored texts to preach on. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said that just about every piece of scripture has been used for a salvific purpose at one time or another. If on a Saturday night all you have is this text and a sermon that you suddenly discover you are not ready to preach because it might push the outside of the envelope with your congregation a bit too far, then you might find Bonhoeffer's words a bit hard to swallow.
However, perhaps the words from the Nike Corporation's advertising campaign, "Just Do It" might have something to say here. What if on a Sunday we approached morning worship in anticipation of seeing the beloved red state or blue state member, fill in the blank, come leaping up the mountain and bounding up the hill? Can we imagine a church that proclaims winter is over because we dwell in a unity that is larger than democratic agreement on all issues? Can you imagine a church community that would have carved over its main entrance to the church, "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away"? Imagine the church advertisement in the local newspaper, "Arise, come together with us and come away from the things that divide people, belittle their efforts, and that devalues their experience. It is time to blossom and sing for the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land." That kind of advertising would be some pretty hot copy -- certainly worthy of the fire of Pentecost. With all due respect to those churches who advertise in the newspaper, from my experience the usual run of those advertisements don't give much reason to mop your brow from inordinate titillation.
If I understand the major themes of the Song of Solomon it comes down to the notion that I cannot be me without loving you. I cannot be me without loving that character on the board of deacons who keeps frustrating my efforts, even delighting in his presence. There is sensuality in the Song of Solomon that might cause us to yell, "Check, please" as we head for the door. Yet, if we longed for the completion that can only come from embracing the other, not tolerance of the other, as essential to our wholeness, then we have something that looks like the flowers blooming and the time of singing arriving.
I know that the Great Reformation understanding of the church hovers around the idea of, "The Word rightly proclaimed and the Sacraments rightly performed." This text asks of us as well, "Does it smell right?" "The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." My home church had a room where much of the Christian education program took place called the Pine Room. To this day the smell of pine carries me back to the first time I understood through UNICEF films that the world was more complicated than I thought. The Pine Room would fill, at Christmas time, with the musty smell of old costumes pulled out once again to tell the old, old story that has the potential to make all things new. At Easter, it filled with the smell of flowers that proclaimed God's intention that we really live in a garden that the kids in the UNICEF films never seemed to share in. I even still associate the Word with the smell of all those mimeographed bulletins. This text just might have it right -- that the test of being true church is whether it smells right.
If it is all doing, knowing, and not smelling then something is wrong. The sensual turns out to be a very genuine path into the ways of the Lord. A recent credit card commercial asks, "What's in your wallet?" Perhaps, we should also ask just what text is carved over your door or in your heart.
James 1:17-27
James struggles with a church community that has things out of order and in doing so has invited disaster into their midst. "You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness." Now you would think that this sad situation was the result of a people who were overly passionate and committed to too heavy an agenda. Isn't that what propels Christian folk to step over the line in their relationship with the world and each other? When you are heavily invested in engaging the world in the name of faith, you find yourself facing disappointments with others and many defeats along the way. It is natural to want from our religious life a sanctuary that will provide serenity in the midst of a world that will surely let you down and dole out its share of frustrations.
Amazingly, James takes the opposite view on the source of our error. It is disengagement from the world that begins to bankrupt our faith. "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world." When we are disengaged from the world we become overdrawn. It is all too easy to draw conclusions about the world and others that are reflections of our own gaze into the mirror of our lives, but that does not reflect our entry into the experience of others. We often gravitate to conversations and discussions with friends that will reflect and support our own points of view. At the coffee shop, the hairdresser, and the local pub we can be assured of the kind of conversation that will leave us reassured that we are right in our assessment of who is to blame for the downfall of the world. In such contexts, we gain fame and prominence by speaking in a way that confirms other's fears and hostilities. We can wind up deceiving our hearts and rendering our religion worthless for the sake of acceptance and approval by others. We can walk away forgetting what the conversation was really about -- not so much the truth that makes us free but the words that make us comfortable. You can leave such conversations dead certain that you are justified in your anger at whomever you have named as public enemy number one. When we do so, we are in a precarious position, "... for your anger does not produce God's righteousness."
James invites us to engagement with the world that will not be stained by the monophonic conversation that does not take in all the voices, perspectives, and experiences through which God speaks. God always speaks in stereo and probably quadraphonic. At least we have not heard God until we have taken in the variety of human experience. A trip to Palestine and Jerusalem a few years ago proved the truth of this to me. It is quite easy to have some very pronounced idea about the Middle East and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict if you don't live there and your information is confined to the American media. Go there and hear the stories of folks living with terror and under occupation and you find that you cannot rely on the simple-minded platitudes that come all too easily out of your mouth. A deep hearing that comes from being really engaged with people is required. My journey through the Holy Land was guided by Palestinian Christians who are committed to engaging in the kind of bridge building and listening that comes from seeking to do the Word by making a place where all can come together and hear each other. Doing the Word means hearing each other.
The people I spoke with had an irrational exuberance and excited anticipation that conversation with the other could lead to peace. They looked to others not as enemies but as those who needed to be heard and to speak. From such doing of the Word as the Song of Solomon puts it, "The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land."
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
They smell, they are dirty, they are angry; they are cynical about authority and suspicious about offers of help. Welcome to the world of street people. Welcome to the reality of many if not most of the people in the world. It is fascinating what the Pharisees and some of the scribes noticed about Jesus' disciples -- that they were eating without having gone through the appropriate ritual washing. The question here was not "Why do you not observe the minimal standards of cleanliness?" but, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" How did they come to make such an observation and why did they not notice in a way that might validate what Jesus was doing -- that the smelly ones, the unclean ones, felt that at Jesus' table they were the beloved -- that Jesus himself might proclaim, "Look they come leaping upon the mountains, and bounding over the hills"? When you feel love like that it can do a lot to put some serious spring into your step. The kingdom of God just might look like the smelly ones, whether from living on the street or wearing cologne that is part of the uniform of working on the street, dancing and leaping for they are accepted regardless of the smell.
When it is about who has clean hands more than Jesus' call for all hands to be on deck and join together in feasting together, then we are at the level of keeping up with the human traditions that keep at bay those who bother us rather than welcoming God's beloved into our midst in a way that would cause them to leap for joy.
What was it that caused the Pharisees and some of the scribes to rivet their attention on the small detail of ritual washing? What was it that caused them to cling to the human traditions and precepts that would cause them to be very far away from God? Can we attribute this to a sort of Freudian obsessive compulsiveness that overwhelmed them? Before we get them on the couch we ought to see them in a larger context. People often obsess when they are deeply afraid of what is or might happen to them. When the order of things is breaking down, then you attack at any place where you can stick your finger in the dike of changing times. Clearly, the purity system that gave place, position, and authority to some folks was losing force. The kingdom of God was breaking in through Jesus' teaching and the old certainties were breaking down. If the sanctity of a shared meal is about whether folks are feeling that they are so beloved that they leap for joy more than whether they can leap through the hoops that the scribes have set up, then the times they are a changing.
It certainly happens in churches when suddenly we find ourselves clinging to human precepts as doctrine about what color the church bathrooms should be painted. Suddenly, we find ourselves dealing with a host of surface issues as if they are the source of our problems when underneath it are the oceans of change in every other part of our lives that cause us to want to cling to at least one place where we can fend off the rapidly changing order of things.
Certainly, Jesus points out that our downfall is more about our stance in life than our circumstance. The Pharisees' obsession has left them unable to see the dinner table as a place where people may be cleansed of their fears, that they do not belong, or that they are not worthy, or that they do not matter.
Application
There is a deep irony here in these lessons that is summed up in Jesus' words from the gospel, "You abandon the commandment of God and hold fast to human tradition." It seems that in the name of the human we often wind up denying and frustrating the human. Religion in Jesus' world had become preoccupied with its all too human tradition which prevented many from feeling they were accepted. James' letter reminds us of the danger of looking in the mirror and seeing only the reflection of our own humanity in a way that causes us to miss seeing the humanity of others. The Song of Solomon is ready to exult in the full depth of our humanity, yet we tread lightly. None of us would be too comfortable with having, "We teach human precepts as doctrines" carved above our church doors. Our humanity must be rooted in something more than human if we are going to avoid the inhuman. Perhaps we should carve the words, "We will never allow human traditions to get in the way of our humanity," or, "We will never let unclean hands prevent us from holding each other's hands." Or we could try, "We will leap for joy when we see you coming." Imagining the essence of what we are about carved above the church door might help us in opening those doors to all.
Alternative Application
Song of Solomon 2:8-13. Occasionally, I find myself wanting to take on a piece of scripture. Perhaps that comes across as somewhat blasphemous. Perhaps it is. On the other hand, one of the central Hebrew heroes is Jacob who takes on God in a wrestling match in which he finds himself in a no-holds-barred match. Of course, he leaves with more than a bit of a limp. I suspect that this is not the kind of thing that should be tried by a nonprofessional. However, I believe that wrestling with God is very much a part of the strength of the Hebrew's story. Jesus found himself wrestling with God as he faced the reality of his own crucifixion. He did not get to, "Nevertheless not my will but thine be done" without serious blood, sweat, and tears.
I wish to take on the author of the Song of Solomon as he celebrates the passing of winter and the arrival of spring. Hold on here. The season of growth is not all that it is cracked up to be. Often our infatuation with growth has caused the church to resort to gimmicks and come-ons that fall short of the gospel. It often seems that, like the song writer, we have an easier time building up to highs in the church year without being quite as adept at helping people come down from the highs of Christmas and Easter. Certainly, winter is the time of hibernation for much of the animal kingdom. It might not be fashionable but the church often seems unable to give it a rest. In our business we often imitate the worst in the surrounding frenetic culture. Yes, winter in New Hampshire where I live is the season of delayed and rearranged plans. However, the season has a way of reminding me that God's plan for me is to grow up no matter how many times my plans go awry.
Saying good-bye to the summer on Labor Day is hard to do. However it might be an opportunity to think through what God might plan for us in the seasons to come.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 45:1-2, 6-9
Leaders of all stripes have always had sycophants in abundance to sustain their delusion of power. Doting tongues to puff up the king are nothing new. From Elizabethan jesters to plaster faced, neck-tied staffers in oval offices, it seems a constant theme. But here we find a caveat of sorts. Sure, the king is a "handsome man." Let us be clear, however, about where real power is to be found.
It's God who anoints, and as it turns out, God has a few qualifications in mind. The scepter is to be one of equity. That is, equal justice, equal opportunity, equal rights, and here's the hobgoblin in the mix, equal distribution of the material resources of the land.
And this isn't all. The king is to be a "lover of righteousness." It's one thing to go on record as one approving of righteousness. It's yet another to love it. This love implies a passion beyond intellectual assent. This love asserts a depth of commitment; a sense of intimacy connected with righteousness -- an understanding that this isn't a game being played here.
Delving into this psalm begs the question, "How do our contemporary leaders measure up to God's qualifications?" Is the scepter of our current leadership one of equity? Look across the landscape of our nation. Is equal justice available to everyone, or is it more available to those who can afford it? Is there equal opportunity in education and employment? Are equal rights available to everyone?
It's safe to say that the answer to the above questions is a resounding "No." With African Americans making up the vast majority of our prison population, and only a small fraction of our national population, equal justice is reduced to the level of meaningless rhetoric. With our public schools languishing for lack of funding and support, the notion of equal opportunity evaporates. And in a post 9/11 environment of fear, equal rights and other civil protections fall to the ground and are trampled by the boots of "national security."
But enough of all this. The real question still goes unasked. Where does this leave a biblical people? If, as scripture and circumstances suggest, the king is not following the dictates of God, what are the worshipers of God to do? The options are legion indeed, and this space will halt just short of specific suggestions.
Only this: Real faith is not silent. Deep faith is not inactive. Committed faith will not permit injustice and oppression to continue unabated. Authentic faith knows, finally, that God is not mocked.
For many of us, the sense of anticipation and joyful tension that is found in the Song of Solomon seems painfully absent in churches. I do sympathize with the letter of James. Unlike Martin Luther who thought it a straw epistle worthy of being dropped from the canon, for me the emphasis on doing well and James' take on the consequences of not doing is well worth our consideration. However, I wonder if Martin Luther was not on to something. A child of the '60s, I have often been haunted by the fear of not doing the gospel. I am apprehensive about the fate of any church that remains only sanctuary from the world rather than being a launching pad into the world. I fear for the church and the world in that circumstance. Yet, I have often found among the doers of the Word a reliance on taking votes at church meetings that do not help people hear each other. I find mantras of guilt among some doers of the Word that leave folks feeling more ashamed than hopeful. I am bothered by litanies of political left or right that seem to reflect as much human traditions as the promise of the kingdom of God. I am sometimes more than mildly irritated by the sense I get from many of the doers of the Word in our time that they have not come short of the glory of God like the rest of us.
I believe it was the television commentator, Andy Rooney, who pointed out that Labor Day more than January first marks the turning point toward a new year. More is at stake here on this Sunday than the sin of wearing white after Labor Day. If in some sense the vitality and vigor and irrational exuberance of the Song of Solomon are normative, then the letter of James and the gospel passage for this Sunday remind us of what may be getting between us and the kingdom of God.
I have seen many different passages of scripture carved above the doors of churches and painted on sanctuary walls. I have yet to ever see these words from the Song of Solomon, "The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." I suspect that would be quite an eye opener if not a heart healer.
Song of Solomon 2:8-13
Just say the words, "Song of Solomon," and you can unleash a dash toward the exits and cries of, "Check, please" as folks want to bring the conversation to a quick close. The kind of sensuality let alone sexuality that comes to the surface of this book is not usually heard in the sermons of the churches of most of the pastors who read this publication. These words lightly considered or facilely expressed from the pulpit have the potential for the career ending moment. Let's face it; this is not on your top hit parade of the most favored texts to preach on. Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said that just about every piece of scripture has been used for a salvific purpose at one time or another. If on a Saturday night all you have is this text and a sermon that you suddenly discover you are not ready to preach because it might push the outside of the envelope with your congregation a bit too far, then you might find Bonhoeffer's words a bit hard to swallow.
However, perhaps the words from the Nike Corporation's advertising campaign, "Just Do It" might have something to say here. What if on a Sunday we approached morning worship in anticipation of seeing the beloved red state or blue state member, fill in the blank, come leaping up the mountain and bounding up the hill? Can we imagine a church that proclaims winter is over because we dwell in a unity that is larger than democratic agreement on all issues? Can you imagine a church community that would have carved over its main entrance to the church, "Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away"? Imagine the church advertisement in the local newspaper, "Arise, come together with us and come away from the things that divide people, belittle their efforts, and that devalues their experience. It is time to blossom and sing for the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land." That kind of advertising would be some pretty hot copy -- certainly worthy of the fire of Pentecost. With all due respect to those churches who advertise in the newspaper, from my experience the usual run of those advertisements don't give much reason to mop your brow from inordinate titillation.
If I understand the major themes of the Song of Solomon it comes down to the notion that I cannot be me without loving you. I cannot be me without loving that character on the board of deacons who keeps frustrating my efforts, even delighting in his presence. There is sensuality in the Song of Solomon that might cause us to yell, "Check, please" as we head for the door. Yet, if we longed for the completion that can only come from embracing the other, not tolerance of the other, as essential to our wholeness, then we have something that looks like the flowers blooming and the time of singing arriving.
I know that the Great Reformation understanding of the church hovers around the idea of, "The Word rightly proclaimed and the Sacraments rightly performed." This text asks of us as well, "Does it smell right?" "The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away." My home church had a room where much of the Christian education program took place called the Pine Room. To this day the smell of pine carries me back to the first time I understood through UNICEF films that the world was more complicated than I thought. The Pine Room would fill, at Christmas time, with the musty smell of old costumes pulled out once again to tell the old, old story that has the potential to make all things new. At Easter, it filled with the smell of flowers that proclaimed God's intention that we really live in a garden that the kids in the UNICEF films never seemed to share in. I even still associate the Word with the smell of all those mimeographed bulletins. This text just might have it right -- that the test of being true church is whether it smells right.
If it is all doing, knowing, and not smelling then something is wrong. The sensual turns out to be a very genuine path into the ways of the Lord. A recent credit card commercial asks, "What's in your wallet?" Perhaps, we should also ask just what text is carved over your door or in your heart.
James 1:17-27
James struggles with a church community that has things out of order and in doing so has invited disaster into their midst. "You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness." Now you would think that this sad situation was the result of a people who were overly passionate and committed to too heavy an agenda. Isn't that what propels Christian folk to step over the line in their relationship with the world and each other? When you are heavily invested in engaging the world in the name of faith, you find yourself facing disappointments with others and many defeats along the way. It is natural to want from our religious life a sanctuary that will provide serenity in the midst of a world that will surely let you down and dole out its share of frustrations.
Amazingly, James takes the opposite view on the source of our error. It is disengagement from the world that begins to bankrupt our faith. "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world." When we are disengaged from the world we become overdrawn. It is all too easy to draw conclusions about the world and others that are reflections of our own gaze into the mirror of our lives, but that does not reflect our entry into the experience of others. We often gravitate to conversations and discussions with friends that will reflect and support our own points of view. At the coffee shop, the hairdresser, and the local pub we can be assured of the kind of conversation that will leave us reassured that we are right in our assessment of who is to blame for the downfall of the world. In such contexts, we gain fame and prominence by speaking in a way that confirms other's fears and hostilities. We can wind up deceiving our hearts and rendering our religion worthless for the sake of acceptance and approval by others. We can walk away forgetting what the conversation was really about -- not so much the truth that makes us free but the words that make us comfortable. You can leave such conversations dead certain that you are justified in your anger at whomever you have named as public enemy number one. When we do so, we are in a precarious position, "... for your anger does not produce God's righteousness."
James invites us to engagement with the world that will not be stained by the monophonic conversation that does not take in all the voices, perspectives, and experiences through which God speaks. God always speaks in stereo and probably quadraphonic. At least we have not heard God until we have taken in the variety of human experience. A trip to Palestine and Jerusalem a few years ago proved the truth of this to me. It is quite easy to have some very pronounced idea about the Middle East and the Israeli/Palestinian conflict if you don't live there and your information is confined to the American media. Go there and hear the stories of folks living with terror and under occupation and you find that you cannot rely on the simple-minded platitudes that come all too easily out of your mouth. A deep hearing that comes from being really engaged with people is required. My journey through the Holy Land was guided by Palestinian Christians who are committed to engaging in the kind of bridge building and listening that comes from seeking to do the Word by making a place where all can come together and hear each other. Doing the Word means hearing each other.
The people I spoke with had an irrational exuberance and excited anticipation that conversation with the other could lead to peace. They looked to others not as enemies but as those who needed to be heard and to speak. From such doing of the Word as the Song of Solomon puts it, "The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land."
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
They smell, they are dirty, they are angry; they are cynical about authority and suspicious about offers of help. Welcome to the world of street people. Welcome to the reality of many if not most of the people in the world. It is fascinating what the Pharisees and some of the scribes noticed about Jesus' disciples -- that they were eating without having gone through the appropriate ritual washing. The question here was not "Why do you not observe the minimal standards of cleanliness?" but, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" How did they come to make such an observation and why did they not notice in a way that might validate what Jesus was doing -- that the smelly ones, the unclean ones, felt that at Jesus' table they were the beloved -- that Jesus himself might proclaim, "Look they come leaping upon the mountains, and bounding over the hills"? When you feel love like that it can do a lot to put some serious spring into your step. The kingdom of God just might look like the smelly ones, whether from living on the street or wearing cologne that is part of the uniform of working on the street, dancing and leaping for they are accepted regardless of the smell.
When it is about who has clean hands more than Jesus' call for all hands to be on deck and join together in feasting together, then we are at the level of keeping up with the human traditions that keep at bay those who bother us rather than welcoming God's beloved into our midst in a way that would cause them to leap for joy.
What was it that caused the Pharisees and some of the scribes to rivet their attention on the small detail of ritual washing? What was it that caused them to cling to the human traditions and precepts that would cause them to be very far away from God? Can we attribute this to a sort of Freudian obsessive compulsiveness that overwhelmed them? Before we get them on the couch we ought to see them in a larger context. People often obsess when they are deeply afraid of what is or might happen to them. When the order of things is breaking down, then you attack at any place where you can stick your finger in the dike of changing times. Clearly, the purity system that gave place, position, and authority to some folks was losing force. The kingdom of God was breaking in through Jesus' teaching and the old certainties were breaking down. If the sanctity of a shared meal is about whether folks are feeling that they are so beloved that they leap for joy more than whether they can leap through the hoops that the scribes have set up, then the times they are a changing.
It certainly happens in churches when suddenly we find ourselves clinging to human precepts as doctrine about what color the church bathrooms should be painted. Suddenly, we find ourselves dealing with a host of surface issues as if they are the source of our problems when underneath it are the oceans of change in every other part of our lives that cause us to want to cling to at least one place where we can fend off the rapidly changing order of things.
Certainly, Jesus points out that our downfall is more about our stance in life than our circumstance. The Pharisees' obsession has left them unable to see the dinner table as a place where people may be cleansed of their fears, that they do not belong, or that they are not worthy, or that they do not matter.
Application
There is a deep irony here in these lessons that is summed up in Jesus' words from the gospel, "You abandon the commandment of God and hold fast to human tradition." It seems that in the name of the human we often wind up denying and frustrating the human. Religion in Jesus' world had become preoccupied with its all too human tradition which prevented many from feeling they were accepted. James' letter reminds us of the danger of looking in the mirror and seeing only the reflection of our own humanity in a way that causes us to miss seeing the humanity of others. The Song of Solomon is ready to exult in the full depth of our humanity, yet we tread lightly. None of us would be too comfortable with having, "We teach human precepts as doctrines" carved above our church doors. Our humanity must be rooted in something more than human if we are going to avoid the inhuman. Perhaps we should carve the words, "We will never allow human traditions to get in the way of our humanity," or, "We will never let unclean hands prevent us from holding each other's hands." Or we could try, "We will leap for joy when we see you coming." Imagining the essence of what we are about carved above the church door might help us in opening those doors to all.
Alternative Application
Song of Solomon 2:8-13. Occasionally, I find myself wanting to take on a piece of scripture. Perhaps that comes across as somewhat blasphemous. Perhaps it is. On the other hand, one of the central Hebrew heroes is Jacob who takes on God in a wrestling match in which he finds himself in a no-holds-barred match. Of course, he leaves with more than a bit of a limp. I suspect that this is not the kind of thing that should be tried by a nonprofessional. However, I believe that wrestling with God is very much a part of the strength of the Hebrew's story. Jesus found himself wrestling with God as he faced the reality of his own crucifixion. He did not get to, "Nevertheless not my will but thine be done" without serious blood, sweat, and tears.
I wish to take on the author of the Song of Solomon as he celebrates the passing of winter and the arrival of spring. Hold on here. The season of growth is not all that it is cracked up to be. Often our infatuation with growth has caused the church to resort to gimmicks and come-ons that fall short of the gospel. It often seems that, like the song writer, we have an easier time building up to highs in the church year without being quite as adept at helping people come down from the highs of Christmas and Easter. Certainly, winter is the time of hibernation for much of the animal kingdom. It might not be fashionable but the church often seems unable to give it a rest. In our business we often imitate the worst in the surrounding frenetic culture. Yes, winter in New Hampshire where I live is the season of delayed and rearranged plans. However, the season has a way of reminding me that God's plan for me is to grow up no matter how many times my plans go awry.
Saying good-bye to the summer on Labor Day is hard to do. However it might be an opportunity to think through what God might plan for us in the seasons to come.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 45:1-2, 6-9
Leaders of all stripes have always had sycophants in abundance to sustain their delusion of power. Doting tongues to puff up the king are nothing new. From Elizabethan jesters to plaster faced, neck-tied staffers in oval offices, it seems a constant theme. But here we find a caveat of sorts. Sure, the king is a "handsome man." Let us be clear, however, about where real power is to be found.
It's God who anoints, and as it turns out, God has a few qualifications in mind. The scepter is to be one of equity. That is, equal justice, equal opportunity, equal rights, and here's the hobgoblin in the mix, equal distribution of the material resources of the land.
And this isn't all. The king is to be a "lover of righteousness." It's one thing to go on record as one approving of righteousness. It's yet another to love it. This love implies a passion beyond intellectual assent. This love asserts a depth of commitment; a sense of intimacy connected with righteousness -- an understanding that this isn't a game being played here.
Delving into this psalm begs the question, "How do our contemporary leaders measure up to God's qualifications?" Is the scepter of our current leadership one of equity? Look across the landscape of our nation. Is equal justice available to everyone, or is it more available to those who can afford it? Is there equal opportunity in education and employment? Are equal rights available to everyone?
It's safe to say that the answer to the above questions is a resounding "No." With African Americans making up the vast majority of our prison population, and only a small fraction of our national population, equal justice is reduced to the level of meaningless rhetoric. With our public schools languishing for lack of funding and support, the notion of equal opportunity evaporates. And in a post 9/11 environment of fear, equal rights and other civil protections fall to the ground and are trampled by the boots of "national security."
But enough of all this. The real question still goes unasked. Where does this leave a biblical people? If, as scripture and circumstances suggest, the king is not following the dictates of God, what are the worshipers of God to do? The options are legion indeed, and this space will halt just short of specific suggestions.
Only this: Real faith is not silent. Deep faith is not inactive. Committed faith will not permit injustice and oppression to continue unabated. Authentic faith knows, finally, that God is not mocked.
