Proclaim!

It's been a tough couple of weeks since my last post. On January 12, two events occurred that have affected me deeply. You'd have to have lived under a rock to not know there was an earthquake in Haiti, leaving millions homeless and injured, and a six-figure death count. In addition to all those who died in Haiti, there was another death that hit closer to home. A friend and colleague lost her life as a result of what was for her an incurable depression.

The latter death has had a profound effect on how I've personally absorbed the impact of global event. I know it's been difficult for me to turn on the TV or radio. I simply could not handle any more grief for several days. It dawned on me that I couldn't possibly be the only one who's too overwhelmed with the Haiti story and it left me feeling hopeless.

As I mentioned in my earlier post, I've been taking an accelerated class this January called Media, Culture and Worship. We have been encouraged to experiment with multimedia and cultural events and to try to marry the two with the readings assigned for the upcoming Sunday. I decided to try to turn the feeling of hopelessness on its ear and focus on tangible things closer to home that we can focus on.

Those of you who can focus on Haiti are probably thinking, "Just make a donation" or something like that. What you may not realize is that when you're experiencing personal despair, the feeling of sending a few bucks out to some unknown place doesn't feel very effective. I simply ask you treat those who don't seem engaged with kindness. You have no idea what may be happening in their lives that are making it impossible for them to see more than a few feet in front of them. The fog that imprisons them could be paralyzing them on their journey. Rather than prodding them, try outstretching your hand and proclaim the good news: love your neighbor.

Thanks for carrying the water

For class, I needed to do some work with this coming Sunday's lectionary readings. One of the readings is John 2:1-11.

1 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2 Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." 4 And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." 5 His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." 6 Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7 Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. 8 He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it. 9 When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10 and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now." 11 Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

Part of the deal is we're supposed to ponder the texts for a while and see what speaks to us. Because the class is "Culture, Media and Worship" we are also supposed to consider using mixed media and make the text relevant for today's people. So what are my impressions from this reading?

• In the reading Mary gets a speaking role but isn't named. I believe in the actors union that means she'd earn less of a paycheck. This annoys me.
• If there were 6 stone jars, each holding 20-30 gallons of water, we're talking 120-180 gallons of wine. Don't know about anyone else, but that begins to smack of gluttony to me. (Whatever happened to a few loaves and fishes being enough to feed the masses? That story doesn't say there was enough food to stuff the people like Thanksgiving turkeys, yet in this passage, it appears the people at the party in Cana would be capable of getting knee-walking drunk.)

I'm not finding much inspiration within the reading itself (doesn't help that I find John to be annoying to start with). Knowing that if I can find a personal connection, I'm sometimes more able (or willing) to work through a passage, I spent some time last night going through some family photos, looking for wedding pictures. (I'm fortunate enough that when my grandmothers on both sides died, an aunt on one side and a cousin on the other took it upon themselves to scan the old photo albums and press them to CD.) While I did find some cool wedding photos, I also found a ton of wonderful family pics that I was able to post as an album on Facebook, so that I can share them with my far-flung family and friends.

I can't say I had inspired moments with the scripture readings yesterday, but I did have a couple of hours of connections with family known and unknown, living and dead who have formed me and each in his or her way have made some contribution to the person I've become today. The connection to the text: even in the Gospel of John, where Jesus is made out to be a superhero, there is still a human element. The Jesus portrayed in the gospels still had to be raised by his immediate and extended family, his faith community and his neighbors. If there were a photo album for Jesus, would it have had a Grandpa Joe who was constantly holding a cigarette, the aunt who was always in the presence of a horse or a dog or some other critter, the unknown blurry images of a nearly forgotten family member from a few generations back who still contributed some thread of wisdom or family folklore? I think so.

To be human is to be in connection with others, chosen family or not. When we have some big idea, we all need someone in a supporting role, someone who might be unnamed who does the equivalent of telling the servants "do whatever he tells you" -- someone, somewhere, known or unknown is watching your back and giving you support. I've had a few water-to-wine moments. I couldn't be where I am today without them. There have been countless family members, bosses, co-workers and even strangers who have helped get the wheels in motion.

While it took the so-called miracle to get Jesus' disciples to believe in him, his mother believed in him from the beginning. I try to imagine a Mary who gives her boy the same kind of look of joy and hope that my mother did with my brother in the photo above. There's a miracle of faith that's played out every day between people who love each other, who see the potential of the other without a shred of evidence it can be so. Perhaps, rather than focusing on the enormous amount of alcohol produced, I'll spend some time thinking about those who have literally and figuratively "carried the water." To me, this is where the miracle lays: it's the everyday miracle of believing in each other and letting the love flow out of a seemingly empty water jar. I'll take 180 gallons from that jar any day.

Drowning in God

One of the most striking photos I've seen in the news in the past week and a half or so is the one to the right. The attribution has long since disappeared, but I know I've seen it on the BBC, CNN, a few local news sites and now it's making its rounds on personal blogs.

The first couple of times I saw the image, it gave me the same physical, almost electrical, sensation that I've had when reading some scripture, most particularly the Psalms. I can't ever read the first portion of Psalm 139 without getting a serious case of the willies.

¹O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

²You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.

³You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.

⁴Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.

⁵You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.

⁶Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.

⁷Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

⁸If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

Seriously creepy. Finally I've found the image that works with the Psalm. It used to be I only had the soundtrack of the Police "I'll be watching you" playing in my head.

Now having the photo and music playing in my head, it's a truly multimedia experience. In my J-term class, we're supposed to be looking at the text for the coming Sunday and reflecting on it. For those of you who don't keep up to speed on such things, this Sunday's gospel reading is the Luke passage in which Jesus is baptized. The upshot of the reading, or at least the part that sticks in people's minds is this:

Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying,

the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove.

And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’

So, Jesus and a bunch of folks take the big dunk, the symbolic death and rebirth in the water. He gets out and while he's still wet behind the ears in both the literal and figurative senses, this voice pours forth from the open heavens... Okay, at this point in the story, I guess I don't care what the voice actually says, 'cause the message is "I've been watching you." I'm not sure how much clothing one wore back in the day when baptized, but how naked and exposed it would feel to hear this voice making commentary on your actions. That's the relationship with God that makes me feel unsettled - think telescreen in 1984.

I know it's a comfort to many to know God's watching, his eye being on the sparrow and all that, but I know I can't be the only one who thinks that kind of power isn't at least a little bit scary, not to mention perhaps a nice bit of hyperbole. These are the moments in my seminary studies where I feel like I'm dangerously close to touching that third rail - it propels me forward, it raises doubts that the contact is that dangerous, and yet it scares the hell out of me.