A Serious Call to Sing Our Song

In my Renovaré Book Club, we’ve been studying William Law’s spiritual classic, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life.  Reading A Serious Call was a serious commitment for me to make. The other three books the club read this year were written by more modern authors (at least 20^th century) addressing more practical topics. But this one was first published in 1728 and while the writing has been updated a for modern consumption, the writing style still reflects that time period.   There are long run-on sentences I had to read several times to understand.  At times, I felt like the same thing was said five different ways within a few pages.  At moments when I’m reading, I just want to say, “Okay, William, were you paid by the word?  We get it.  Move on.”

 

Although I hesitated at the start, and despite its somewhat archaic writing style, I’ve enjoyed reading A Serious Call.  I begin to see why the book is considered a “classic,” having influenced the formation of John and Charles Wesley, George Whitfield, John Newton, and William Wilberforce, among others.  While Law and I certainly part company theologically at moments (e.g., his overemphasis on works-righteousness and rigid, legalistic descriptions of practices), having now read through a good chunk of the book, I now begin to see that Law had a method to his madness.  He was trying to get the attention of the people of his time, many of whom had become lukewarm in their pursuit of holiness and needed a wake-up call.   He wanted to remind his readers that the Christian life isn’t a passive endeavor. As the title of the book implies, the choice to follow Jesus is not to be taken lightly.  It’s a “serious call” that is worthy of our best effort to pursue growth in holiness and devotion.  While we never can do enough to earn our salvation, we always need to put forth maximum effort in pursuit of it.   

 

Law’s choice of writing style was most likely quite intentional.  He used the age-old writing technique of hyperbole to emphasize the urgency of the subject matter he discusses.  He intended to provoke his readers to take action—now—to grow in holiness.  I think the book is a classic precisely because, if we can get past the somewhat archaic wording, his words have the potential to issue the same “serious call,” and provoke the same reaction in us today.

 

Paul counsels the Philippians to: work out your own salvation with fear and trembling—Philippians 2:12.   It strikes me that the word workout is used in today’s vernacular to describe physical exercise.  We expect to exert effort in this context; sometimes we use the adage, “no pain, no gain.”  We expect to sweat when we work out our bodies.  But what about spiritual workouts?  Do we expect them to be similarly strenuous?  Or do we expect spiritual growth to just happen with minimal effort on our part?  

 

Law, I think, would think it as absurd to suggest that spiritual growth can happen without serious—and ongoing—effort on our part, as it would be to think we can improve our physical body without a commitment to getting sweaty on a regular basis. 

 

The theme that carries throughout A Serious Call is that God does much more than merely forgive our disobedience, God also calls us to obedience and to a life completely centered in God.  That implies a lifetime of maximum effort on our part to grow as a follower of Jesus.  If we do our part, however, then we can trust God to do the part that only God can do.  

 

Law himself says it this way: “If you will here stop and ask yourself why you are not as pious as the primitive Christians were, your own heart will tell you that it is neither through ignorance or inability, but because you never thoroughly intended it.” 

 

Law resonates with Dallas Willard and other authors and theologians throughout history who have emphasized the vital role of intention (making up our mind to do something—and to make it a priority) in linking our vision of doing something we cannot presently do with the acquiring the means to pursue it.  Dallas Willard used the clever acronym V–I–M: Vision–Intention—Means—which reminds us of vim and vigor, which is used to describe something alive and thriving; another related v-word is vitality.  We can think of intention as the bridge to a thriving spiritual life.  Intention links vision to reality via various means of grace or spiritual practices.  

 

Willard echoed Law when he said in one of his books: “Grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning. Earning is an attitude. Effort is an action. Grace, you know, does not just have to do with forgiveness of sins alone.”     

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One technique Law uses that is rather clever is the use of what I might call “case studies.”  Throughout the book, he introduces us to individuals who embody the traits (whether positive or negative) that he’s been emphasizing in that chapter.  For example, in Chapters 7 and 8, Law discusses the proper use of one’s estate to serve God.  To illustrate his points, Law contrasts the lives of two sisters: Flavia and Miranda, whose parents died twenty years ago and left them a substantial estate.  Flavia talks a good game when it comes to religion, but her actions don’t match her words.  She chooses to primarily spend her wealth on herself, giving to others only what she has “left over” or when it benefits her to do so.  Miranda, on the other hand, walks the talk.  She keeps only what she needs for herself and gives the rest of her wealth away to the poor and to charity.  

 

Via these case studies, abstract theological concepts like those Law discusses in A Serious Call take on flesh and blood.  I have no idea if Law based Flavia and Miranda, or the others we meet in A Serious Call, on people he knew from his life in 18^th century England.   Whether the people are “real” or merely meant to serve as archetypes, I think it’s fair to say when we meet them we quickly “recognize” them.  That is, we’ve seen the traits in ourselves and/or in others we know.  They resonate with us because, adjusting for our 21^stcentury context—they are us.   

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After laying the groundwork of his overall thesis in the first part of the book, Law gets into more specifics about the particulars of different spiritual practices like prayer, worship, and fasting that can help us deepen our relationship with God.  He gets quite exact (perhaps too exact for my taste at moments) about what he recommends as the orthodox (proper) way to do things. 

 

For example, in Chapter 15, Law suggests that a key to entering into worship is singing psalms to God.  He almost immediately anticipates that some readers will object by saying that they “can’t sing.”  Choir leaders, does this sound familiar?  But Law isn’t buying it.  He argues that no one is exempt from the call to sing psalms.  Now, that doesn’t mean we’re all called to lead public singing.  Law recognizes that some people have special gifts and training in that area and are ideal candidates to lead public singing, while others (like me) are not—even though I try it occasionally .  But as Law says it: “All things considered, it is fully as just for a person to think himself excused from thinking upon God, from reasoning about his duty to God, or discoursing about the means of salvation because he has not these talents in any great degree, as for a person to think himself excused from singing the praises of God because he has not a fine ear or a musical voice.”

 

This chapter really resonated with me because the situation we face right now as we begin to emerge from the COVID-19 pandemic and reengage public worship.  When we consider all the things COVID-19 has deprived us of over the last year, we could list many things that we’ve lost.  However, when it comes to public worship, I suspect singing may rank high on many people’s list.   At my church (Good Shepherd), we resumed public worship beginning on Easter Sunday, but we’re still advising against singing for the time being.  For some, I’m sure this seems like sacrilege.  How can we possibly worship God if we can’t sing?!  I get it; sometimes I feel that way too.  It’s such a part of our Methodist DNA to sing our praises to God.  What would Charles Wesley say?  Who are we without the ability to sing our songs?  

 

It’s been an interesting experience for me the past few Sundays as we’ve returned to worshipping in person—but been asked to refrain from singing.  I’m so used to using my voice to sing—and I may need to confess to singing softly under my mask at times.  However, God has also reminded that I have other senses that I can engage during worship.  I’m realizing that even though my voice is muted temporarily, the Song goes on.  The Song can ring in my heart while someone else leads the public singing.  If the words are on the screen, I can be intentional about engaging my mind to focus on them.  I can’t always do that when I’m singing with the Praise Team or even when I sing out loud during worship.  I’ve probably gotten overfamiliar with some songs, meaning that I just rattle them from memory without thinking about the words.  I might even sing the wrong words by rote—because I’ve forgotten what the lyrics actually say.

 At other times the last few weeks, I’ve also found myself engaging my eyes, looking up at the beautiful colored glass windows that adorn our sanctuary while our song leader sings.  The windows, if you will, surround us with our Song.  Have you ever taken time to notice?  The windows create a panorama, a compelling visio divina that starts in the rear of the right side of the church (looking forward) with Creation and other stories in Genesis depicted.  It continues forward clockwise with other Old Testament stories depicted.  It then moves into the New Testament and beyond, depicting the life of Jesus, the start of the Church, the start of the United Methodist Church, and the founding and building of Good Shepherd.  The final panel looks toward the future consummation of all things when Jesus returns to judge the world.  (There’s also a large Good Shepherd window in the center, above the altar.)

 

There’s also another source of beauty that God has reminded me of recently during worship.  I see it when I pay close attention to the expressions on the faces of others—yes, even when they are masked.  The Communion of Saints is always present when we worship, but it’s easy to get caught up in ourselves during worship and never notice.  Whenever we enter the Presence of God, who is eternal, the veil between past, present thins and there’s an opportunity to get a glimpse of how God always sees things.  Perhaps because my voice must be suppressed, our post-pandemic worship gatherings have heightened my awareness of this reality.  I suspect I am particularly sensitive to the saints right now because my dad passed away recently.  I’ve felt his presence at times the last couple of weeks, as well as that of my daughter Hope, and my grandmother. 

 

So, no, we can’t sing in the way we’re used to right now at Good Shepherd, and there’s no denying that I miss that—and look forward to the day we can.  However, in the meantime, I’m finding other ways to for the Song to go on within me—and I hope you are too.  

I think of the praise song lyric, “When the music fades, and all is stripped away”—even our voices—then what’s left?  Can we still find ways to sing our Song?  I think Law would say that, just like any other thing we do in life, worship and the pursuit of God is always worthy of our best effort, and sometimes that will require “thinking outside the box.”  My guess is that if he was alive today, during COVID, Law would encourage us to get creative in figuring out new ways to continue our serious pursuit of a devout and holy life, so that we can continue to grow in grace and reach as many as possible with God’s love.     

Earth Day 2021: Embarking on the "Green Way"

 April 22 is Earth Day... 

Earth, from a lunar point of view.
Source: NASA's Apollo 8 mission

We set this day aside each year to intentionally focus on our home planet.  

An impetus for the first Earth Day (in 1970) was the famous Earthrise photo taken by Astronauts onboard Apollo 8 in 1968.  This was one of the first times that human beings could look back on  the great blue marble we call home and see clouds floating in a thin veil of atmosphere set against harsh blackness of outer space. 

 

Seeing Earth from a lunar point of view seemed to increase our awareness just how fragile the Earth was.  The image captured our collective imagination as a society.  It opened our eyes to see the state of the world as it was—and then to employ our best efforts to make it better. 

 

Not long after that first Earth Day, we created the Environmental Protection Agency.  We enacted Federal legislation to protect the air we breathe, the water we drink, and endangered species, and to clean up hazardous waste sites.  In the ensuing decades, we’ve realized that the Earth’s resources are not infinite and that we have a responsibility to future generations to preserve the natural world.   Thanks to Earth observing satellites, we’ve learned much more about the condition of the planet we call home.  We’ve  been reckoning with the environmental impacts of rising concentrations of carbon dioxide (primarily from burning fossil fuels to fuel our industrialized economy) as well as declining concentrations of stratospheric ozone (from the use of products containing chlorofluorocarbons, or CFCs).

 

Air quality over the Northeast U.S. improved
during COVID compared to other years.
Source: NASA's Aura mission

In the last year, we got a glimpse of what a renewed world might look like.  At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, with much of the normal automobile and pedestrian traffic removed, the air and water quality in many major cities around the world improved significantly. You could literally see the change in air pollution from space.  Packs of animals were even seen roaming on some major roads.  These examples remind us how quickly nature can repair itself when human activity is reduced—even for a short time. 

The pandemic also gave us another glimpse of our future. In March 2020, as COVID-19 was spreading like wildfire around the world and indefinite lockdowns were mandated, we had no choice but to move many activities that we've traditionally conducted primarily in person to online.  (While this shift had started to happen before COVID for some activities, the pandemic accelerated it to warp speed.)  Work, school, faith communities, sports, and entertainment—all of these had to make a quick shift from "business as usual."  And although there was certainly a steep learning curve for some, for the most part we've done it remarkably efficiently and effectively.  

And now that we've gotten used to conducting so much more of our lives online, it's unlikely we're going back—at least not entirely. This shift to interacting with one another in the virtual world, made out of necessity at first, is here to stay. Social gatherings in the post-pandemic world that is starting to emerge will need to evolve to accommodate a hybrid of in person and virtual participants on a regular basis.  

Is this glimpse of a renewed Earth just a blip in time, or is it a preview of things to come?  if society can pivot quickly to embrace new "normals" during a pandemic, can we also do it in response to the climate crisis?

 

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I think our 21^st century conundrum regarding our response to climate change has something in common with how those disciples on the Emmaus road responded when they encountered the Risen Lord (Luke 24:13–35).  The Resurrection (John 11:25) literally came and walked beside them.  However, trapped in the gloom and grief of their current reality, they could not see.  Once they shifted their perspective to imagine a new possibility—one that includes the reality of resurrection—then they could “see” who had been walking with them all along.  

 

To be fair, it’s hard to blame the disciples for their lack of imagination.  Rome was the dominant power of their day.  When Rome executed someone, they were “really most sincerely dead.”  The Roman Narrative defined the way things were for most ordinary citizens of the Empire.

 

Then along comes Jesus, proclaiming an alternative Kingdom (of God) Narrative.  Ordinary people are attracted to this counter-Imperial message.  The men walking the Road to Emmaus had been followers of Jesus.  They believed Jesus was the Messiah—the “liberating king” that the Jewish people so long anticipated would save them from the dominant power of the day.  

 

When Jesus went to Jerusalem during what we know as “Holy Week” his followers thought this was when he would finally take action against Rome.  He did act—just not at all in the way they expected.  Never in their wildest imagination did they expect their “Messiah” to die.  Frankly, it was a major disappointment.  As of Good Friday evening,  it looks like the little movement Jesus started has failed utterly.  Jesus appears to have joined countless other false Messiahs crushed under the heel of the Empire.   On Holy Saturday it sure seems the Roman Narrative is the only one that matters.  Thus, when they walk that road on Sunday, they are in a state of despair.

 

Given that context, we can imagine why the men are skeptical of the women’s incredible claim that when they visited the tomb on Sunday morning, they found it empty!  Albeit from a safe distance, they’d watched their Master die. They knew that no one comes back from the dead—and most certainly not from a Roman crucifixion.  Even though Jesus repeatedly told them to expect exactly what happened, they are completely absorbed in the Roman Narrative and not yet able to grasp what was happening.

 

As Luke tells the story, we encounter these two downcast disciples as they walk the Road to Emmaus, trudging along toward an uncertain future.  At some point the Risen Lord joins them on their walk—but they don’t recognize him.  The mysterious stranger strikes up a conversation as they walk, getting them to recount the horrible circumstances of the last 36 hours.  The traveler seems to know the Scriptures.  He explains that what happened is precisely what the Prophets predicted would happen.  The disciples stop to camp for the night.  At first Jesus seems to be continuing along the road, but the two disciples “convince” him to stay with them.

 

And that’s when the shift happens.  There was something about entering in, breaking bread together—seeing Jesus up close—that broke through the gloomy fog of the Roman Narrative. Suddenly resurrection was no longer just an abstract idea—the Resurrection was eating dinner with them.  Something totally new was set free—and Rome could not stop it.  Suddenly, it dawned on them that the Kingdom Narrative was rewriting the whole story!  

 

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Now, if resurrection of one man sometimes seems impossible to believe, how much more does resurrecting—of, if you prefer, transforming—the Earth seem hard for our society to fathom?

 

Climate change is a complex and nuanced issue that defies an easy solution.  However, even the deepest skeptic finds it increasingly hard to deny that such change is happening—and that it bears a distinctive human footprint.  Climate change is inexorably linked to other complicated issues like racial injustice and economic inequality.  We can’t truly address one of these issues without addressing all of them.  Given all of this, it’s easy to assume there’s nothing you and I can really do to make a difference.  

 

This attitude comes in part because, just as the disciples lived under a dominant Roman Narrative, our society lives under the influence of a dominant Exploitation Narrative. Even though we often don’t give it a second though as we go about our daily lives, entire economies—and Christian doctrines (e.g., the Doctrine of Discovery)—have been set up to justify our [1] exploitation of Earth’s natural and human resources.  Fossil fuel extraction (e.g., oil, natural gas, coal) has provided a convenient means to fuel the fires of our relentless engine of progress.  But we’re now starting to realize that these resources have limits—and that the unregulated burning of fossil fuels has caused harm to our environment. 

 

Still, a world immersed in an Exploitation Narrative struggles to imagine alternative possibilities to fossil fuels.  In the same way the women’s initial claims of resurrection were dismissed as impossible by the skeptical men, those who have the audacity to suggest an alternative Sustainable Narrative (e.g., the “Green New Deal”) are called “crazy dreamers” who are out of touch with reality.   We probably react that way because we fear the changes suggested would wreck the economy as we know it, or otherwise disrupt our lives beyond what we consider convenient. 

 

Perhaps, like those disciples on the Road to Emmaus, the time has come for us to look a little closer at what might be possible. The Exploitation Narrative is failing us; the status quo simply isn’t sustainable for planet Earth.  The evidence is all around us for those that have eyes that choose to see.  Though the situation is grave, there is reason for hope if  we can shift our perspective and embrace a new Sustainable Narrative.  This new “Green Way” (which I think is what Joe Biden would have the U.S. follow) would allow us to take meaningful action to protect the environment while still maintaining a robust economy—but we would do it in ways that are ethical to all people and ecologically just to all of God’s Creation .  

 

In much the same way the Apollo Program’s audacious goal of landing on the Moon by the “end of the decade” galvanized the best creative energy and collective imagination of the U.S. in the 1960s, intentionally embarking upon a “Green Way” in the 2020s could harness our world’s intellectual and imaginative power to decisively respond to the existential threat posed by climate change.

 

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Resurrecting the world would require a shift in our collective thinking.  What we did during the pandemic would need to be done on an even bigger scale to respond to climate change. We’d have to make an intentional choice to defect from the dominant Exploitation Narrative to embrace a new Sustainable Narrative and embark upon the “Green Way” discussed in this essay.  This “Green Way” I’m envisioning can’t be accomplished via a massive top-down government initiative alone.  I think it will emerge more like a Clematis vine, composed of many  strands of individual and small group environmental efforts around the world coming together to create a lattice of green that transforms the world and resurrects the environment. (In this analogy larger government climate initiatives can serve as a trellis to help direct the growth of the vine.) 

 

Each of us will have to do our part to forge this new “Green Way.”  For example, last December I was commissioned as a Global Ministries EarthKeeper through the United Methodist Church.  A group of us met via Zoom and learned about the interface of issues related to the environment and climate with issues of racial and economic justice.  As part of the training, each student chose a project to work on so that we could carry what we’ve learned back into our communities.  My goal is to eventually compile an EarthKeeper Compendium to chronicle our activities. I also hope to raise awareness of these issues where I live.  I would like to see a “Green Team” at my church to think about how our faith community can respond to the climate crisis.   

 

Clematis vine climbs a trellis in my backyard.
Source: Photo by Alan Ward

Maybe you’d like to become an EarthKeeper?  The program is always looking to expand.  But even if you don’t pursue formal training as I did, you can still do your part.  You can work to "resurrect" your own corner of creation.  You can reduce, reuse, and recycle.  You can clean a stream or a roadside in your neighborhood.  You can work to reduce your carbon footprint.  You can purchase your food from local sources.  You can become more aware of your own habits of consumption—and then take intentional action to change them.  You can apply your imagination and creativity and add to this list something that fits the unique circumstances of your local environment. 

The world that our children and grandchildren will inherit is counting on each of us to do our part to make it a better place.  It won’t just happen.  We must act decisively—now.   We must come together for the common good of our common home.  I hope you’ll use Earth Day 2021 as an opportunity to ponder to how your Creator is calling you to embark on the “Green Way.”

 

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[1] Historically, our has mostly meant white males. 

Never Underestimate the Gardener

 ¹¹ But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’ She said to them, ‘They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.’ ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?’ Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.’ ¹⁶Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’ She turned and said to him in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni!’ (which means Teacher)—John 20:11–16.

 

These verses are from John’s account of the disciple’s discovery of the resurrection of Jesus—John 20:1–18—which has similar elements to but stands apart from the accounts in the Synoptic Gospels.  In John’s account Mary Magdalene saw the stone rolled away from the tomb (John 20:1–2) and ran off to tell Peter and John.  Mary, Peter, and John then return to the tomb together.  The men go inside to further investigate for themselves and find it empty (John 20:3–10).  Meanwhile, Mary stands in the garden just outside the tomb, weeping.  There, according to John, the Risen Lord makes his first post-resurrection appearance to Mary.  We're also told that when Mary first sees Jesus, she doesn't recognize him.  She somewhat dismissively, “supposes him to be the gardener.”  

 

I think we tend to overlook this last detail as unimportant.  We assume that Mary, distraught with grief, is not able to identify the familiar friend standing in front of her.  And maybe it was as simple as that?    Considering what she has just lived through, such confusion would be understandable.  After all, the last time she saw Jesus was 36 hours ago, when she watched in horror as he was crucified on a Roman cross.  His lifeless body was then laid in the nearby tomb on Friday evening until the Sabbath had passed.  When she set out before dawn on that Sunday morning, she was going there to give her “rabbouni” a proper burial.   She never expected to find the stone rolled away—much less meet someone walking in the garden at that hour!

 

But could her mistake be understandable on a much more practical level?  Like any good storyteller, most of the details John gives us are quite intentionally placed in the narrative. So, if it’s there, we probably should consider why John chose to include it.  If Jesus, the teacher—and the Second Person of the Trinity—can so easily be mistaken for a gardener, we might be wise to consider why that should matter to people reading these words over two millennia later.  

 

The choice to have Mary’s encounter with the Risen Lord occur in a garden should harken us back to the original stories of the first encounters between the Creator and his creation in Genesis 2.  The setting there is the paradisical Garden of Eden.  John presents Jesus as a new Adam, who offers new hope to restore the human race and all of creation to right relationship with the Creator.  Seen in that light, Mary’s first perception of Jesus wasn’t entirely wrong.  He really is “the Gardener” (or Caretaker) of the New Creation, which begins with his resurrection—the seemingly impossible conquest of Death itself. The implication John makes is clear: where Adam fell short, Jesus Christ will succeed.  

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I’ve been rereading the Lord of the Rings during Lent.  One of my favorite characters in the trilogy is Samwise Gamgee, who, at the beginning of the book, identifies as "just a gardener."  In the idyllic world of the Shire that was pretty much who Sam was.  Although he was Frodo’s friend—it was always in servant–master relationship, evidenced by Sam’s always referring to his friend as “Mr. Frodo.”  Sam is comic relief at the beginning, eavesdropping on the conversation between Gandalf and Frodo that sets the whole Quest to return the Ring of Power to Mount Doom to destroy it in motion.  He is a rather reluctant participant in the Fellowship of the Ring.  But if Mr, Frodo has to go on this epic journey there's no way Sam was going to stay behind!  Wherever Frodo goes, his loyal friend Sam will not be far behind.  

Sam travels all the way there—to the crack of Mount Doom—and back again with his dear friend Frodo.

Humble Sam "the gardener" from the Shire undergoes tremendous growth over the course of the three novels—probably the most of any member of the Fellowship.  By the time he returns to the his home after Ring is destroyed, Sam is a completely different person than when he left a bit over a year ago.  People who knew him well hardly recognize hm when he returns to help "scour" the Shire from the disgraced Saurumon's (a.k.a., "Sharkey") despotic rule. 

 

By the end of the trilogy, for Frodo—or anyone else—to suppose Sam be "just a gardener" would be an error of the same magnitude that it was for Mary Magdalene to make that assumption about the Risen Lord.  

 

Even If you aren’t that familiar with Lord of the Rings, you probably know Frodo Baggins is the star of trilogy.  He’s the Ring Bearer, the one given the Quest to take the One Ring of Power that the evil Sauron created to the only place in Middle Earth where it can be destroyed.  Only Frodo can complete that task; Sam can’t take that burden from him, no matter how much he wishes he could.  But Sam is content to follow Frodo faithfully, to “carry him” when he needs help to keep going.  At one point near the end of the trilogy,  Sam literally carries Frodo up the treacherous slopes of Mount Doom so that his Master can finish his quest.  In that moment he embodies what Jesus said in the Upper Room: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”—John 15:13. 

It struck me more than once as I reread the climactic scenes of the “Return of the King” during Holy Week that what Peter arrogantly promised Jesus he would do is precisely what humble Sam actually did do for Frodo.  The consummate disciple, Sam may waiver but he never betrays, denies, or abandons Frodo.  

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According to John, Mary initially thinks the Risen Jesus is just the gardener. Likewise, Tolkien intends for us to underestimate Sam when we meet him.  However, in both narratives we soon learn that, if our eyes are open, these gardeners have much to teach us.  Like Jesus, Sam exemplifies many virtuous traits:  e.g., sacrifice, humility, courage, inner strength.  

 

Perhaps the lesson we learn from these two examples is that it is a mistake to assume that  “simple folk” (e.g., Hobbits and Jewish carpenters) have no wisdom to impart.  Also consider that those who spend lots of time with their hands in the soil may know Creation in ways that it would benefit us all to learn—important wisdom as our world faces a climate crisis and as we begin to emerge from a pandemic.   After all, we never know what form the Risen Christ will take.  

 

FOR REFLECTION

·      Have you ever formed a first impression of someone or perhaps dismissed someone as not having much to teach you—and then later learned you were wrong?  What did you learn from that experience?  

·      Is there a Sam in your life?  Is there someone who can’t carry your burden for you but has helped carry you through a dark time in your life?  Are you Sam for someone else?

The Synoptic Gospels: Three Uniquely Similar Resurrection Accounts

The Gospels of Mark, Luke, and Matthew are referred to as the Synoptic Gospels.  Each writer tells their own story of the life of Jesus and its significance.  The stories contained in these three Gospels are similar—or synoptic.  They likely draw from similar ancient source material.  For example, Luke and Matthew both probably used Mark’s Gospel as one of their sources.  However, it’s pretty obvious as we read them that the three stories are far from identical.  Each author wrote his story for a different first century audience and thus decided to emphasize different details that would have mattered to that audience.  We combine these to get a fuller picture of who Jesus was—and why his life matters to us living 2000+ years later.  

 

For example, in the Easter season, we often combine the stories to form a picture of the discovery of the empty tomb and of Jesus’s post-resurrection appearances to his disciples.  (We do the same thing at Christmas with the birth narratives in Luke and Matthew.)  But sometimes it’s interesting to consider each story on its own merit and see how they differ—not so we can pick apart discrepancies to disprove the factuality of the events describes—but to appreciate the nuanced beauty of the individual storyteller’s accounts of the life of Jesus.  

 

What I’ve done below is to give a quick take on the resurrection stories in each of the Synoptics.  I started with Mark, since it is widely agreed to be the “original” story of Jesus, and then proceeded to Luke and Matthew—since they both drew from Mark’s story and essentially follow his outline.  I did this quick exercise on my deck on a Wednesday afternoon so it’s hardly a rigorous academic review.  Nevertheless it underscored some details about the individual Easter stories that I never noticed before.  Although these tales are indeed similar and describe the same event—and the overall plot is one I know well—each individual account has unique details that are worth taking time to appreciate.  I hope you find it helpful as well—ABW.

 

Mark 16:1–8 (9–19, added later).  Start with Mark’s story, since this is the earliest account. 

 

·      The original ending of Mark leaves the reader with a mystery.  The woman run off seized by both terror and amazement (see verse 8).  

·      And our human nature is to ask: But what happened next?!

·      As if readers couldn’t live with an “open-ending” of such an important story, at some point someone (or maybe a group of people) decided to “finish” the story. 

·      If you read Mark 16:9–19, it’s clearly written in a different style than Mark 16:1–8.  The “added” verses read like a CliffsNotes summary of events described in other Gospels, with a few unique details added (e.g., followers of Jesus picking up snakes, verse 18).

 

Luke 24:1–12.  While Luke’s resurrection story is similar to Mark’s, he adds unique material.

 

·      The overall structure is similar to Mark’s original account of the resurrection, but details are different…

·      There are two angels in Luke’s story—as opposed to one in Mark’s account (verse 4).

·      The women are never told to Galilee to find Jesus in this account, but they are reminded of what Jesus said to them while they were in Galilee (verse 6).  

·      Several women (5+) report the empty tomb to the skeptical men (verses 10–11).

·      Only Peter—not John as in John’s account—runs to the tomb to see for himself what has happened; he too leaves amazed by what he discovered (verse 12). 

·      Luke uniquely gives us the famous Walk to Emmaus scene (Luke 24:13–35). 

·      Luke uniquely records another post-resurrection encounter where Jesus eats a meal with the disciples.  This is no ghost; it really is Jesus in the flesh!  (Luke 24: 36–49).  

 

Matthew 28:1–10.  Matthew adds some material that’s unique to his version of events.

 

·      While similar to Mark’s account, Matthew’s resurrection story has some unique details. 

·      Overall, events are more dramatic than Mark’s (and Luke’s) telling… 

·      There is an earthquake (verse 2) as the women approach the tomb.

·      A lone angel makes a spectacular entrance as the women approach, rolls away the stone, and sits on it (verse 2).  Matthew leaves no doubt how that stone got moved. 

·      Contrast Matthew’s story with Mark and Luke’s more passive accounts where the angel(s) appear to the women inside the tomb—which is already open when they arrive. 

·      Only Matthew mentions the Roman soldiers standing guard outside the tomb—who are paralyzed with fear and become like dead men when the angel shows up (verse 4).

·      Jesus meets the women as they run from the tomb to tell the others (verses 9–10) but Matthew never specifically mentions the men visiting the tomb to see for themselves.

·      The guards are later bribed into participating in a cover up of what really happened at the tomb (Matthew 28:11–15).  

The Power of the Unimaginable

 
Most of you know that I’m not the most outwardly emotional person.  But occasionally there comes a moment when a piece of music, or a scene from a book or movie hits me just so—and I am undone.  I had one of those moments recently.  My daughter is absolutely enthralled with the musical Hamilton.  She plays the soundtrack constantly and sings along. Many times, the music becomes background noise in our home, but one day Becca was listening to the soundtrack in her room, and I walked in about the time “It’s Quiet Uptown” (a.k.a., “The Unimaginable”) played.  Perhaps for the first time, I really heard the lyrics, and tears welled up within me.

 

Especially since tears aren’t that common for me, when they do come, I’ve learned to pay attention.  Theologian Richard Rohr says that our great loves and great sorrows can reveal much about our true identity.  So, I pondered what God might be trying to reveal to me through my tears?   

 

"It's Quiet Uptown" from Hamilton

For those who may be unfamiliar, Hamilton tells the story of the life of Alexander Hamilton through song and dance.  The song “It’s Quiet Uptown” occurs near the end of the play.  Its lyrics are sung by Alexander and his wife Eliza as they work through the loss of their adult son Philip (who has been killed in a duel), and then choose to try and reconcile as a couple. Both acts seem unimaginable: How could God take a child from their parents?  How could Eliza ever forgive Alexander for his betrayal?   The song’s opening lyric says:

 

There are moments that the words don't reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
You hold your child as tight as you can
And push away the unimaginable

 

While I can’t comment personally on the experience of betrayal by a spouse and the choice to reconcile, I can speak with some authority on losing a child.  Many of you know that our daughter Becca’s twin sister Hope died two days after birth.  (I have told that story in other settings and won’t repeat it here.) I remember the pain of letting Hope go.  As much as I wanted to hold on tight to her, there came a point where I realized that nothing I did could save her for this earthly life.  Laurie and I ultimately concluded the most humane choice for her was to do the unimaginable: we let Hope slip from life support to life eternal—from our flailing, finite arms into the everlasting arms of Jesus.   

 

While the Ward’s specific path through the valley of the shadow of death was quite different from that of the Hamilton’s, our respective journeys served as our initiation into The Lost Child Club.  Believe me, this is not a club anyone voluntarily seeks to join.  No, this club chooses you—and the initiation typically leaves an indelible mark on your soul.  Whether the loss is an adult child or an infant, the admission cost is one that no parent should ever have to pay.  And yet some do.  More than you might realize.  

So, if you see us on the street, 

Walking by ourselves, have pity.  

We’re working though the unimaginable.   

Almost 13 years later after my initiation, I still am. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Profound loss can be a window into deeper healing or deeper loss.  For Alexander and Eliza, it seems losing their son led them to try and rebuild their marriage.  But sometimes, the loss of a child leads to the exact opposite result.  The stress of the experience is too much for one or both partners to bear and, rather than pulling together, some couples are torn apart—which only compounds the tragedy.  While Laurie and I were fortunate to come through our loss stronger in the long-run, I would say there were some growing pains along the way.  We each processed our grief differently and had to learn more about one another through the pain of the loss of our daughter.  

So, how did we get through it?  From our Christian perspective, we give glory to God.  We credit the Divine Presence as the “third strand” that held us together even when both of us felt like we were coming unraveled.  But on some level, like Alexander and Eliza express in the lyrics of “It’s Quiet Uptown,” we had to choose to lean toward each during a time of incredible stress—when we might have every reason to pull further apart.  I say without reservation that it took the work of all three strands in our marriage to survive the unimaginable.  

 

For me personally, when I look back on that tragic time, I see that the loss of my daughter opened a window to process some deeper grief in my life.  As great as the sadness was over losing my daughter, there is a Deeper Sadness that hangs like an oppressive cloud over my whole life.  My mother has struggled with mental illness since I was a very small child (if not before) and it has impacted each member of my family in different ways.  Her diagnosis is complicated but obsessive thoughts of harming children—including me—seem to have been part of it, along with depression.  She spent time in psychiatric hospitals on several occasions, including some stints when I was very young.  Not long after Hope died, my mom ended up in the hospital again.  While it was hard to watch her go through that so soon after losing my daughter  I think God used the experience to help me reenter some of my childhood wounds, acknowledge the impact they had on me, and begin to heal.  

 

So,  given all that I suppose it’s easy to see why I found myself wiping tears away that day in my daughter’s room when I heard “It’s Quiet Uptown.”  They were deeply personal. I experienced a sense of solidarity with the Hamilton’s.  I hadn’t been exactly where they were, but it felt familiar. 

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But some of my tears, I think, came from a deeper, more universal well.  I think if we live long enough, each one of us will eventually face something in our lives that seems unimaginable.  Perhaps you are facing the unimaginable in your life right now?  Or maybe it's someone close to you—and when they hurt, you hurt with them?  Or maybe it's both... at the same time, and you wonder how much you can bear?   

Likewise, we might witness events the world around us that we never thought we’d see happen—i.e., things that seem unimaginable—and they make us weep.  For example, whoever thought Pearl Harbor would be attacked, or or the President would be shot, or the Space Shuttle would blow apart (twice), or the Pentagon would be attacked and the World Trade Center towers would fall, or the COVID-19 pandemic would force us to radically alter our lives, or the U.S. Capitol would be the site of an attempted insurrection to overthrow an election?  

Both personally and globally, on this Third Rock from the Sun we call home, it seems we constantly have to stretch our imaginations to imagine new possibilities when it comes to trials and suffering.

I wonder though: Do we also need to stretch our imagination when it comes to envisioning goodness and grace?  Do certain positive outcomes to circumstances that arise seem impossible to us because we aren't yet creative enough to see how they can possibly become reality?  Like the Prophets, both ancient and modern, do we need to expand our imagination to imagine new possibilities, new ways of being with God?  Are we too quick to limit the power of faith, hope, and, "the greatest of these," LOVE, to "the way we've always done it"?  The COVID pandemic has forced us to break out of our "boxes" of comfort and familiarity and try doing things a different way.  However, only time will tell if the change is temporary or transformative   Will we immediately retreat back to our cozy boxes when the current crisis is over, or will we allow this time in liminal space to help us imagine and begin to shape new ways of being "the Church" in the post-COVID world?  

If Paul is right (in 1 Corinthians 13:13) about the qualities that will truly endure in the end (and perhaps into eternity), then it seems to me that everything that our communities of faith do should be aimed at one thing: giving us opportunities to practice at living faith, hope, and especially love, in our daily lives.

Could it be that the solution to the unimaginable suffering in this world will ultimately only be found as more people learn to practice unimaginable love?  

That seems to be the road that Alexander and Eliza chose to walk.  Out of the tragedy of losing their son, they chose to work to reconcile their marriage. No doubt it would be hard, but they decided the effort to rekindle their love was worth it.  It's also the story that's at the core of our Christian faith.  Out of the unimaginable tragedy of the Cross of Good Friday comes the unimaginable triumph of the Empty Tomb on Easter.  

In the end unimaginable love triumphs over unimaginable suffering.  

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I heard “It’s Quiet Uptown” again recently when Becca was playing it, and the tears came back.  This time I heard it from the perspective of a husband whose wife will soon undergo open heart surgery.  I will soon put my trust in capable surgeons to put a “new heart” in her—or a new valve anyway.  I’ve been assured that things will go well and that she will have a better quality of life after this.  And I believe… 

And yet I need help with my unbelief.  I’ve learned the hard way that life comes with no guarantees.  Things can go horribly wrong.  We aren’t always spared the unimaginable.   

I went back to the lyrics and read these words:

 

I don't pretend to know
The challenges we're facing
….
And you need time
But I'm not afraid
I know who I married
Just let me stay here by your side
That would be enough

 

I don’t know how it feels to be in my wife’s shoes right now as she prepares to have heart surgery.  I can’t go through this for her, but I can go through it with her.  I also don’t know what challenges might arise in the next few weeks for our family, but I trust that God will equip me/equip us to respond.  There’s no way around this, so we’ve got to go through it—together.  My wife needs time to heal her body—and I need to help create the space for her to do that.  It can seem like a task that’s too big for any of us, but I am not afraid, because I know the woman I married is strong and resilient—and the God we worship is with us even in the midst of the unimaginable.   I’m committed to be there for Laurie—and to trust that I will be enough.  I can say that last line with confidence because I know I don't take this journey alone.  God goes with me, and with my wife, and others from our church family are praying for us and supporting us.  Our church community is modeling love in a powerful way.  

 

I was also moved by these words near the end of the song:

 

There are moments that the words don't reach
There's a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable

 

The Apostle Paul said that there comes a moment when we’ve said all we can and must yield to God’s Spirit who intercedes for us in a wordless language that sounds like groans to us—Romans 12:26–27.  I know the time will come when there can be no more spoken words between my beloved and me until "after surgery."  I truly believe she is in good hands at Inova Hospital—and I believe that God’s hand holds my wife and everyone else involved.  Nevertheless, I know it will be hard to let her go into that operating room.  In those moments that the words don't reach, I must trust that I stand in the presence of that Grace too Powerful to Name (which I call God), who speaks when I can’t.  Confident in that knowledge I can push away what I can never understand; I can push away the unimaginable;  and I can trust, along with Lady Julian of Norwich, that "all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing will be well."  

FOR REFLECTION

The season of Lent will soon be upon us.  (Ash Wednesday is February 17, 2021.)  This six-week liturgical season is intended to draw us closer to the cross. The idea is to intentionally examine ourselves to see what keeps us from experiencing a deeper union with our Creator and then seek to rid ourselves of those practices and/or take up new practices that lead us toward our stated goal of growing in our walk with God.  The ancient Threefold Way often used as a model during Lent includes: purgation (i.e., getting rid of the old things that clutter our life), illumination (i.e., becoming aware of new possibilities), and contemplation (i.e., moving into deeper relationship with God).

• Is there something unimaginable you are carrying that you need to lay down this year on Ash Wednesday?  
• Does doing something good in some area of life seem unimaginable to you right now?   Ask God to stretch your vision during Lent to help you imagine a new possibility for achieving it.  
• How does God call you to open yourselves to the power of unimaginable love this Lent?

Perhaps you could find a friend or friends with whom you can discuss these questions.  I can't guarantee you will be set free from your trial or suffering or be given an epiphany on the spot.  I don't think faith works that way.  What I can tell you, based on personal experience, is that: "After the last tear falls there is love."