Fishers

I love the story of the first disciples in their boats, bummed out after a night of catching no fish. They know what they're doing; presumably, they've been at this awhile. Jesus says, Put the net in again, over there. I can only imagine their weary, heart-sore looks, even anger. What do YOU know about this? But they might as well, and then the net comes up: teeming, bursting with more fish than they know what to do with.

I give up easily. It's one of my character defects. I'm a natural-born quitter. If I were one of those fishermen, I'd probably have decided that not only is the lake empty, but I also suck at fishing. What's the point? Somebody comes along and says, Try it again, and it works. What makes the difference? I don't think there is a Magic Jesus Wand, that this story is literally true. But sometimes when we give up, somehow, some way, God doesn't. And God pushes us to try it again. It may not be that dramatic. But sometime, heart-sore and despairing, I have those small nudges to try one more time.

I am about to embark on a trip to the Holy Land with 13 fellow pilgrims. We are actually going to this Sea of Galilee, and other places "where Jesus walked". We're also going to be "where Jesus is walking now", to quote Peter Miano, one of our trip organizers. We're going to meet people who are working for peace and dialogue, justice and love. I've been nervous all week, convinced that God must've tapped the wrong girl on the shoulder t0 lead this, because I am so introverted and disorganized. Ain't no fish coming out of this effort, God - could I please change my mind? And she says, Nope. Put that net in again.

I pray for help, and what happens? Little things. The readings in my meditation books are remarkably spot on - including the fish story. A friend whom I have not heard from in months calls - not because she knows I'm going, but just because she misses me. And she was remarkably helpful. I remember my excitement. Suddenly everything I see and hear seems spiritually useful, emboldening and calming. Who knows where this bounty came from, but there is someone I suspect.

Pray for us, please. Pray that we can handle the big catch I suspect will be landing in our boat.

Mary and Martha: The Rematch

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” John 11:20-37

Once again we compare Mary and Martha in their reactions to Jesus. Both of them are hopping mad, it seems clear, that Jesus didn't get there in time. It's interesting that Martha who was loath to keep resentments to herself (She's not doing her share of the work - I have to do everything while she moons over you.) is so easily placated. She expresses her anger so carefully - I know you can still raise him if you ask. As in, please don't be so angry at me for showing my measly feelings that you go away. She also seems to be mouthing the words of correctness here. I believe you are the resurrection. Yep, I do. Forget I said anything. It just sounds too easy. It sounds like how Marcus Borg described his idea of faith, growing up: "strong, correct belief".

Enter Mary. Full-body rage, I picture here. Where the hell WERE you? You let him die! The text may say she knelt at his feet, but perhaps (and yes I redact) only after she had let out a howl of rage and despair. She weeps. There is no nice discussion of resurrection and what it means and how you get it. She just weeps. The crowd also weeps. And it gets to Jesus. That is what I love most here. He lets himself feel the full weight of this grief - theirs and his own. Emotions are contagious, and he allows himself to be touched by contagion. In this moment he is not concerned about working the big miracle and getting more people to follow him, even if he believes it will help them to love God. He. Just. Weeps. Marcus Borg describes this as an adult version of faith: full commitment of one's life to God. The God that puts love and compassion before anything else.

And the crowd that has come with Mary in her grief? Their reaction is mixed. Wow, look how much he loves him. And Well, you'd think that if he healed that blind guy he would've... I don't blame 'em. I want God to do what I think is reasonable in a time frame that is reasonable. To me. It is always tempting to say something is unfair. Why should Lazarus die? Why should one person be healed and another be told to wait, or be left to die?

If I were writing this story to make a theological point, I would have reversed their reaction. I'd put the carping about what he should be able to do first, and then the realization of how he deeply he loved Lazarus second. Everybody goes home with the point clear. But the story is the story, and John captures how people are, not how we should be. It's up to me to see what's really important. As usual.

No Miracle, Still God

My friend Sheela, an Evangelical Pentecostal from India, wore a t-shirt to our aerobics class that said on the front, "Even though there was no miracle...", and on the back, it said, "He is still God." She bought it from a man who was badly burned all over his body, his face very disfigured. He traveled to different congregations to tell his story. He had prayed for a miracle, for his burns to be completely healed. There was no miracle, he said. And yet he still had faith. He went all over, telling people not to lose heart, to trust God anyway. Live your life in service and love anyway.

I find this remarkable. It contradicts the "Super Jesus" miracle stories - John's line that Jesus waited until Lazarus was dead to come so that he could revive him and more people would believe in him because of a more stupendous miracle. It contradicts decades of traveling faith healer shows that get people to "come to Christ" because people come forward and are healed of their diseases. The blind see, the lame rise up from wheelchairs.

Most of this is trickery, of course. I started calling my column "Leap of Faith" after the movie of that title that came out in the early '90s. Steve Martin was a traveling preacher who duped people out of their money by pretending to work miracles of healing in the crowd. Turns out he had a receiver in his ear, hooked up to Debra Winger, who was spying on the crowd, and giving him tidbits of information, allowing him to miraculously know things about people. The movie turned when there actually was a miracle healing, much to the shock and amazement of Martin & Winger. No one could explain it. But it also forced Martin's character to get close enough to real people who were hoping and trusting him with their lives, and he couldn't go on pretending. He fell in love with a waitress and stayed. That's when he found actual faith - in himself, in other human beings, in goodness - perhaps in God. You had the sense that he now wanted to be worthy of the goodness and trust of the young man he had "healed". To be real.

But it's much more frequent that there is no miracle. At least not in the way we hope.

When I was a student chaplain, we met with a woman in a wheelchair who was a full-time chaplain at the hospital. She said that the miracle healing stories were sometimes tough for people to know what to do with. How fervently, how faithfully they prayed for God to remove their affliction. Let them walk. Let them see. Let their cancer disappear forever. "I believe in Jesus. Why doesn't he heal me?" they ask, and their hearts break. Our job, she said, was to show them that there could be healing, no matter what the state of their bodies. She was proof. As long as there can be life, as long as we can live with purpose, that's healing. That's still a miracle.

It takes people who really believe this, and live it themselves to teach it to us.

Noble Intentions

Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” John 11:7-16

I love the fuss with the disciples. He tells them Lazarus is sleeping, or fallen, but he has to go, and they're going with him.. The disciples, a bit edgy after the whole Bethany Stoning Episode, try to talk him out of going. If he's just sleeping, what does he need you for? C'mon. And see? Plenty of people for you to help here. We're worried about your safety (and ours). You have to also wonder if they resent the special privilege these folks have. (They're not our friends. Shoot.) Only Thomas sways the group - if we really love him, we should be willing to die with him. Of course, that proves ironic in the coming scenes, doesn't it?

When it's really time for Jesus to die, they flee. We all get angry with the disciples for their failing to stay by their friend, but how human is that? Have you ever made a noble pronouncement only to be unable to carry it out? I believe Thomas wanted to think he could die with Jesus, perhaps with all his heart.

It reminds me of reading about Germans who hid Jews from the Nazis. I immediately wanted to think I would be one of them. Not someone who was too afraid to give up her basement because she had seen what happened to people who helped. I especially wanted to think this when I became close friends with a rabbi (and now that I'm married to a Jew!) But I am realistic enough to know that I don't know what I'd have done. My rabbi friend told me that she doesn't know what she would be capable of doing; no one does. I'll always love her for that.

Maybe the point is wanting to, and doing whatever gives you the best chance of actually doing it. Not a bad goal to have.

Love w/o Plan

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” John 11:1-7

I am compelled by this story, and I have no idea how much of it I believe. It's told during Lent, because it prefigures Jesus' own death and resurrection, however you interpret the latter. It's another of what I call the "Super Jesus" stories - told to show his power and might. And his profound compassion speaks louder to me than anything else in it.

Jesus gets this letter from Mary and Martha, about their brother, Lazarus. "Lord, he whom you love is ill." Matthew Henry points out that there's no instruction here, no overt plea for Jesus to do anything - just information. Maybe they don't want to presume he will come, but know he would, if only he knew. They're also willing to interrupt him in healing all those other people - I picture Jesus as the Free Clinic - sick people all over him because they have nowhere else to turn. And Mary and Martha know that in spite of all of these others, he will care deeply about Lazarus. It's like the lost lamb for whom the shepherd ignores the other 99.

Notice how many times it's mentioned that Jesus loves these particular people, revealing personal details about them. I tend to picture Jesus as loving everybody like a fair parent - equally, if a bit impersonally. If Jesus communicates something of God to us, then this tells me that God loves us specifically, for our exact human selves. It counteracts the image of the dad with too many kids - "You're Betty, right? Okay, don't tell me. I know it starts with a B." God knows us and cares about us personally. Henry says that friendship means "your cares and your crosses multiply" - and that is the case with Jesus and his friends here.

Then there's this business of why he delays going for two days. This is a crucial point in the story and the part I struggle with the most. I'm right with Mary & Martha and the crowd who light into him for not coming sooner. I just don't buy delaying going to help your friends so that you can do a big, impressive miracle and show everybody. People didn't need that to see in Jesus the tremendous love and power he brought. So why DID he drag his feet? No good answer. Except that John does what we do when we don't understand why God doesn't do what we want: We make up something, we invent some good reason that shows everything was planned out, all for a purpose, so we can have assurance that God has everything under control. See? Jesus knows what he's doing ALL THE TIME.

What if we are loved and deeply cared for, even if there is no grand plan? To me, that's why you have a human being represent God in the first place.

Surrender Dorothy

Life comes from God's spirit, and that's outside our control. Living in God's kingdom means getting blown about by his spirit. You never know what direction that wind will come from next. It's totally unpredictable. Its power comes from something we can't even see. An invisible force fuels the new life I'm talking about. You can't hope to corner it or fence it in. You simply surrender to it. - Virginia Stem Owens, Looking for Jesus

If you left my life up to me, I'd spend the day wandering the mall with a bag of peanut M&Ms in one hand, and a credit card in the other. That's my illness's vision of a great life for me. Never mind the debt it would create, never mind the poundage, never mind the dawn-of-the-dead state of consciousness. It's a handy way to drown out bad news, including consequences for behavior. That, my friends, is complete control.

And it doesn't work, so daily, I practice surrender. I awaken and simply say Uncle. You are going to have to help me find some other use for this day. I'm going to have to give it to you. I don't like it, I'll probably never want to, and half the time, I don't mean it. But it is my daily practice to keep letting go of the controls and handing them over. I have to stop and listen for directions. I have to do things I *gulp* don't feel like doing.

So instead of reading my book [better: buying new books!] I do the laundry as I promised my husband. I am scared to call up my dad and not know what to say. When you ask what's new there's not much - watching TV with my mom in between fixing meals for her and taking her to the toilet. And I call. (Once I made myself call and was feeling all virtuous about it, and he cut the call short to watch his TV program. God laughed. She thought that was a good one.) I do the things that are normal and healthy and not at all what I feel like doing, but it keeps me out of chaos enough to deal with the bigger stuff.

And no guaranteed answers on the bigger stuff, either. Should I marry this person? Should I take that job? Should I take a group to the Holy Land, as I am about to do in little more than a month, even with only a sort-of peace, dribbled over with home made rockets and jet retaliation? "I don't know," Jesus says, in that annoying way he has. You've got as much information as I do. I'm not going to tell you in the comfort of your lawn chair. You do your best, and the results are up to God. "Life comes from God's spirit", Virginia Stem Owens says in her wonderful paraphrase of Jesus to Nicodemus. You have to take a few risks. You can't get the test answers in advance. Admit it. Surrender. Enjoy.

Love Your Enemies

You have heard it said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. - Matthew 5:43-44

I was taking the back streets to my OA meeting, and stopped at a stop sign. As soon as I pulled forward, I heard someone behind me lay into his horn. Not just a short toot to call something to my attention, nor a single blast of frustration, but repeated pounding. I looked in my rearview mirror, and saw a man giving me the finger, still pounding his horn, face screwed up in fury. What did I do? I wondered. (I'm female, plus I'm from Minnesota, so I always think it's something I did.) I didn't think I cut him off, there was no opportunity. Meanwhile, he continued to pound his horn, and jab his middle finger at me, even as he turned the corner. Quite an accomplishment of coordination, actually. But why?

I suddenly remembered my bumpersticker that reads: "We support the freedom to marry. Unitarian Universalists standing on the side of love." There's a rainbow off to the side, in case you didn't quite get it. Well I'll be, I thought. I've finally stood up in such a way as to draw ire. I thought about my church, and the story we proudly tell about hosting James Farmer to speak to us about integration in the 1960s, and someone burning a cross on our lawn. This is certainly on a smaller scale, but it feels like a badge of honor.

And I think about Jesus' instruction to us to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us. Now in his day, that probably meant the Romans, and one certainly need do nothing to have an enemy in one's life. But there had to have been ways for you to keep your head down, never speak out, never draw a hostile response. And that wasn't the choice he made. In our day, I think for those of us in the majority - white, middle class, part of nice, wholesome heterosexual marriages - it takes a lot for us to even have an enemy, or come face to face with them. It's pretty easy to preach about love, and I often do. Seldom do I stick out visibly enough in loving someone that others find objectionable that the hatred comes out in response.

And I am praying for this man.