What does it mean to be an Easter Church—that is, a church that confesses “God raised the crucified Jesus from the dead?” Is there only one correct interpretation of that most central of Christian confessions or is there room in that confession for different interpretations of what it means? Is there only one “orthodox” interpretation?
Reflections on John 20:1-18
Every few years the calendar conspires against the church by placing the moveable feast of Easter on the same day most of the country springs forward to Daylight Savings Time. This year’s calendar is kind to us, and this ecclesiastical “perfect storm” is avoided.
I warn my seminary students to watch out for “litmus test” theology. “If you find yourself getting backed into a corner on a doctrinal issue, with someone pressing you merely to ‘check “yes”’ or ‘check “no,”’ do your best to redirect the conversation,” I advise them. Being a Christian believer is not, primarily, about checking the right boxes.
Christ is our peace. The gospel is not that peace is possible, but that it is actual. The dividing wall of hostility has been broken down, first between earth and heaven, then between Jew and Gentile, then between male and female, then between slave and free. If these divisions fall — biblically the great divisions — they all fall.
Reflections on Matthew 21:1-11
On Palm Sunday at the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City, churchgoers arrive early to get a good seat. The graceful procession of the children waving palms is a sight I recall decades after I worshipped there.
THE OUTLOOK has received a multitude of letters responding to Moderator Rick Ufford-Chase’s Guest Opinion, “Is Peace Possible,” in December 2004 (reprinted on p. 14 of this issue.) His hope has been realized, for in these pages, the church has begun serious, even heated, conversation about peace and war.
Luke 7:31-32 and 2 Corinthians 1:8-10
Editor’s Note: The author gave this presentation at a Vigil of Remembering for the 37th anniversary of the Tet Offensive and Counter-offensive in Vietnam. He writes: “This year, with one son now on station in the Gulf of Arabia with the 15th MEU(SOC), the vigil takes on an added significance for me.” Most of those attending were Vietnam War combat veterans and their families.
Last July, I was troubled by the General Assembly’s resolution condemning the invasion of Iraq as “unwise, immoral and illegal.” It wasn’t the assembly’s weighing in on a public issue that bothered me, since it does so almost every year. Nor was it the church's stand against the war -- I had questioned the invasion myself.
In this funny old town where I live and where I was trained theologically (at Union Seminary in Virginia) a continuing controversy is plaguing Black History Month. It concerns the use of a mock slave auction in an elementary school classroom in one of the conservative (red) suburbs that surround Richmond, the former capital of the Confederate States of America. Ironies abound.
While I make no brief against Black History Month or mock slave auctions, I do question the value of the latter in an elementary school. More to the point, I question the value of anything other than strict, basic education in elementary school (and in Sunday School) for elementary children. Children need to learn the basics if they are going to function responsibly as adults, as citizens, and as faithful Christians.
The meditation for Lent IV on Jesus' healing of the blind man in John's gospel effectively opens the central question before our beleaguered, cacophonous church. The PC (USA) is in an identity crisis. Publications and websites put forward by numerous associations claim to know the truth and to have the truth, and the truths are as different as night and day. Such stubborn knowing (seeing) is appropriately called into question by Chris Chakoian's meditation.
It set me thinking about how our eyes are opened, and how we learn to see. In John's story, learning to see is costly for the man healed, for his community of faith -- and even for the disciples. It is not, pun intended, a pretty picture. The healing provokes judgment as well as grace, for the light, which in John is never extinguished by the darkness of the cosmos, reveals as well as it enlightens.
“Jesus began to weep.”
This man does not do this often.
This is the only time that the gospels record Jesus’ weeping. Something has struck the deepest chords in Jesus. This is a resurrection story, but Jesus is weeping. What do the tears mean?
It’s easy to bash the Pharisees in the gospel of John, but we do so at our peril. One writer notes, “For the Pharisees, protecting the identity of the Jewish people in the midst of a hostile world was an overwhelming priority. To continue to be ‘God’s people’ meant that they had to use every tool they had to remain distinctive, to resist the temptation to assimilate into the dominant culture.” [1]
THE SEVEN LAST WORDS FROM THE CROSS. By Fleming Rutledge. Eerdmans. 2005. $12.00. 91p. (0-8028-2786-1). Pb.
Rutledge presents seven meditations on the final sayings of Jesus. He links the sayings from the cross with contemporary events and concerns, incorporating recent biblical scholarship and modern questions about the death of Christ.
Editor’s Note: After the OUTLOOK guest opinion “What have we done for Brown?”, Nibs Stroupe, pastor of Oakhurst Church in Decatur, Ga. responded with the following letter. His letter in turn sparked a reply by Ken Woodley, author of the original opinion piece. Both letter and response add to the information about this chapter in civil rights history in the United States.
The year was 1965, the Second Vatican Council’s “Decree on Ecumenism” had readjusted the ecumenical landscape, and the Roman Catholic Church was thrust headlong into an ecumenical movement that had been a largely Protestant and Orthodox enterprise.
Rarely has a film captured my attention as did Hotel Rwanda. I recommended it to the congregation this past Sunday (1/30/05), something I've not done previously, and even declared that it should be required viewing in every school and college, beginning with Middle School. Hotel has no gratuitous violence or language. It is based on a true story, and those who wrote and directed it are to be commended, not only for making an excellent, suspenseful film, but also for bringing public attention in a mass market to the horrors of continuing genocide. In three months Hutus massacred 800,000 Tutsis, a horror that began immediately after a peace accord signed under the watchful eyes of Western powers. The Rwandan government, in the hands of a Hutu general following the president's flight into exile, did nothing to prevent the slaughter.
Third Sunday in Lent
A man and a woman meet at a well. They talk. Their heads bend toward each other. Her head jerks back in astonishment. He leans forward to explain. With a sweep of an arm he gestures for her to leave, and she drops her head to say something.
Good advice is readily available on almost every topic. But when it comes to our church I am not so sure.
Some speak to us in hearty voices assuring us that all is well. Others are more strident, drumming their cadences out as though calling us into a campaign. And some speak so quietly that it is almost impossible to tell if they have something to say at all.
One of the quietest voices is that of a relatively obscure Benedictine monk named Adalbert de Vogüé. He lives in the abbey of La Pierre-que-vive, and he has thought about The Rule of Benedict for nearly fifty years. He has really thought about it, not quite in the same way that we have thought about the Westminster Confession of Faith. First hearing it read aloud daily as a novice, once in Latin and then later in French, he has become as adapt at listening to it as a doctor with his stethoscope upon a bared chest.
On Presidents' Day and just after the inauguration of President George W. Bush, we might do well to remember the inspiring words of one of our most important leaders. He presided over the country during the Civil War of the 1860s: Kentucky-born Abraham Lincoln. In a letter to a Kentuckian in 1855, Lincoln, then a leading politician in the Illinois legislature, put the crisis of the Republic in these memorable words:
You are not a friend to slavery in the abstract. In that speech you spoke of "the peaceful extinction of slavery," and used other expressions indicating your belief that the thing was at some time to have an end. Since then we have had thirtysix years of experience; and this experience has demonstrated, I think, that there is no peaceful extinction of slavery in prospect for us. ... On the question of liberty as a principle, we are not what we have been. When we were the political slaves of King George, and wanted to be free, we called the maxim that "all men are created equal" a self-evident truth, but now when we have grown fat, and have lost all dread of being slaves ourselves, we have become so greedy to be masters that we call the same maxim "a self-evident lie". ... Our political problem now is, "Can we as a nation continue together permanently---forever--half slave and half free?" The problem is too mighty for me--may God, in his mercy, superintend the solution.
Several years ago, an article in the PRESBYTERIAN OUTLOOK described how the Rev. James Smith, a Presbyterian pastor in Springfield, Ill., played a key role in converting Abraham Lincoln out of his original skepticism toward a greater confidence in Biblical faith.
Reflections on Romans 4:1-5, 13-17, Second Sunday in Lent
The Epistle reading for Lent 2 is Paul’s most extended discussion of Abraham. Paul points to Abraham to illustrate his doctrine of justification by grace through faith. The faith of Abraham is witnessed in his trust in the promise of God. (4:20).
I walked down Grace Street in Richmond twenty years ago, and about two blocks away from St. Paul's Episcopal Church I began to see people with dirty foreheads: all sorts of people, some smartly dressed for work on their lunch hour, some rather shopworn and tired. It wasn't until hours later that I realized that the source of the "dirt" was Ash Wednesday worship, so distant was this day in the liturgical calendar from my Presbyterian experience. Now Presbyterian churches galore, including our own, have Ash Wednesday worship. We ministers smudge the foreheads of worshipers and say: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
Lauren McFeaters remembers exactly when she learned about Ash Wednesday.
Reflections on Matthew 4:1-9, First Sunday in Lent
I am haunted by the story of the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. So was the Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Early in his novel, The Brothers Karamazov, Ivan tells Alyosha of a poem he has written he calls "The Grand Inquisitor." In the prose/poem Jesus returns to earth in human form, but it is not to Nazareth in Galilee. It is to Seville in Spain in the midst of the Spanish Inquisition of the 16th century.
Lent 1: Genesis 2:15-3:7
Prayer after reading of the garden’s Keeper
Maker:
for gardens and walls;
for Eden and our homes to the east;
for your talk with us and ours with you;
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