Lent Reflection #4: Broken Bottles

Posted on 6 March, 2013 by ericcase

Christ in the House of Simon by Dieric Bouts

Shortly before Jesus is arrested, Mark records this dinner that he attends.

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she had done will be told in remembrance of her.”

SO. There is a lot going on here: The cost of the perfume, the identity of the woman, Simon, Judas, poverty, etc.

But I want to talk just for a minute about perfume bottles.

The contents of that bottle were valuable—nard we think was a pretty rare and valuable spice.

And they were to be offered to Jesus, to anoint him, to prepare him for burial.

In a sense what was in the bottle was going to be offered in worship to Jesus.

But first, the bottle had to be broken.

First, glass, or clay needed to be shattered. Only then can the gift flow out to Jesus’ feet. Only then can the fragrance of those gifts spread throughout the entire house, forcing people to take notice of something that is going on in the midst. Without the breaking, the bottle may remain attractive; it may be a really great looking bottle, and it may even be tempting to believe that the bottle of perfume is fulfilling its purpose by sitting on the shelf looking great.

But it’s not until the bottle is broken can the true beauty of its gift be received and shared.

There is a strange tension in what we bring to Jesus as well. We all desire to bring him our best: our voices, our thoughts, our service, our hands and feet.

But before we can do that, we have to suffer the breaking.

I don’t mean a shameful breaking; I don’t mean a “breaking” in the sense that casts aside. I mean a breaking that merely releases what we have to give. A breaking that allows us to bring the deepest and truest gift of ourselves to the world and to Christ.

A releasing of our gifts for the sake of Jesus. A releasing of our gifts in such a way that those “in the house” with us—the people we are in community with, our brothers and sister—notice.

“Something has just happened.”

blessings

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Lent Reflection 3 :: The Thing About Crosses, pt. 2

Posted on 26 February, 2013 by ericcase

Last week, I wrote about the public nature of “bearing our crosses”; how they aren’t easily hidden, and are pretty obvious to people. I challenged you all to take up a cross with someone, and share it with someone. Maybe you did that; maybe you didn’t.

That’s the nature of the interwebs, I guess.

But I thought some more about crosses this week (it being Lent, and all), and something struck me from the other side of the equation.

I remember sitting with a friend of mine once who was going through some really heavy, trying times. We were sitting outside at a local coffee shop (because where else do pastors hang out <snark>), and she was just crying and crying. Then she began apologizing because of the crying. It was a vicious circle.

I stopped her, as best I could, and said, “Please don’t apologize for your tears. You have to understand—for pastors, these tears are a precious gift to us, because they are your deepest fears and hurts. You are giving them to us to share and to care for, and they are precious to us. This is a gift; don’t ever apologize for your tears.”

In a letter to the church in Galatia, Paul the apostle wrote, “Carry each other’s burdens and so you will fulfill the law of Christ” (6:2 CEB).

I’m used to thinking about “burdens” in a very tangible sense (in fact, I preached on it once): bills, sicknesses, and physical needs. This is true and necessary, and it remains true and necessary. Reaching out to help people walk through life is no small thing, and every time we help our brothers and sisters, we are truly “fulfilling the law of Christ.”

But the main “burden” that Jesus tells us to carry for ourselves is the cross.

(See where I’m going here?)

So as we (and the folks around us) take up our crosses—our own obvious instruments of pain and torture that we experience—at the same time, we need to be reaching out and helping others bear those same crosses.

So last week, I was thinking about what it takes to share the nature of our own crosses.

This week, I’m thinking about what it takes to bear others folks’ crosses.

Someday, someone may offer you the gift of their tears, their hurts, and their shame. How will you respond?

Will you treat it like a gift? A cross that you help carry?

Or an inconvenience, an embarrassment?

I guess in a way I’m saying that we don’t walk this journey towards Jerusalem alone; we need to help each other, and share what we can, so that we can all get there.

Like you didn’t know this one was coming…..

But this is so very tasty too….

peace and blessings

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Jesus is SO Down With Marvin…

Posted on 22 February, 2013 by ericcase

I’m journeying through Mark’s gospel with some friends, and we were talking this week about 2v13-22. Essentially, Jesus goes to this guy named Levi (no relation to my son) who is a despised and outcast member of his culture, and invites Levi to follow him.

Then, as if that’s not enough, Levi throws a part for a bunch of his friends and invites Jesus to it. His friends are, well, colorful. Scripture says they were “tax collectors and sinners.” Again, tax collectors were seen as corrupt and greedy, less than moral. The word “sinners” here is even more interesting. There were two different Hebrew words (and concepts) for our word here. The first word was ‘am ha’ aretz. This essentially meant “people of the land”. They were simple people, people who weren’t interested in the rigorous obedience of the Pharisees or the political change of the Essenes or Zealots, but they weren’t necessarily awful.

The other possibility, however, is slightly more scandalous. The second word is resaim. This word means the wicked. It means people who aren’t even the slightest bit interested in being good, much less holy.

To be clear, we’re not sure which word is being used here, but one thing is clear:

Jesus is with them, either way.

And what’s more—what is really freaking people out—is what Jesus hasn’t asked of these tax collectors and sinners…

… He hasn’t asked them to get their lives straight first.

… He hasn’t shamed them.

… He hasn’t berated them for their lack of morals or for their “bad behavior.”

… He has a party.

So when people come up to Jesus immediately after this and ask, “Why do John’s disciples and the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast” (2v18), something very interesting is going on. You see, fasting itself was pretty common in Jewish culture; it’s actually common in many religious systems. There’s nothing wrong with fasting at all. But fasting typically has a specific connotation to it:

…it’s associated with repentance.

We’re told that John the Baptizer came “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (1v4), and the Pharisees were desperate to see God act on behalf of Israel, so they pursued a pretty vigorous program of fasting and righteous (not so they could be buzzkills, mind you, but so God would come to Israel and set them free and bring His peace and shalom to His people).

But when Jesus shows up, he neglects the repentance part and goes straight to the party (his “repentance” in 1v15 isn’t so much about repenting of your sins as it is about rearranging your mind and your life to see the Kingdom in a new way).

He’s saying, “You don’t have to arrange your life to invite God into it; He will come into it just as you are. I don’t want to leave you unchanged; no one wants to be wicked, after all, but I’m coming to the party and you’re invited.”

So, incidentally, when Jesus talks about “unshrunk cloth” and “new wine” in verses 21-22, this is what he’s talking about: the “old way” is not a bad way, but it really doesn’t fit reality anymore.

Jesus is here, and he’s having a party.

Are we inviting people to a party?

Or are we beating them up?

Or are we selling them “get-out-of-hell” insurance?

A friend of mine sent me this article this week, and it made me think of this passage of Mark and this blog post of mine.

Go read it, please.

….

Shouldn’t we be singing a better song?

I can’t help but read the words of the Grantland article and think about the way we do evangelism. Just reading the words in light of Jesus desire to throw a compelling party for people makes my heart ache for the way we should living with our friends.

Marvin said, “I asked God that when I sang it, would He let it move men’s souls.”

Do we ask God to let us move men’s souls when we sing the Gospel song?

Or do we just ask for a sale?

Also note: lots of folks hated it. They were outraged. Marvin was corrupting, destroying the National Anthem.

But there other folks there too.

… and they heard that song, heard it in a new way, in a way that they never even know that they needed. Something welled up inside them. Everything that was old and tired about that song now seemed new and refreshing.

They got it.

And they wanted IN.

BLESSINGS.

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Lent Reflection #2 :: The Thing About Crosses

Posted on 19 February, 2013 by ericcase

Christ Carrying the Cross”, oil on canvas painting by Titian, 67 x 77 cm, c. 1565. Museo Nacional del Prado}} |Source =Museo Nacional del Prado |Author =Titian |Date =c. 1565 |Permission

After calling the crowd together with his disciples, Jesus said to them, “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” (Mark 8v34)

I’m going to assume, for just a moment, that you know some of the details of what Jesus is talking about—that “taking up your cross” means taking up something that is very shameful and painful.

But there’s one more thing about crosses:

… they’re big.

You see, the thing about crosses (and taking them up) is that they are very difficult to hide. Crosses are just “out there” for all the world to see (one of the reasons that the Roman government reserved crucifixion for rebels and terrorists was so that they could very publicly proclaim, “Does everyone see what happens to people who choose to disobey Rome?”)

Most of the time, I feel like I get the part about carrying my own pain and shame, but what I miss is the idea about my cross being public, being shared with others. It’s one thing to acknowledge your pain and shame; it’s another thing entirely to choose to share it with someone.

It’s an easy assumption that we all have painful secrets; what would it look like for you to share them with someone during this Lenten season? What would it look like to really take up your cross in a public way?

Is there something you need to share?

Interestingly enough, as Jesus carries his own very real, very heavy cross to the place of his crucifixion, we’re told that the soldiers pulled a man out of the crowd and forced him, of all things, to help Jesus carry his cross.

Simon, a man from Cyrene, Alexander and Rufus’ father, was coming in from the countryside. They forced him to carry his cross. (Mark 15v21)

So maybe, just maybe, that as we make our crosses visible to others, we find that they will lend their shoulders, their strength, their faith to us, and make our walk just a little lighter.

p.s. I the title for this post was inspired by a song written by a good friend of mine named David Greco. He’s a great singer and songwriter, and an even better person. Please support his music and make him famous.

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Just Start Walking

Posted on 13 February, 2013 by ericcase

By Alex S(User talk:Alex S).Alex S at en.wikipedia [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], from Wikimedia Commons

Jerusalem, by Alex S(User talk:Alex S).Alex S at en.wikipedia [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)%5D, from Wikimedia Commons

Lent begins today, and many of us have already made preparations: we’ve prayerfully considered what we will surrender during this time, we’ve made arrangements for our fasts, we have sought out an Ash Wednesday gathering to be a part of.

All of these are good, good things.

But they’re not the best thing.

One of the verses that always gives me pause is located in Luke 9.

As the time approached when Jesus was to be taken up into heaven, he determined to go to Jerusalem (v51).

The Greek for this passage would read something a little more like: “He resolutely set his face to go Jerusalem.” The phrase indicates a sense of courage and determination. Moreover, it is also a reference to Isaiah 50v8:

The LORD God opened my ear; I didn’t rebel;
I didn’t turn my back.
Instead, I gave my body to attackers,
and my cheeks to beard pluckers.
I didn’t hide my face from insults and spitting.
The LORD God will help me; therefore, I haven’t been insulted.
Therefore, I set my face like flint, and knew I wouldn’t be ashamed.
The one who will declare me innocent is near. Who will argue with me?
Let’s stand up together. Who will bring judgment against me?
Let him approach me (vv5-8).

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, knowing what is waiting for him: insults, beatings, and attempts to discredit and shame him. He goes, however, with a steadfast faith in God’s call on his life, and a belief that ultimately God will vindicate him through the resurrection.

And here’s the deal: his disciples are on the road to Jerusalem with him.

Lent is ultimately not about giving up chocolate, or fasting, or praying extra prayers, or attending gatherings, or anything. These are great—even necessary—tools, but for me Lent is ultimately about “setting my face” towards Jerusalem and journeying there with Jesus, with no agenda but to follow Him, and to attempt to be present, really present, through this last season of His ministry.

As we begin our Lenten journey, don’t just commit to giving up something; don’t just commit to an extra gathering or devotion.

Commit to walking with Jesus on his road to Jerusalem.

Commit to staying with him during his time of trial.

Commit to staying faithful to him when he is arrested.

Commit to being with him at the Cross.

And here’s the deal: He knows our weakness, just like he knew the disciples’. He knows that we will fall asleep, that we will look away, that we will deny him.

But he invites us anyway.

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Again, and again, and again.

Failure is Always an Option

Posted on 12 February, 2013 by ericcase

If you are a parent, you know you just can’t be perfect all the time. In fact, I have long stretches when the failures—the spectacular, extraordinary failures—far outnumber the successes.

Days when there’s no patience in me.

When I raise my voice.

When I can’t control my non-verbal communication.

Fail, fail, FAIL.

Declaring, “Failure is not an option,” may make for a great (read: mediocre) slogan, but I just can’t agree. Failure—at least short-term failure—is a constant option for me, and here’s the deal:

This is a good thing.

Failure is always an option because, when I can admit that I have failed, I can begin to accept responsibility for all the things that I’m not, and that is the beginning of growth, reconciliation, and relationship. I know people who have never failed, which really means that they’ve never admitted failure. Their lives—along with the lives of those cosest to them—may be a hot mess, but responsibility and fault is always “out there” with “them”, never ever within themselves.

And so they stay stuck.

You can’t grow until you have something you need to grow past.

You can’t succeed until you see that you’re failing.

You can’t heal until you can see that you are the one who is broken…

Refuse to “fail”, and eventually you’ll get what you wish for.

But you’ll also get

… A refusal to grow

… A refusal to heal

… A refusal to be reconciled

… And that’s no deal at all.

I’ll choose the possibility of failure every time.

Weekly Wonder, 8 Feb Edition

Posted on 8 February, 2013 by ericcase

Never once in my life did I ask God for success or wisdom or power or fame. I asked for wonder, and he gave it to me. -Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

The short list of the thoughts, images, and words that opened my eyes a littler wider this week…

Personal retreats of solitude.
Henri Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved. On a whim, I took this with me on my retreat, and I ended up just living with these words for most of the time. His writing is simple, profound, and generous. God wants you to remember that, before, everything else, you are His beloved, His “good gift” to the world. “We were innocent before we started feeling guilty; we were in the light before we entered into darkness; we were at home before we started to search for a home. Deep in the recesses of our minds and hearts there lies hidden the treasure we seek.” Yeahhhhhhhhhh…. anyone else need to be reminded of that?
Charles and Ray Eames (did anyone else not know they weren’t brothers, but a husband and wife?). I watched this documentary on the great American designers of the 20th century. Terrific insight into creativity and to “shipping.”
Little hints that maybe just maybe, you’ve gotten one or two things right as a parent.
Okay…. well, I’m still on my Britpop kick … I love songs that make me feel like just running down the street as fast as I can. “Mr. Brightside” is one of those, but I love, love this song by Stereophonics. (note: I can’t be responsible for any riots that start). The other thing about this song is that, to my ears, it has 3 different choruses… who does that?

Enjoy, and may you cultivate some wonder in your lives this week!

It’s Still About Surrender

Posted on 31 January, 2013 by ericcase

By Jan Jacobsen (http://www.worldpeace.no/THE-WHITE-FLAG.htm) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

By Jan Jacobsen (http://www.worldpeace.no/THE-WHITE-FLAG.htm) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Soul-work is hard.

Since my Sabbatical began, I’ve been going inside myself to see more, learn more, and ultimately heal more.

What I’m finding hasn’t been pretty.

For now, I’ll spare you most of the gory details, but this one thing has been coming up, over and over again. This one aspect of my life that, even though it is essentially Christianity 101, I have managed to radically lose sight of.

It’s the idea of surrender.

It’s the question of who is ultimately in control, not just of “my life” but of the pieces of my life as well.

Does that make sense?

Long ago, I’d bowed my head to the idea that my life is in God’s hands, but what I’m coming to terms with now is that even though I’d done that on a grand scale, on a day-to-day scale I still very much prefer to remain firmly in control.

And that wasn’t working anymore.

Right now, seemingly everywhere I look in my universe I see evidence of how I’m attempting to play God and stay firmly in control of people, situations, ideas, myself. When I can’t (because, um, I’m not God), it brings up such destructive thoughts and ideas.

I’ve really come to understand Paul’s words: “I’m a miserable human being. Who will deliver me from this dead corpse?” (Romans 7:24 CEB)

Fortunately, I’m also on the road to understanding the second half of that thought: “Thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Even though I thought I’d gotten this a long time ago, I’m learning (again?) that the beginning of freedom and peace is to release of the idea that I control anything in the first place.

If I could, I could save myself.

My job is not to control anything—it’s to cultivate the deep presence of God within me, through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit.

Guess what #1: it feels like dying.

Guess what #2: dying is what we’re called to do in order to let Jesus live his life through us.

For me right now, the only anecdote to pathological control is to seek God ruthlessly each day and cast myself on Him.

I’m finding that this doesn’t occur in a shotgun prayer as I hurriedly get in my car.

It doesn’t happen between shots of espresso.

It doesn’t even necessarily happen in the moments of desperation when I’m careening off track.

It happens in slowness. Stillness. Purposeful silence. Prayer. Meditation.

Which is, I guess, the way it’s always been.

God is our refuge and strength,

a help always near in times of great trouble.

That’s why we won’t be afraid when the world falls apart,

when the mountains crumble into the center of the sea,

when the waters roar and rage,

when the mountains shake because of its surging waves.

There is a river whose streams gladden God’s city,

the holiest dwelling of the Most High.

God is in that city. It will never crumble.

God will help it when morning dawns.

Nations roar; kingdoms crumble.

God utters his voice; the earth melts.

The LORD of heavenly forces is with us!

The God of Jacob is our place of safety.

Come, see the LORD’s deeds,

what devastation he has imposed on the earth—

bringing wars to an end in every corner of the world,

breaking the bow and shattering the spear,

burning chariots with fire.

‘That’s enough!

Now know that I am God!

I am exalted among the nations;

I am exalted throughout the world!’

The LORD of heavenly forces is with us!

The God of Jacob is our place of safety.

(Psalm 46)

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Baptism, Belovedness, and Brené Brown (See what I did there?)

Posted on 29 January, 2013 by ericcase

My bible study has started one of our epic journeys again, this time through Mark’s Gospel. Last week we spent some time in chapter 1, and we talked a bit about Jesus’ baptism:

About that time, Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee, and John baptized him in the Jordan River. While he was coming up out of the water, Jesus saw heaven splitting open and the Spirit, like a dove, coming down on him. And there was a voice from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I dearly love; in you I find happiness.”

There are a few interesting threads going on here, but for where I’m at right now the thing that has always stood out to me about this story what Jesus hears from his father before his ministry begins.

Before the healings.

Before the feeding of the multitudes.

Before the transfiguration.

Before the cross.

Before all of that is, “You are my Son, whom I dearly love; in you I find happiness.”

Those words precede Jesus’ ministry, and—I would suggest—were so deeply woven into his identity and his spirit that he was able to live out his ministry that they were (and are) in a sense Jesus’ ultimate identity.

He is the Beloved.

And the Father is pleased with him.

I’ve seen and heard Brené Brown’s name recently, and though I haven’t yet read her book Daring Greatly but if the 20 minutes of this TEDTalk are any indication, I think it’s going to be an important one.

She is ultimately speaking on vulnerability, but she begins with a concept that grabbed hold of me. In speaking about people who are have a healthy sense of what she calls “worthiness,” she says that “The people who have a strong sense of love and belonging believed they were worthy of love and belonging.”

She goes on to explain that this sense of worthiness, what she calls being able to “wholehearted”, flows from this belief, and ultimately allows people to live with courage, compassion, and connection to others.

Doesn’t that describe Jesus?

The courage with which he embraced his mission and vocation, the compassion with which he dealt with the hurting and broken, and the deep sense of connection that I believe he had with his disciples, all of these things flowed—in a sense—from that statement in Mark 1v11.

“You are my son…

“Whom I dearly love…

“In you I find happiness.”

Does that describe you?

It actually does.

The words that the Father spoke to Jesus He longs to speak to you; the difficulty is that sometimes we are either too scarred or too distracted and busy to hear it.

But this statement needs to proceed anything you do or want to be.

Because otherwise you’ll be unable to have the courage, the compassion, and the connection that you could possibly have.

And it takes time: trust me. I know I still fight to hear these words sometime.

But they will be spoken; they will come.

If you’ve never tried, you can begin to open up your heart and life to this by just setting aside a small body of time—even just 5 minutes—and begin to repeat that verse to yourself:

“I am God’s son/daughter; I am dearly loved. In me God finds happiness.”

It’s not a quick fix, but most good fixes aren’t quick. Say it long enough, and it will sink down deep into the rhythm of your life…

And you will believe.

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Sabbatical Learnings :: A Bit More Than a Nice Idea

Posted on 22 January, 2013 by ericcase

By Jekuthiel Sofer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

In Exodus 20, God gives the Israelites some basics for living in response to his act to set them free from slavery.

Known to most of us as the “Ten Commandments” or “Ten Words”, they are pretty much the bare essentials to living as faithful human beings. They include prohibitions against idolatry, cursing, murder, adultery, and stealing. Most folks—Christian or not—would consider these pretty baseline guides for living. Most everyone could agree it’s a good thing to not murder; most would agree that societies can’t exist in trust if everyone is allowed to steal from each other.

The fourth commandment, however, is another story.

Remember the Sabbath day and treat it as holy. Six days you may work and do all your tasks, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God. Do not do any work on it—not you, your sons or daughter, your male or female servants, your animals, or the immigrant who is living with you. (vv8-10 CEB)

hmmmmm…..

As I began my sabbatical, one of the things that was immediately apparent to me was how pathological my life was in regards to sabbath. As a pastor/church worker, I am already struggling against the notion that when everyone else is (supposedly) experiencing a sabbath, I am working.

But I realized there was something more.

As soon as I forced to slow down, as soon as I was free from time commitments and was forced to examine my spirituality without regards to my vocation, I realized that I had grown to see the Sabbath as something optional, something that I would do if I could just manage to get all my other stuff done in order to rest.

What’s more, I’m a part of a North American ( slash-evangelical-Christian) culture that tends to tacitly admire, even reward, those who have the most packed schedules. I constantly hear myself saying, with a slight self-satisfied air, “I’ve worked about 15 days straight, but I’m doing okay; gotta do what needs to be done.”

Let’s think about this for just a minute…

Because keeping the Sabbath isn’t optional…

It’s a commandment.

What would it feel like for a pastor to say, “I had to embezzle some funds; sorry, I needed the money, you just gotta do what needs to be done.”

In other words, we wouldn’t treat any of the other commandments with the same disregard that we seem to treat the Sabbath.

This hit me like a ton of bricks.

In short, keeping the Sabbath needs to be elevated to the same level as the rest of the commandments, busy-ness or not.

And there’s an art to it. It’s not just about watching extra football or eating extra pork (BACON!) on the Sabbath. It’s about leaning into joy and delight.

To be blunt,