The Table of Grace
The Table of Grace
1 Timothy 1:12-16; Luke 15:1-10
Sept. 12, 2010
There is a fire burning in the center of the table of grace.
Whether it is a candle lighting up the darkness or a bonfire threatening a consuming conflagration is entirely up to those of us who gather at the table.
It is easy, too easy, in fact, to point here toward the September 11 anniversary-marking book burning threatened by certain Christians in Florida, but they are not the only ones playing with fire these days.
Indeed, as the ancient Hebrew word, ruah, that we receive as “spirit,” reminds us, spirit is flame, spirit enflames, and spiritual matters can quickly become too hot to handle. The Pentecost story of the disciples receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit as tongues of flame underscores the connection. Spiritual matters can be dangerous. The fire that lights and warms can quickly become the fire that burns and destroys.
We Christians are certainly not the only ones who have spiritual lives, and thus we are not the only ones who dance delicately with this fire, but we American Christians do have a particular responsibility as those who are culturally dominate in the most powerful nation on earth.
We feel the weight of this responsibility all the more so when others, acting in the name of spirit, engulf a building in our own city in flames, as religiously motivated fanatics did nine years ago yesterday. In the face of such horror the temptation to fight fire with fire was more than we could, collectively, overcome, and the last long years of war and death and destruction stand as still flaming reminders of that fact.
Continued sporadic threats and deadly actions by extremists who claim some affinity for Mohamed cloud our horizons like the smoke from the forest fires in Colorado last week.
Do we react to this, as the infamous General William Boykin did a few years back, and declare that our God is bigger than their God, and thus draw our sacred texts out as religious flamethrowers? Do we get crazy like “Pastor” Jones in Florida and use fire more literally? Do we fight fire with fire?
We could easily respond like Saul of Tarsus and persecute those who approach the Sacred differently than we do. After all, the apostle whose writings gave voice to the first theological understanding of Jesus started his career persecuting Jesus’ first followers all because they felt the fire of the spirit in Jesus’ life and not even his death on a cross could extinguish the flame.
In his first letter to the young church at Corinth, the once proud persecutor Paul says that we followers of Jesus are “stewards of the mysteries of God.” Perhaps he might have called us “keepers of the flame.”
Unfortunately, the 2,000 year old story of we Christian flame keepers is loaded with instances of flame throwing and burnings at stakes, and the anti-Moslem rhetoric flowing from so many so-called Christians these days is but the latest flashfire.
So, what should we do? What can we do to use the fire of the holy for purposes that are holy?
The story of Paul is instructive here, and the words from First Timothy in particular: “I am grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he judged me faithful and appointed me to his service, even though I was formerly ... a persecutor, and a man of violence. … But … I received mercy.”
“I received mercy,” Paul says, and that is what made him an example. In other words, mercy made him worth looking at and a blinding flash of grace allowed him to see himself. Grace also allowed others to see God at work in him. Grace lit the darkness for him and for others.
The great turning of Paul’s life is the great turning of the world writ small, and it does not come as a result of Paul’s burning passion but simply as a gift of forgiveness and an invitation to sit at the table of grace and be warmed by the fire that burns there for all who gather in its light.
It is, however, all too easy to imagine that once we have experienced the light of mercy, grace and forgiveness that we possess the light and control it. Once we have experienced our own liberation, it is easy to imagine that we hold the keys for everyone else. Altogether too often, though, we forget the keys and, instead, use the red-hot flame of the spirit to forge chains for all those who do not see things the same way we do.
September 11 marks the anniversary of what happens when that logic extends to its own violent conclusion – a world chained to spiritual violence becomes a world engulfed in flame.
Such spiritual violence – using of sacred texts as weapons, taking their words and twisting them into instruments of death and destruction – was precisely what Jesus was warning against with the scribes and Pharisees who did not like the company he kept. So he told them a story:
“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’”
The crazy thing about this story lies in its extravagance. Do the math. Would you risk losing 99 percent of your business to rescue one failed percent, or would you just write off the loss? And, really, would you throw a party to celebrate the one percent if it succeeded? Probably not, but in the great economy, the economy of the kingdom of God, the one counts just as much as the many, because it is never a zero sum game.
So, for example, the one Pharisee, Saul of Tarsus, is worth God’s time, God’s grace, God’s mercy, God’s forgiveness, and God’s love, even though he was surely lost, burning with the flames of his own spiritual violence.
I say, “if it’s good enough for Paul, it’s good enough for us! If Paul – who persecuted the disciples to death, literally – if Paul is worth God’s time and attention and love, then so are you. So am I. So is that annoying coworker and that whiny child. So is the irritating neighbor and the guy who’s been running that jackhammer all week. So is the aged and increasingly clueless grandpa, and so is the newborn baby girl. So is the homeless guy who stands at the intersection over in Balston. So is the drag queen getting her drag on. So is the substitute teacher, the math geek, the guidance counselor, the potheads, the poets and the freaks. So is the baseball player making millions and so is the peanut guy making peanuts. So is the Catholic and so is the Hindu, so is the atheist and so is the Jew. So is the imam building the community center in New York, and so is Glen Beck who demonizes him. So is Jon Stewart who makes me laugh at the pitiable Pastor Jones, and so is Pastor Jones. So is Nancy Pelosi and so is Sarah Pallin. So is the self-righteous, theologically challenged General Boykin, and so is the Somali warlord with whom he squared off. So are the families of all those who died on September 11, and so are the families of those who did the killing on that day. So is President Obama and President Bush before him and, yes, so is Osama bin Laden whom they both want to kill.
Saying God loves us all does not mean that everything that each one does is OK; it does not mean that we suspend judgment. It does not mean that there is not darkness in the world. It does not mean that God was just fine with Saul persecuting the early church. That God loves Pastor Jones does not make Pastor Jones right; it doesn’t even mean that the man is not, well, at least a little bit nuts. It does, however, mean that we are called to love him, too, and to pray for him, and it means to avoid inflammatory name-calling even as we condemn his actions – otherwise we are playing loose with the same fire that he’s threatening to unleash. If we fall into the same darkness then we are all stumbling blind.
That God loves all of us, even the worst of us, also means that we who know that we are beloved are called to show forth that love – and that baseline theological conviction that we share here that God is love. It means that we are called to show forth that love in specific, practical, hands-on and public ways, so that others will see the light of God’s love shining forth through us and, in that light, know that they, too, are loved.
This is why we bag groceries at AFAC. This is why we feed the hungry with A-SPAN. This is why we rebuild houses together. This is why we work together to end wars. This is why we witness in the public square for marriage equality. This is why we are who we are.
A friend and colleague posted this comment on Facebook last week inviting the media to stop paying attention to people such as Pastor Jones. She wrote,
Your attention implies to the rest of the world that he represents a larger group. Instead, find the pastors who are busy every day feeding the poor, caring for the community, participating in interfaith dialogue, working for peace and nurturing a gospel of love
I would add only this: check out their congregations as well – millions of people in thousands of communities who are putting their time and their talents and treasures to work to feed the hungry, to do justice, to make peace. Millions of people gathering at the table of grace, trying only to reflect to the world a bit of the light that they find there.
It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness, and we who know the love of God, are called to share the light of that love, the fire of the spirit, with the world in love. May we do so this year at Clarendon. Amen.
1 Timothy 1:12-16; Luke 15:1-10
Sept. 12, 2010
There is a fire burning in the center of the table of grace.
Whether it is a candle lighting up the darkness or a bonfire threatening a consuming conflagration is entirely up to those of us who gather at the table.
It is easy, too easy, in fact, to point here toward the September 11 anniversary-marking book burning threatened by certain Christians in Florida, but they are not the only ones playing with fire these days.
Indeed, as the ancient Hebrew word, ruah, that we receive as “spirit,” reminds us, spirit is flame, spirit enflames, and spiritual matters can quickly become too hot to handle. The Pentecost story of the disciples receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit as tongues of flame underscores the connection. Spiritual matters can be dangerous. The fire that lights and warms can quickly become the fire that burns and destroys.
We Christians are certainly not the only ones who have spiritual lives, and thus we are not the only ones who dance delicately with this fire, but we American Christians do have a particular responsibility as those who are culturally dominate in the most powerful nation on earth.
We feel the weight of this responsibility all the more so when others, acting in the name of spirit, engulf a building in our own city in flames, as religiously motivated fanatics did nine years ago yesterday. In the face of such horror the temptation to fight fire with fire was more than we could, collectively, overcome, and the last long years of war and death and destruction stand as still flaming reminders of that fact.
Continued sporadic threats and deadly actions by extremists who claim some affinity for Mohamed cloud our horizons like the smoke from the forest fires in Colorado last week.
Do we react to this, as the infamous General William Boykin did a few years back, and declare that our God is bigger than their God, and thus draw our sacred texts out as religious flamethrowers? Do we get crazy like “Pastor” Jones in Florida and use fire more literally? Do we fight fire with fire?
We could easily respond like Saul of Tarsus and persecute those who approach the Sacred differently than we do. After all, the apostle whose writings gave voice to the first theological understanding of Jesus started his career persecuting Jesus’ first followers all because they felt the fire of the spirit in Jesus’ life and not even his death on a cross could extinguish the flame.
In his first letter to the young church at Corinth, the once proud persecutor Paul says that we followers of Jesus are “stewards of the mysteries of God.” Perhaps he might have called us “keepers of the flame.”
Unfortunately, the 2,000 year old story of we Christian flame keepers is loaded with instances of flame throwing and burnings at stakes, and the anti-Moslem rhetoric flowing from so many so-called Christians these days is but the latest flashfire.
So, what should we do? What can we do to use the fire of the holy for purposes that are holy?
The story of Paul is instructive here, and the words from First Timothy in particular: “I am grateful to Christ Jesus our Lord, who has strengthened me, because he judged me faithful and appointed me to his service, even though I was formerly ... a persecutor, and a man of violence. … But … I received mercy.”
“I received mercy,” Paul says, and that is what made him an example. In other words, mercy made him worth looking at and a blinding flash of grace allowed him to see himself. Grace also allowed others to see God at work in him. Grace lit the darkness for him and for others.
The great turning of Paul’s life is the great turning of the world writ small, and it does not come as a result of Paul’s burning passion but simply as a gift of forgiveness and an invitation to sit at the table of grace and be warmed by the fire that burns there for all who gather in its light.
It is, however, all too easy to imagine that once we have experienced the light of mercy, grace and forgiveness that we possess the light and control it. Once we have experienced our own liberation, it is easy to imagine that we hold the keys for everyone else. Altogether too often, though, we forget the keys and, instead, use the red-hot flame of the spirit to forge chains for all those who do not see things the same way we do.
September 11 marks the anniversary of what happens when that logic extends to its own violent conclusion – a world chained to spiritual violence becomes a world engulfed in flame.
Such spiritual violence – using of sacred texts as weapons, taking their words and twisting them into instruments of death and destruction – was precisely what Jesus was warning against with the scribes and Pharisees who did not like the company he kept. So he told them a story:
“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’”
The crazy thing about this story lies in its extravagance. Do the math. Would you risk losing 99 percent of your business to rescue one failed percent, or would you just write off the loss? And, really, would you throw a party to celebrate the one percent if it succeeded? Probably not, but in the great economy, the economy of the kingdom of God, the one counts just as much as the many, because it is never a zero sum game.
So, for example, the one Pharisee, Saul of Tarsus, is worth God’s time, God’s grace, God’s mercy, God’s forgiveness, and God’s love, even though he was surely lost, burning with the flames of his own spiritual violence.
I say, “if it’s good enough for Paul, it’s good enough for us! If Paul – who persecuted the disciples to death, literally – if Paul is worth God’s time and attention and love, then so are you. So am I. So is that annoying coworker and that whiny child. So is the irritating neighbor and the guy who’s been running that jackhammer all week. So is the aged and increasingly clueless grandpa, and so is the newborn baby girl. So is the homeless guy who stands at the intersection over in Balston. So is the drag queen getting her drag on. So is the substitute teacher, the math geek, the guidance counselor, the potheads, the poets and the freaks. So is the baseball player making millions and so is the peanut guy making peanuts. So is the Catholic and so is the Hindu, so is the atheist and so is the Jew. So is the imam building the community center in New York, and so is Glen Beck who demonizes him. So is Jon Stewart who makes me laugh at the pitiable Pastor Jones, and so is Pastor Jones. So is Nancy Pelosi and so is Sarah Pallin. So is the self-righteous, theologically challenged General Boykin, and so is the Somali warlord with whom he squared off. So are the families of all those who died on September 11, and so are the families of those who did the killing on that day. So is President Obama and President Bush before him and, yes, so is Osama bin Laden whom they both want to kill.
Saying God loves us all does not mean that everything that each one does is OK; it does not mean that we suspend judgment. It does not mean that there is not darkness in the world. It does not mean that God was just fine with Saul persecuting the early church. That God loves Pastor Jones does not make Pastor Jones right; it doesn’t even mean that the man is not, well, at least a little bit nuts. It does, however, mean that we are called to love him, too, and to pray for him, and it means to avoid inflammatory name-calling even as we condemn his actions – otherwise we are playing loose with the same fire that he’s threatening to unleash. If we fall into the same darkness then we are all stumbling blind.
That God loves all of us, even the worst of us, also means that we who know that we are beloved are called to show forth that love – and that baseline theological conviction that we share here that God is love. It means that we are called to show forth that love in specific, practical, hands-on and public ways, so that others will see the light of God’s love shining forth through us and, in that light, know that they, too, are loved.
This is why we bag groceries at AFAC. This is why we feed the hungry with A-SPAN. This is why we rebuild houses together. This is why we work together to end wars. This is why we witness in the public square for marriage equality. This is why we are who we are.
A friend and colleague posted this comment on Facebook last week inviting the media to stop paying attention to people such as Pastor Jones. She wrote,
Your attention implies to the rest of the world that he represents a larger group. Instead, find the pastors who are busy every day feeding the poor, caring for the community, participating in interfaith dialogue, working for peace and nurturing a gospel of love
I would add only this: check out their congregations as well – millions of people in thousands of communities who are putting their time and their talents and treasures to work to feed the hungry, to do justice, to make peace. Millions of people gathering at the table of grace, trying only to reflect to the world a bit of the light that they find there.
It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness, and we who know the love of God, are called to share the light of that love, the fire of the spirit, with the world in love. May we do so this year at Clarendon. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
7:45 AM
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