The scripture readings can be found on the Lectionary Page.
Sermon for Lent 3 ~ Lectionary Year A ~ March 12, 2023
Are you familiar with the subgenre of theater known as melodrama? It’s best categorized as comedy, though laughs are often brought about by extreme drama, by the characters taking themselves too seriously. This type of theater is marked by audience participation. When various reactions are called for – such as laughter, applause, or an audible gasp – an actor or stagehands holds up a cue card for the audience. They respond accordingly, which adds to the comedy and entertainment of the experience.
A loudly shocked, nearly exaggerated gasp is the reaction I expect the disciples had to seeing Jesus conversing with the Samaritan woman at the well. I expect a similar reaction from the audience which first heard John eighty or so years later. “Gasp! What is Jesus doing talking to her! What on earth is he thinking!” There’s a great level of scandal here. That scandal’s force is lost to modern audiences who’ve forgotten the history underlying it.
So, what was the source of this overwhelming animosity between Jew and Samaritan? The latter were the remnant of the Northern Kingdom tribes left behind when the elites were hauled to Babylon seven hundred years before Jesus’ birth. They were separated from the other Hebrew tribes through no fault of their own. In the ensuing decades, those left continued living. They did ordinary things like marry and worship. Sometimes, they married members of neighboring pagan tribes. Other times, they married members of the groups brought in by the Babylonian conquerors. Marrying any outsider was heavily frowned upon in a time and place when maintaining ethnic purity was paramount. A minority group in a barren desert surrounded by some of the most powerful empires ever known needed to protect its identity with fierceness. And if the intermarriages weren’t bad enough, when the exiles returned, the Samaritans refused to assent to rebuilding the Jerusalem Temple. They insisted (and to this day, continue to insist) the only valid place to offer sacrifice is their own temple on Mount Gerizim. To the ancient Jewish mind, rejecting the Jerusalem Temple, the place where God’s finger held the world in balance, was tantamount to rejecting God himself. Not only were the Samaritans outsiders who welcomed pagans and invaders into their communities. They were apostates!
It would have been easy for Jesus and his disciples to avoid the territory of the Samaritans entirely. A slightly longer route would have taken them around it completely. Despite the centuries-long animosity, Jesus chose the most direct route. He must have known this would lead to interaction with the Samaritans. And instead of avoiding common areas while He’s there, Jesus finds His way to the town well. It’s almost as if He’s seeking out interaction with the despised Samaritans! I wonder if the disciples didn’t suggest they take the longer route around…and I wonder if Jesus didn’t insist on the most direct route. I wonder if the disciples didn’t encourage Jesus to avoid interaction…and I wonder if He simply ignored them. I wonder if Jesus didn’t have an idea of how important a teaching moment the resulting interactions would be. In pushing His disciples to be open to an outsider like this unnamed woman, Jesus demonstrates to His disciples – and us – that the mission field is often found in unexpected places.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
A loudly shocked, nearly exaggerated gasp is the reaction I expect the disciples had to seeing Jesus conversing with the Samaritan woman at the well. I expect a similar reaction from the audience which first heard John eighty or so years later. “Gasp! What is Jesus doing talking to her! What on earth is he thinking!” There’s a great level of scandal here. That scandal’s force is lost to modern audiences who’ve forgotten the history underlying it.
So, what was the source of this overwhelming animosity between Jew and Samaritan? The latter were the remnant of the Northern Kingdom tribes left behind when the elites were hauled to Babylon seven hundred years before Jesus’ birth. They were separated from the other Hebrew tribes through no fault of their own. In the ensuing decades, those left continued living. They did ordinary things like marry and worship. Sometimes, they married members of neighboring pagan tribes. Other times, they married members of the groups brought in by the Babylonian conquerors. Marrying any outsider was heavily frowned upon in a time and place when maintaining ethnic purity was paramount. A minority group in a barren desert surrounded by some of the most powerful empires ever known needed to protect its identity with fierceness. And if the intermarriages weren’t bad enough, when the exiles returned, the Samaritans refused to assent to rebuilding the Jerusalem Temple. They insisted (and to this day, continue to insist) the only valid place to offer sacrifice is their own temple on Mount Gerizim. To the ancient Jewish mind, rejecting the Jerusalem Temple, the place where God’s finger held the world in balance, was tantamount to rejecting God himself. Not only were the Samaritans outsiders who welcomed pagans and invaders into their communities. They were apostates!
It would have been easy for Jesus and his disciples to avoid the territory of the Samaritans entirely. A slightly longer route would have taken them around it completely. Despite the centuries-long animosity, Jesus chose the most direct route. He must have known this would lead to interaction with the Samaritans. And instead of avoiding common areas while He’s there, Jesus finds His way to the town well. It’s almost as if He’s seeking out interaction with the despised Samaritans! I wonder if the disciples didn’t suggest they take the longer route around…and I wonder if Jesus didn’t insist on the most direct route. I wonder if the disciples didn’t encourage Jesus to avoid interaction…and I wonder if He simply ignored them. I wonder if Jesus didn’t have an idea of how important a teaching moment the resulting interactions would be. In pushing His disciples to be open to an outsider like this unnamed woman, Jesus demonstrates to His disciples – and us – that the mission field is often found in unexpected places.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
Sermon for Lent 2 ~ Lectionary Year A ~ March 5, 2023
In today’s Gospel, we hear a retelling of an interaction between Jesus and a Pharisee named Nicodemus. The latter comes seeking clear, pat answers with which he agrees. As usual, Jesus gives him anything but. Despite Nicodemus’ best (and I’m sure he thought clearest) intentions, theirs is an interaction which defies easy categorization.
While I imagine the original discussion a sincere bantering between two deeply religious men, the Gospel writer turns it into something quite different. Attentive listeners may have noticed that over the course of the conversation, Nicodemus’ arguments become shorter and are eventually turned into questions. Jesus’ statements, on the other hand, become longer and longer. Eventually, the exchange turns from dialogue to monologue. It’s almost as if the Gospel writer is seeking to make Nicodemus look shallow, stubborn and unthinking, as if he’s using Nicodemus as a symbol for not only the opponents contemporary to Jesus but also the opponents of the early church which first heard this gospel. And yet something happens between the third and twenty-first chapters of John. This Nicodemus is the same man who, in the hours after Jesus' body is taken from the cross, will spend an absurd amount of money on an unnecessarily large amount of materials for Jesus’ burial. The same man the gospel writer portrays as two-dimensional becomes a complex three dimensions through his actions. The man the gospel writer thought he knew became difficult to categorize.
In our own time – as it was in the time of the gospel writers – it’s easy to think of our enemies in two dimensions, as us being “good” in contrast to them being “bad,” as us being “insiders” and everyone else being “outsiders.” A traditional reading of Jesus’ first point – that we must be “born again” – has led to such insider-outsider divisions. (Notice our translation instead uses the phrase “born from above.” As we shall see, neither is wrong.) Some Christians view being “born again” as a key to faith, marking the beginning of a personal relationship with Jesus. This in and of itself is not a bad thing. It becomes problematic in how it’s applied. This way of thinking – particularly the view that being “born again” is a once and done thing – never made much sense to me. It seems that having a relationship with Jesus is just like any other relationship. It takes time and effort. Hopefully, this relationship is something with which we will remain engaged and grow into throughout our lives. Like any other relationship, if we’re honest, it’s difficult to place in one category or another.
Another reason I find the focus on the question of “born again-ness” problematic is because it automatically creates an insider-outsider dynamic. There are the insiders who are a part of the group, then there’s everybody else. As it turns out, focusing on the phrase “born again” reads only a part of the text. The Greek word chosen by the Gospel author actually means two things simultaneously: to “be born again” and to “be born from above.” To privilege one meaning over the other is to lose the intended meaning and the depth to which Jesus called Nicodemus – and calls us. We are called to relationship, yes. We are also called to remember: to remember the meaning of the cross. We are called to remember the tragic irony of the God of the universe taking on life itself only to give everything up. We are called to remember that the cross made everything after possible. And in remembering, we are called to give thanks for the opportunity to share in that passion – and Easter – story.
As with the intentions of Nicodemus, there is more than meets the ear in Jesus’ words. I believe it is also so with the people we meet along the way. Like the ever-moving spirit about which Jesus speaks, people are complicated. They are also beloved of God, just as we are. And like God, they are a mystery – a mystery to be loved and treasured.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
While I imagine the original discussion a sincere bantering between two deeply religious men, the Gospel writer turns it into something quite different. Attentive listeners may have noticed that over the course of the conversation, Nicodemus’ arguments become shorter and are eventually turned into questions. Jesus’ statements, on the other hand, become longer and longer. Eventually, the exchange turns from dialogue to monologue. It’s almost as if the Gospel writer is seeking to make Nicodemus look shallow, stubborn and unthinking, as if he’s using Nicodemus as a symbol for not only the opponents contemporary to Jesus but also the opponents of the early church which first heard this gospel. And yet something happens between the third and twenty-first chapters of John. This Nicodemus is the same man who, in the hours after Jesus' body is taken from the cross, will spend an absurd amount of money on an unnecessarily large amount of materials for Jesus’ burial. The same man the gospel writer portrays as two-dimensional becomes a complex three dimensions through his actions. The man the gospel writer thought he knew became difficult to categorize.
In our own time – as it was in the time of the gospel writers – it’s easy to think of our enemies in two dimensions, as us being “good” in contrast to them being “bad,” as us being “insiders” and everyone else being “outsiders.” A traditional reading of Jesus’ first point – that we must be “born again” – has led to such insider-outsider divisions. (Notice our translation instead uses the phrase “born from above.” As we shall see, neither is wrong.) Some Christians view being “born again” as a key to faith, marking the beginning of a personal relationship with Jesus. This in and of itself is not a bad thing. It becomes problematic in how it’s applied. This way of thinking – particularly the view that being “born again” is a once and done thing – never made much sense to me. It seems that having a relationship with Jesus is just like any other relationship. It takes time and effort. Hopefully, this relationship is something with which we will remain engaged and grow into throughout our lives. Like any other relationship, if we’re honest, it’s difficult to place in one category or another.
Another reason I find the focus on the question of “born again-ness” problematic is because it automatically creates an insider-outsider dynamic. There are the insiders who are a part of the group, then there’s everybody else. As it turns out, focusing on the phrase “born again” reads only a part of the text. The Greek word chosen by the Gospel author actually means two things simultaneously: to “be born again” and to “be born from above.” To privilege one meaning over the other is to lose the intended meaning and the depth to which Jesus called Nicodemus – and calls us. We are called to relationship, yes. We are also called to remember: to remember the meaning of the cross. We are called to remember the tragic irony of the God of the universe taking on life itself only to give everything up. We are called to remember that the cross made everything after possible. And in remembering, we are called to give thanks for the opportunity to share in that passion – and Easter – story.
As with the intentions of Nicodemus, there is more than meets the ear in Jesus’ words. I believe it is also so with the people we meet along the way. Like the ever-moving spirit about which Jesus speaks, people are complicated. They are also beloved of God, just as we are. And like God, they are a mystery – a mystery to be loved and treasured.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
Sermon for Lent 1 ~ Lectionary Year A ~ February 26, 2023
Today’s readings tell what it means to be grounded in our faith.
This may seem like a strange statement given the reading from Genesis. The lectionary compilers chose an odd section of the creation story, didn’t they? It’s unfortunate that the poetry of the wider story is lost both in translation and in the limited number of verses included. In the full-length story can be heard the love of God for all creation. This piece, standing by itself, has too many distracting elements. A story with either a talking snake or naked people would be, at best, unfocused. A story with both elements is just plain weird!
Is there anything to take from the current selection for our own walk of faith? Despite its quirks, I think there is. The story is summarized as the “fall” of humanity. When we hear the word “fall” we assume it to be a downward motion. Some commentators argue – and I include myself among them – that the consumption of Eden’s forbidden fruit is instead a falling upward. Without “the knowledge of good and evil” – in other words, a moral compass – we would have much difficulty navigating the world. That compass is a key part of what makes us human. Paired with a relationship with a faith community and the Divine, our moral compass helps us discern the best way to love others and advocate for justice in a broken world. For this fall, I’m grateful.
The connection to “being grounded in faith” is much clearer in the Matthew passage. In this story, a supernatural being (to the original audience, this was probably not the red man with horns we imagine!) offers Jesus a series of temptations. The story presupposes this being has a tremendous amount of power. While I would argue this power is metaphorical rather than literal, I think focusing on that aspect misses the point of the story. The important part is Jesus’ responses. In each quote (all from Deuteronomy), Jesus affirms his trust in God and God’s kingdom, and His rejection of the passing things of this world. Each response – and the consistency of his responses – offer a powerful example of faith for us.
Like Jesus and like the ancients who first heard the Hebrew Testament stories, we are faced with choices every day. How will we engage our faith? And how will that faith shape our responses to the challenges life sends us? If we are truly and deeply grounded in our faith, those choices will show forth the Divine Love which made and sustains us.
By the grace of God, may it be so.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
This may seem like a strange statement given the reading from Genesis. The lectionary compilers chose an odd section of the creation story, didn’t they? It’s unfortunate that the poetry of the wider story is lost both in translation and in the limited number of verses included. In the full-length story can be heard the love of God for all creation. This piece, standing by itself, has too many distracting elements. A story with either a talking snake or naked people would be, at best, unfocused. A story with both elements is just plain weird!
Is there anything to take from the current selection for our own walk of faith? Despite its quirks, I think there is. The story is summarized as the “fall” of humanity. When we hear the word “fall” we assume it to be a downward motion. Some commentators argue – and I include myself among them – that the consumption of Eden’s forbidden fruit is instead a falling upward. Without “the knowledge of good and evil” – in other words, a moral compass – we would have much difficulty navigating the world. That compass is a key part of what makes us human. Paired with a relationship with a faith community and the Divine, our moral compass helps us discern the best way to love others and advocate for justice in a broken world. For this fall, I’m grateful.
The connection to “being grounded in faith” is much clearer in the Matthew passage. In this story, a supernatural being (to the original audience, this was probably not the red man with horns we imagine!) offers Jesus a series of temptations. The story presupposes this being has a tremendous amount of power. While I would argue this power is metaphorical rather than literal, I think focusing on that aspect misses the point of the story. The important part is Jesus’ responses. In each quote (all from Deuteronomy), Jesus affirms his trust in God and God’s kingdom, and His rejection of the passing things of this world. Each response – and the consistency of his responses – offer a powerful example of faith for us.
Like Jesus and like the ancients who first heard the Hebrew Testament stories, we are faced with choices every day. How will we engage our faith? And how will that faith shape our responses to the challenges life sends us? If we are truly and deeply grounded in our faith, those choices will show forth the Divine Love which made and sustains us.
By the grace of God, may it be so.
~the Rev. Erin Rath