Way back in our first semester of seminary, Brooks and I were getting ready for our Old Testament class. We plopped down in our seats in the back row. He opened his Trapper Keeper and searched his bag for a pen when a friend of ours, Quinn, ambled up and started reading over his shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a sheet of furiously scribbled notes with frowny faces adorning the page. You see, we’d been asked to read Genesis to prepare for class, and, in doing so, Brooks had run across a few things he didn’t like. Now, that’s not entirely accurate.
In our reading, we'd both run across a lot of things we didn’t like, things that were bad enough to make us wonder if we were still sure about this calling to the priesthood. His notebook page was full of stuff: murder, deception, betrayal. He’d filled that page with those moments, filled a whole page just from one book. The first book, no less.
Far as I could see, for Brooks, the Bible was not exactly off to a good start. So when Quinn asked, “what’s that?” Brooks told him what he’d done. And he added that he was beginning to wonder if he could follow a religion that needed those kind of characters to move the story along. Quinn kind of paused for a second and pondered.
“But I don’t think that’s what the Bible is,” he said, “I think the miracle of God’s story is that it keeps going in spite of those kind of characters. God doesn’t need the deception, the betrayal, the murder. But God stays with us even when we do those things. If anything, it gives me hope”, he continued, “cause, while I know I’m not great, I’m not as bad as those guys! So, there’s a pretty good chance that God’s story can move ahead in spite of me, too.”
We both needed that reminder. And, truth be told, when I read scripture today, I need that reminder still. We’ve spent a whole lot of time this summer with the Prophets and the wisdom books, and not everything about that what people do is exemplary.
In fact, as we’ve seen all summer, there’s a lot that’s pretty bad in those readings. Time after time, prophet after prophet keeps having to remind the powers that be...and the not so powerful but still pretty well-off...that we have obligations to each other. Obligations to the widows and the orphans, to the alien in our midst, to others in our community. Obligations to care for them, to make sacrifices for them, to honor them and care for them.
Not for ourselves, but for them.
And, y'all, I needed to hear that this week. I needed to hear Wisdom speak to me.
Now, I don’t know the minds of the folks that put together our lectionary, that cycle of readings we hear. Most of the time, they seem to edit out the tricky stuff, though. And, to be honest, that’s a huge disservice. But occasionally something slips through, and this week I hear wisdom saying to me, “Son, you don't got a lick of sense!”
You see, as the COVID rates keep soaring, as our own county has returned to an infection rate as high as it was before vaccines, I've been letting myself get angry with all those people.
THOSE people.
I've even joked that we should take air guns with vaccine darts, and stand at the entrance of Walmart, and shot the dart at people as they walk in. “There's dose one!” I'd shout. Then, “There's dose two!,” as they come out.
Now while I still want to see the vaccine rate rise...dramatically...for selfish reasons, I can't help but think that I'm not being particularly helpful by just complaining about my life in the pandemic.
Evil are the days, Paul says, and like so much of what he says, the same still applies. We are letting our fear of the virus control so much of life. We are letting rumors and conspiracies cloud our judgement.
We are letting warped concepts of freedom at all costs war against responsibilities that naturally come from being part of a community of people who should be pulling together to make life better for everyone. And for selfish reasons, “I don't want to...” and “Why should I have to...” have replaced “How can I...” and “What do you need me to do?” Evil are the days.
When Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount, he had this great line. He said, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but don’t notice the log in your own?”
And folks, I have had a mighty big log in my eye lately. Truth be told, I have not been grace-filled lately.
Yes, everyone who can should get vaccinated so we can get a handle on this pandemic. I reckon it won't go away completely, but maybe we can get it to the point where it's more like the flu or shingles or pneumonia...dangerous enough, but you think, “Hey, winter's coming, time to get my vaccines.”
So, yes, everyone should get vaccinated, but my anger helps absolutely no one. No one. No wonder Wisdom says, “Son, you don't got a lick of sense.”
I gotta tell y’all, today is a hard day to preach. I’ve been reading and rereading these passages, looking for some way out. And the Holy Spirit keeps pushing me back to Wisdom:
To those without sense she says,
“Come, eat of my bread
and drink of the wine I have mixed.
Lay aside immaturity, and live,
and walk in the way of insight.”
And maybe that's what Eucharist will mean to me today. Maybe this day, I will lay aside immaturity and live. Maybe I will realize that my job is to Love God and Love My Neighbor.
Maybe my job is to make this one tiny sacrifice for my community and put on my mask. As much as I wish I won't need to one day, and soon! But maybe that's what I'm called on to do. That and love and encourage others to lay aside baseless fears and weird Twitter science and love their neighbors, too.
Thinking back to Brooks's and my struggle with Genesis way back then, I wonder. I think Quinn’s understanding of the problems in the Bible is life-giving: in spite of me, God continues.
That’s beautiful. The story I know, the story I need, is the story of God bending the world toward justice. And if there’s a glimmer of goodness in this past week, it’s that folks are beginning to wise up. Vaccination rates are going up. It’s in the healing work being done. .
The story I know, the story I need, is the story of God sending his only Son for our salvation, a salvation which includes holding us accountable when we’ve found so many ways to hurt each other. Which includes building a kingdom of freedom AND responsibility. Of freely loving God while holding our neighbors dear and precious.
The story I know, the story I need, is the story of God working in spite of me, but it’s also the story of a God that wouldn’t turn down a little help now and then.