Sunday, May 11, 2025

Oh, good shepherd


No one can snatch them out of my hand.

“Can anything separate us from the love of Christ? Can trouble, pain or persecution? Can lack of clothes and food, danger to life and limb, the threat of force of arms? Indeed some of us know the truth of the ancient text: ‘For your sake we are killed all day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter’. No, in all these things we win an overwhelming victory through him who has proved his love for us.” Romans 8:35-37


When a group of clergy went to Israel in January 2015, our plane from Newark landed at Ben Gurion airport near Lod (Lydda)  and 12 days later when we left the holy land we stopped at a beach at Jaffa (Joppa). Maps tell me they are 20 km apart, ten to twelve miles, four and a half hours on foot. When Peter traveled from Lod to Joppa, that is the journey he made. Centuries later, we would visit both places, now transformed.


In between those two end stops of our pilgrimage, we went to Bethlehem — to La Crèche de Bethléem— a ministry of some French speaking nuns, but the sister who spoke with us was not French. She was from Lod. Her village used to be where the airport is now. 


Now she takes care of Palestinian teenage mothers and their children. It’s not safe to be a single mother in a Palestinian traditional village. Shame attaches to you and danger. 


So these nuns quietly bring the pregnant girls to their facility in Bethlehem, where they take care of them until they give birth, and then raise the children until they reach an age at which they can go to a residential school. But the kids, when they grow up, do not forget the first mothers they knew— the nuns of Bethlehem. 


In French, interpreted by the dean of Montreal Cathedral, the nun told us a story of one 18 year-old who returned to visit with his first paycheck, which he proudly signed over to them— his entire first paycheck check—  then, being a kid, their kid, he asked for bus fare for a ride home.


Many examples of works of mercy, and acts of charity, can be found among the church today. And Christians are noted, now as in the first century, for their love for one another, and for their undiscriminating care for people regardless of their faith confession.


In the bombed out ruins of what were once hospitals medical workers still care for patients, as at Al Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza, a ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem – “that provides care to all in need, regardless of religion, political affiliation, or ability to pay.”


In border areas volunteers provide hospitality for total strangers, as at Casa de la Misericordia y de Todas las Naciones and Kino Border Initiative in Nogales.  


Christians from the early years of the Gospel recognized Christ in all comers, recognized the face of God in each human person, and served all. Many serve in ministries outside church walls. Others, like Dorcas in Lydda, have clothed the needy inside them. It is probable that the women who mourned at her deathbed were wearing the very garments Tabitha herself had made for them. 

In his commentary on the gospel of John, the missionary bishop Lesslie Newbigin reminds us we are called for a purpose: as disciples we are called to witness to the light, to new life and love in Christ.

Dorcas and the community at Joppa remind us we are all called to witness to the resurrection. And to what it means. In Jesus is life. And this life is the light of all.

Peter was in Lydda, inland but not far away, and he responded immediately to the need, when two men came to him, telling him that the beloved disciple Dorcas (Tabitha)  had become ill and died. 

Dorcas herself was known for her works of mercy, good works and acts of charity – and for the clothing she had made. The community was so tight knit around her that the widows who were weeping brought with them and showed to the apostle tunics and other clothing that when she was with them Dorcas had made. One of our own was Dorcas, and the loss was hard. 

The story of Dorcas - Tabitha - echoes the words Jesus spoke -  ‘talitha cum’ - little girl, arise - when he raised a girl, fourteen years old, from her deathbed. 

And echoes what Jesus said when he had come to the tomb of his friend: “Lazarus, come out!” 

Here in the endearing and detailed story of Dorcas we hear all the details of the mourning, and of the miracle. He prayed, called her – “Tabitha, arise” – and she sat up. 

Besides these several parallel stories, there is also Peter’s response. This is the man who at the beginning of his ministry – and Jesus’ - saw Jesus heal his mother-in-law. And now another woman of merit is ill: he responds immediately. 

We are called for a purpose: to witness, to the miracle of Jesus, of resurrection, of him and through him. All these stories, new and old, point to the lordship of Christ over all of life.

We are called for a purpose, not a status: we have no laurels to rest upon, only hands to serve. Become what you are, what you are called to be: it can happen, it has happened, in Christ.

In the Temple they challenged Jesus: If you are the Messiah, show us plainly. 

And he had, by his works of mercy. And he did, even more so and again, in the works of his disciples, like Peter, and like Dorcas. For Dorcas in her works of love made a witness of love, and the community of love that gathered around her continued that witness. 

In showing that love Dorcas - and the disciples who mourned her - revealed the love of Christ that animated them. 

That same loving God who restored her to life is the God shown in the self-giving love of the Son, and the love of the members of his community one for another.

To show us plainly that in Christ the Love of God came to earth, Christians obey his new commandment, to love one another as he has loved us: “Just as I have loved you, so you must love one another. This is how everyone will know that you are my disciples, because you have such love for one another.” John 13:34-35

For this fourth Sunday of Easter season I am particularly glad to sing Hymn 645 ‘The King of love my shepherd is’ – for we like sheep oft have gone astray, and oft return, called back to our true path, by the voice of a loving savior. That voice can also be stern. But the rod and staff that the owner of that voice wield are wielded on our behalf. 

As the Apostle Paul wrote: “ I have become absolutely convinced that neither death nor life, neither messenger of Heaven nor monarch of earth, neither what happens today nor what may happen tomorrow, neither a power from on high nor a power from below, nor anything else in God’s whole world has any power to separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord!” Romans 8:38-39




The 23rd Psalm (Dedicated To My Mother) Bobby McFerrin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJixdpZ5m1o


Oh, good shepherd, feed my sheep... (https://youtu.be/6JfvuEJSKEU)

 

Fourth Sunday of Easter

Sunday 11 May 2025

https://sermonoats.blogspot.com/search/label/Good%20Shepherd

© 2025 John Leech

Acts 9:36-43

Now there was at Joppa a certain disciple named Tabitha, which by interpretation is called Dorcas: this woman was full of good works and almsdeeds which she did.
And it came to pass in those days, that she was sick, and died: whom when they had washed, they laid her in an upper chamber.
And forasmuch as Lydda was nigh to Joppa, and the disciples had heard that Peter was there, they sent unto him two men, desiring him that he would not delay to come to them.
Then Peter arose and went with them. When he was come, they brought him into the upper chamber: and all the widows stood by him weeping, and shewing the coats and garments which Dorcas made, while she was with them.
But Peter put them all forth, and kneeled down, and prayed; and turning him to the body said, Tabitha, arise. And she opened her eyes: and when she saw Peter, she sat up.
And he gave her his hand, and lifted her up, and when he had called the saints and widows, presented her alive.
And it was known throughout all Joppa; and many believed in the Lord.
And it came to pass, that he tarried many days in Joppa with one Simon a tanner.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Revelation 7:9-17

After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands;
And cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb.
And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God,
Saying, Amen: Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen.
And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?
And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.
For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

John 10:22-30

And it was at Jerusalem the feast of the dedication, and it was winter.
And Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon’s porch.
Then came the Jews round about him, and said unto him, How long dost thou make us to doubt? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly.
Jesus answered them, I told you, and ye believed not: the works that I do in my Father’s name, they bear witness of me.
But ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you.
My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me:
And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.
My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand.
I and my Father are one.


Saturday, April 26, 2025

touch and taste, see and believe

We gathered in a house with the doors fearfully locked. A knock may sound, but there is silence. Jesus appears among us, but we do not recognize him until he shows us his wounds, evidence of his death. He greets us “Peace be with you” - shalom aleichem, as-salaam alaikum


He breathes on us! saying “receive holy breath” - Holy Spirit - and empowers us as with the keys of the kingdom, keys to unlock others from fear and sin. “Any you forgive, are forgiven; any you do not - their sins are retained.” 


And then we try to bring Thomas the Twin into the circle though he is not here with us that first hard day’s night. 


A week later we are gathered again when Jesus again appears among us. Thomas is with us this time. He had demanded to see and touch, to have the physical connection, the physical experience, that would allay all doubt. He could testify if he had that direct contact. 


Now he has the opportunity. See me, touch me. The offer was enough, and more than enough: his confession surpassed all others to this date. 


Not only teacher, rabbi, messiah; now Lord, κυριος, kurios, and θεος, theos, God. 


χριστος  κυριος, Christ is Lord. That could get you killed, in those days. To deny Caesar the highest authority: there was danger there, and redemption. 


Have we seen Jesus our Lord? Have we touched and tasted him, in the real presence at the Table? Have we touched him, embraced him, as John the Evangelist did, in the Peace? Have we touched and been touched by him, in the laying on of hands for healing - or ordination? 


Have we confessed, as Thomas did, astonished at Christ's presence? Are we among those who have not seen and yet come to belief?


That peace that Jesus gives, we give to others. We receive Jesus under the cover of bread and wine, and we receive him in the greeting of a stranger. 


Remember Emmaus, the Emmaus road, and the stranger, who greeted travelers who knew him only in the breaking of the bread: he was no ghost, no walking corpse, not the ‘grateful dead’ of Egyptian myth, but a living and powerful presence. 


We all here as we gather at the Table, as the disciples gathered in that room in the house with the locked doors, may like them be fearful, uncertain of our security. And find like them that the security is from the intruder already in their midst, the divine intruder who is also truly human.


See my hands, touch my side. Embrace my people, know them or not. Find solace, comfort, and not only those: 


Our Lord and Our God: Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us. Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.


Risen Lord, be known to us

in the breaking of the Bread. 

And in the touch and taste

our fragile bodies convey your grace.



 These fragile bodies of touch and taste… [https://cockburnproject.net/songs&music/liadt.html]



Tuesday, April 22, 2025

messages

While you were out 
The messiah rose from the dead 
And he wants to talk to you 
And he has a message for you 
To take 
Far and far away 
Into every human heart 
You can reach


A few years ago I met a man in San Francisco who wore clerical garb of unusual hues: I was told he was a bishop of the Mar Thoma church from Kerala south India 🇮🇳 founded by the same Thomas who was known for his doubts — and his certainty. His explosive confession “my Lord and my God” was an early bombshell set off in the playground of first century religion. There was no room for idle speculation. You couldn’t hide anymore. You didn’t need proof. He was real. Loving you; showing you the proof you no longer needed. And so, Thomas, you knelt to the truth.

In recent weeks I have been thinking about the toll of war and civil strife. With others I have listened to the Rev. Dr. Gary Mason of Rethinking Conflict, the peace-making consultancy built around personal experiences in Northern Ireland.

And less directly, several lectures, videos, and even songs, about the separation of East and West, especially in Germany, after the second world war, the building of the Berlin Wall and its eventual and hand-hastened collapse. Can the forces of violence be overcome by hope? 

The Wind of Change, a song by the Skorpions performed on Potsdamer Platz in central Berlin a year and a week after the fall of the Berlin Wall, sung to that hope. [https://youtu.be/XjFsZj1aHow]

The arc of justice bends very slowly but still we hope if we all lean on it and hang on we can together feel it shift. 


https://www.rethinkingconflict.com/

https://www.cartercenter.org/peace/democracy/index.html

https://arizonadrn.org/

Thursday, April 10, 2025

trust

TRUST

What can you trust? Who can you trust?

In uncertain times, which we are certainly in now, questions come up, and trust is at stake. Who can you trust? What can you trust? The editor of one of my favorite regional magazines asked recently, what are you reading? And he said he had switched from national newsfeeds and blogs to more local, on-the-ground sources of information. I am not advocating this particular strategy: indeed, I find that international sources are equally important for getting a balanced view of the world. It does raise the question of trust. As do recent panicky accounts of stock markets and trade wars. Should I buy? Should we sell? Should I sit tight? What is going on?

What is going on - in a deeper sense - not simply what is happening now, in this moment, with its momentary passions and worries, is something we as Christian believers must consider.

As must be our response, to uncertain conditions, turbulent times, faithless politicians, and the anxiety bred by a lack of trust.

Robert Bellah, a sociologist, and, by the way, member of an Episcopal church in Berkeley, said that, “Our greatest contribution to the world is, by God’s grace, to try to be who, as Christians, we are.” And he asked Americans, in a survey research project conducted with colleagues, “How do you determine what is good, how do you determine what is right, in your daily life?”

The results of that qualitative research project are reported in the book “Habits of the Heart.”

The questions of the immediate moment, what should I do now, what should I do today, what will alleviate my anxiety - or that of my fellows, where will I go to find trust, and trustworthy companions? These questions do lead us into deeper inquiry: on what is trust to be founded? What is the basis, the foundation, on which trust, and faithfulness, can be solidly built: I would submit to you that the old hymns may be right: On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand. [On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand, Song by The Graham Family Band ‧ 2014] 

Or, if you do not have the Lord to guide you…

Or, My hope is built on nothing less/Than Jesus Christ, my righteousness (Edward Mote (1797-1874)

In other words, we enjoy a certainty beyond the fluctuations of the stock market or the flutterings of our hearts, or the passions of the moment, in the sure and certain knowledge of salvation, salvation not just of ourselves but of all people, all creatures, all creation. Some of us, notably humans, need it more than others. I have less sense that rocks and stars need saving from themselves. We certainly do, at times. 

I think of the solid and faithful work of Samaritans and others, including border police on both sides of the wall, who look after desperate people crawling under a wall or sheltering under a desert bush, seeking, after a while, nothing more than life. Nothing less. Than life. 

For them the political and moral questions have faded away. First, food, shelter, safety. Then they may find themselves in custody, shipped to a place they have never known, or know all too well, but for now, life. Life is at stake. That is what it means to be in an existential moment.

You might say, and many argue, without panic, that this is an existential moment for our way of life, our way of being with one another. Democracy, yes, but more deeply, compassion. Justice, and the rule of law, we seek with our fellow human beings. We do not agree all together on how to find what we seek, but we know, certainly as worshipping human beings, on that goal at least.

How do you determine what is good, how do you determine what is right, in your daily life?

***

Our greatest contribution to the world is, by God's grace, to try to be who, as Christians, we are. -- Robert Bellah

Link to YouTube recording of Robert N. Bellah Lecture by Marian Budde

https://www.youtube.com/live/HsynDr_thrU


Sunday, March 30, 2025

Three Men

Have you ever felt like this? Far from home, far from your self, your true self, far from what you really know your life was meant to be? Maybe you took what you could get and went and blew it - riotous living, bad investment, stupid life choices - but here you are now, at the far end of your senses, and you come to yourself, that is, you come to realize, this is not me, this is not what is meant for me, I may be no better than this but this is not it. The people who know me, really know me, would not recognize me like this. But I need them. I’m going home! 


And so you rehearse, all the bad things you have done, all the mistakes, the regrets, all the promises to change, to reform, to just give up and throw yourself on the mercy of the court of inner opinion. Maybe there is somebody you can go to. Maybe you say, “I want to get sober” or “I have made a big mistake” or “I blew it, didn’t I?” I know it, you know it, but now I am admitting it. And I want to come back to a true sense of myself, and of you. 


Is this a cry for pity? In the younger son’s story, it doesn’t work. The father does not take him back on the terms he suggests, a disgraced former offspring now fit only to be a hired hand.


But the father does not take the deal. Instead, he welcomes, runs to welcome, the son who was lost and now is found. The child who had strayed, who knows how far, is now returned. Back. From wherever. And that’s it. He’s home. That is what matters. 


What matters more, more than forgiveness, repentance, turning around, turning home, is the generosity, the unquestioning welcome, the forgiveness without solicitation or merit, the uncreated gift of the father’s love.


So, Lent. Chocolate? Coffee? Red meat? Movies? Relentless television? Newsfeeds 24/7? Is it about what you give up? Or is it about what you receive? Without merit, without limit. The father’s love precedes any repentance, it is indeed unmerited grace. And it is waiting for us, all the time.



Have you ever felt like that? Worked hard for no reward, no recognition. Just toil. Where did that younger brother get to anyway? At least I get two-thirds of the inheritance (check Deuteronomy 21:17) since I am the firstborn - not that playboy. That waster. To be kind, I saw this coming. From the day he said, give me my inheritance - now: I cannot wait until you are dead, Father. Let’s pretend you already are - dead to me, at least as far as the money goes. And the money went. I have just had it with him.


So now I pick up the pieces. We make do with what is left, Father and I. For I am the good son. The eldest. I hold it all together. I won’t let it get out of hand - again. But no, look, here he comes. Back. And what does he want now?


Have you ever been that boiled in resentment? Felt its heat from far away? No wonder the boy was hesitant, coming home. There is no indication that the younger had thought of the older, just of coming home to his father.


Have you ever felt that deserving, or that underserved, that unappreciated? 


But then again the Father seems not to care, not even to care enough to keep count of the loss.


Love does not keep account of wrong. (J. B. Phillips) But rejoices when truth prevails. The truth of the Father’s love. 


Being right won’t last forever. Remember the man who had “he was in the right” written on his tombstone. What will last is love. Forgiveness. Let this be a lesson to me. I am not ready to release all my anger, all my resentment, all my sorrow or grief at what is lost. Are you? Anyone? 


But I know the day will come. He has already forgiven me. Can I do no less? Relax my hand, and let the pebble fall I meant to throw, like the people in the Temple ready to stone a woman. Put down my hand, with its accusing finger. Not that I am no better, or much worse. That is not the point. This is not comparative justice. “Well, what about —?”


This is about love that does not wait. That comes to us, unbidden, unready, whether we like it or not. Worthy or not.



And finally — have you ever, even in the slightest, felt like this? Someone comes to you to make amends, someone comes for mercy, someone comes to be forgiven, to make things right, as right as they can, without hope or expectation? Twelve-step people may know it, from either side. Making amends is one of the steps to release from addiction. One of the steps to release from the past. With all its errors. (And it is a release to both parties.)


Not to make room for making new errors. Though errors there may be. But simply in this moment to rejoice with the recovered, the resentful, the relieved, and the joyful, in the restoration, renewal, or even better, the new life that now comes to be. 


Forgiveness, as the Father gives it, does not merely restore. It makes new. 


Behold you are a new creation. All things have become new. In Christ. Amen.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=humDgJ-SmHI



William Hogarth, A Rake's Progress I: The Heir
https://shop.soane.org/products/pod435408?_pos=31&_sid=c20f76fc1&_ss=r




Sunday, March 23, 2025

Third Sunday in Lent

 O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; *
my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,
as in a barren and dry land where there is no water. 

as in a barren and dry land

Moses turned aside, curious, at least, perhaps pulled by some deeper emotion, to see what was causing the bush to burn yet not be consumed. He was in a barren and dry land, perhaps; he and his father-in-law Reuel’s flock (Zipporah’s father) had strayed beyond the wilderness, far from home base, and found themselves on this mountain holy to the Midianites. (His father-in-law was a priest of Midian.) 


More than thirst was going on. Thirst for justice. Thirst for freedom. Thirst to worship without fear. Hunger and thirst. drought and famine, from which the Israelites cried out to be released. From a more than physical bondage they fled. And Moses was the one to lead them. As always, the improbable one, the one called by God, is the one to lead the way.


Moses was no ordinary son of Abraham. He fled from Pharaoh after killing an Egyptian and hiding the body in the sand. He wandered far away into the desert between Egypt with its watered fields and Canaan the land where milk and honey flowed. 


Because he had been there first, he could lead the people through the deserted unknown places. Because he knew his own unworthiness, indeed his sin, he could lead others through the passage between bondage and freedom. 


Key to our understanding is this feeling of unworthiness, reasonable unworthiness, indeed of awe. Remember : when Jesus instructed the fishermen to let down their nets and they encountered a miraculous catch of fish, Peter said to Jesus, go away for me for I am an unworthy man. The presence of the holy overwhelmed him.


Here it is the presence of the divine, manifested first in the miraculous sight, the sign of the bush, the symbol of its burning, then in the message of the angel, take off your sandals, for where you stand is holy ground, that awes the modest human, causing him to be unclothed of all his weary sinfulness. This is the beginning of redemption.


Remember: Moses had fled Egypt, a sinner, a murderer indeed. He has found shelter, comfort, even a wife, in a new life far from Pharaoh’s power. And yet that is not enough, not for God, and not for Moses’ life. God now redeems him; redeems him like a debt unpaid. Moses begins to reconcile with the one more important than (but not in contravention of ) any human law. He must go back. 


O God. 


And free his people. First he must convince them. Whom shall I say sent me? The ground of being, in a nice phrase, for the one whom he met standing on holy ground is indeed the creative, organizing, and inspiring power of the universe. Beyond holy. Beyond any god of man and women he might think might merit devotion. This is the one who is. I am who I am, I will be who I will be, I am he who causes to be all that comes to be. And yet is not consumed, comprehended, encompassed by all that, but contains it within his will. His will and power and mercy. Justice and steadfast love. That is who Moses has fallen a-fair of. 


How will I possibly convince them? I cannot even talk. 


You have a brother, Aaron – and a sister, Miriam. He will speak for you, she shall lead the women in dance and exaltation, in praise at the deliverance of the people.


This shall all come to be. I am who I am. I am the one who causes to be what is, and what will be.


Take off your shoes. All right, put them back on. Go back and break the news to your father-in-law. And your wife, Zipporah. 


O god. Indeed.


care o’ fig

In the Old Testament lesson for this Sunday a man confronts a plant that embodied the divine. In the gospel lesson a man who embodies the divine speaks about a plant. I think it’s about more than that, don’t you? It seems to me that in today’s gospel, the plant is a plant and this is good husbandry. I also think it could be a figure (pun alert, sorry!) for Israel or the Church. One more year, pleads the gardener; give me one more year to turn things around. I’ll dig around it and give it fertilizer. (Personally I’m tempted to try this on a couple of trees - again - this spring, but a hae ma doots about a couple of them: they look like goners to me.) 

Jesus as the gardener, the Father as the landowner, and the people as the vineyard with the fig tree in it. In California I’ve seen, at the turn to Glen Ellen, roses growing at the end of rows of vines of wine grapes. I’ve been told they act like canaries in a coal mine, as they are likely to show symptoms of stress before they are visible on the vines. Here in the gospel imagery the fig tree is taken as a common accompaniment to vines in the garden. So each of us can shelter under the shade of the tree and eat from the vine; they are companions in the field.


"A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"


God has not given up on us yet. Art Hoppe had a wonderful image in his column in the San Francisco Chronicle. There on a cloud are the Lord and the angel Gabriel contemplating, once again, the follies of the human race. The Lord pats his beard, thinkingly. Gabriel is more cheerfully decisive: eagerly he inquires, “Shall I sound the eviction notice?” brandishing his trumpet. But the Lord says, no, no, give them another chance. 


How long can this go on?


Perhaps we find out in other vineyard and landlord parables, like the one where the wicked tenants insult and assault the managers’ messengers who are sent to collect the rent, then finally the son of the owner. The message there is that that might not work out so well for the tenants. They can be replaced.


I suppose Gabriel, in the Chronicle story, had something similar in mind.


God gives us another chance. If that is what this parable is about, it is not so complicated. And parables need not be so complicated. They may have one simple message, that we can see because first it turns upside down our common view. Once we look at the world with new vision it changes.


The passage before that confronts us with the common linkage between sin and misery. They must have done something, been worse than other people, or this calamity would not have fallen upon them. But they are no worse than others. Indeed, they are no worse than we are! No more deserving of tragedy, loss, or catastrophe. That does not mean they are without sin. It means that they and we are no more sinful - and perhaps no less - than anybody else. 


At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them--do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."


Negligence or police brutality, natural disaster or human turpitude, not victims’ sin. 


No grounds for judgment; no grounds for schadenfreude (joy at the pain of others); no secret security for us as better people. And no safe place to hide from God’s inexorable… grace. For he did not come into the world to judge the world, but to redeem it. That is what this season is about; that is what it is preparing us for: the outrageous reality of God’s self-sacrifice, self-emptying gift, to free us from our own prisons of folly, guilt, error, and all the other failings of the human comedy.  


Therefore I have gazed upon you in your holy place, *
that I might behold your power and your glory.

For your loving-kindness is better than life itself; *
my lips shall give you praise.


Third Sunday in Lent

© 2025 John Leech