What Do You Think?
Isaiah 40:1-11
Matthew 18:12-14
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young. (Isa. 40:11)
“What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish." (Matt 18:12-14)
Isaiah's promise of God's tender care for people finds fulfillment in Jesus' short teaching story of a shepherd who will not rest from laboring until all the sheep are cared for. Even when 99% of the sheep are safe and well-cared for, the shepherd still seeks the imperiled one.
Jesus begins the story, however, with a cryptic invitation: "What do you think?" He invites us into the story. He wants to know where we stand on these things. "What are your thoughts about this?"
I know some of my thoughts about the story. What about you?
**It's insane, leaving 99 sheep vulnerable in order to find just one.
**Better to sacrifice the one than to put the 99 at risk.
**It's not fiscally responsible. Financially you open yourself up to huge losses.
**This shepherd doesn't have much common sense.
Megan McKenna shares a reflection, written in 1997 by a friend, which illumines the Gospel story in a contemporary way. The United States is in a different place now than in 1997; nevertheless, the same arguments and ideas are still around.
In the ongoing debate about health care and health insurance in our country, one of the sticking points is what to do about those people who have no form of health insurance at all. Some argue that this situation is simply not acceptable. We need, they insist, a program that offers universal coverage, reaching even to the poorest of the poor. Another group argues strongly against this position, asserting that any attempt to provide insurance for everyone will end up bankrupting the system and ruining what we already have. Better to cover as many people as possible and sacrifice those few who slip through the cracks.
It is clear that those in the latter group would not hire the shepherd in today's Gospel as their risk management consultant. His search for the one sheep that has gone astray would be seen as an extravagant gesture, a completely unacceptable risk to the other ninety-nine sheep.
In an era that calculates how much it can afford to do for those at the bottom of the social ladder, the ethic of Jesus must seem extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. Yet it might be a worthwhile Advent exercise for those of us who claim to follow Jesus to picture ourselves explaining this position to him. What would we say? Would we not be forced to acknowledge that the phrase "We can't afford to do this" means that we cannot do it without threatening our own financial and social well-being?
One suspects that he who suffered and died so that all might be saved would not be particularly susceptible to arguments about risk management. Today's Gospel baldly asserts that it is no part of God's plan "that a single one of these little ones shall ever come to grief." The question that confronts us in the middle of this Advent season is this: "Where do we fit into that plan?"
(Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany: Stories and Reflections on the Daily Readings, pp 58-59)
Jesus asks, "What are your thoughts about this? What do you think?"
For Reflection:
Take any contemporary social issue. Hold it up to this Gospel reading. Hold it up to the life and way of Jesus. Then hear Jesus ask you, "What do you think about this?"
Explain your position to him . . . why something should or should not be done. Are you open to altering your position in light of having to explain your stance to Jesus?
Possible issues for consideration might be:
Immigration
Gun control
Sexual harassment
Racial tensions
Fake news / "alterative facts"
Liberal elites / Basket of deplorables
Poverty
Terrorism
Hunger
Refugees
Salary inequality in the workplace
Showing posts with label invitation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label invitation. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Monday, November 28, 2016
Magi: Drawing the Outsider into Christmas
In the Christmas story, the down-to-earth and the heavenly keep getting intertwined. The earthy ordinary gets mixed together with the cosmic. The everyday realities of relationships, politics, work, and child-birth get thrown together with the other-worldly, heavenly realm.
Shepherds are at work, earning a living . . . while a chorus of angels sings a birth announcement, proclaiming peace to the entire world.
A child is born in a cattle trough to peasant parents . . . as a brilliant celestial light illumines the place of Jesus' birth.
Mary and Joseph are humble, devout Jews who will be visited by strangers, Magi, traveling from an Eastern land.
The scene is both rooted in the local -- Nazareth journey, Bethlehem census, hillside flock-watching -- and also includes the rest of the world -- seers from a far-off land who notice a star and set out to worship the child.
The story is earthy, including donkeys, sheep, and cattle. It is also cosmic, including stars and angels.
It is, at the same time, humble and glorious . . . all held together in God.
All these seeming contradictions are held together in this single story of a birth of one who would come to be known as both "Son of Man" and "Son of God."
It seems important to me as I locate the Christmas story within me, that I not only find the earthy and ordinary within my inner landscape, but also realize that there is something expansive and "made-in-God's-image" within me.
Both the local and cosmic are held together, even in me.
The familiar and the other-worldly are both part of my spiritual DNA.
I am a child of a particular place, with ordinary parents named Dorothy and Jerry, who is a citizen of a particular country . . . and as well, I am a child of the world, God's child who is part of a global human family that transcends national borders and belief systems.
When I seek to live in only one of these realities, I find myself lopsided, out of balance. For example, if I only see myself (either first or only) as a citizen of the United States of America, I divide and separate myself from the rest of the world's population. Yes, I am a citizen of the United States, but I am a God-person first, identified more by my God-endowed personhood than by my national origins. I belong to a kingdom "not of this world".
One function of the Magi in the narrative of Christ's birth is to remind us that the story does not belong only to one people or another. Christ is not only for insiders. The Christmas story belongs to everyone of every race, gender, orientation, state of life . . . as does Christ.
For that reason alone, it is important to touch the Magi within us. For the Magi represent not only exploration, openness, and adventure . . . they also represent the foreigner within us, the part of each of us that stands outside and looks in, that does not belong to the status quo, that gets left out.
As even the Magi are invited into the birth story, so too is this alienated part of our lives invited to join the birth of Christ. The story belongs, not to one group or one belief system. The birth of Christ belongs to the everyone, to the world, to the cosmos . . . always and everywhere.
The inclusion of the Magi in the narrative says that every part of us is invited into the story . . . and that every part of the story lives within us.
For Reflection:
Consider some way in which you feel like an outsider or a stranger . . . some setting, perhaps, in which you feel you don't belong. Where in your body do you feel the sensation of being an outsider? Where does it ache? This may be one place where the Magi live within you. Sit still, in touch with that part of your being. Open yourself as much as possible to God's invitation to that part of you, including you into the birth of Christ. You don't have to force anything to happen, simply take what God brings to you in the silence.
Shepherds are at work, earning a living . . . while a chorus of angels sings a birth announcement, proclaiming peace to the entire world.
A child is born in a cattle trough to peasant parents . . . as a brilliant celestial light illumines the place of Jesus' birth.
Mary and Joseph are humble, devout Jews who will be visited by strangers, Magi, traveling from an Eastern land.
The scene is both rooted in the local -- Nazareth journey, Bethlehem census, hillside flock-watching -- and also includes the rest of the world -- seers from a far-off land who notice a star and set out to worship the child.
The story is earthy, including donkeys, sheep, and cattle. It is also cosmic, including stars and angels.
It is, at the same time, humble and glorious . . . all held together in God.
All these seeming contradictions are held together in this single story of a birth of one who would come to be known as both "Son of Man" and "Son of God."
It seems important to me as I locate the Christmas story within me, that I not only find the earthy and ordinary within my inner landscape, but also realize that there is something expansive and "made-in-God's-image" within me.
Both the local and cosmic are held together, even in me.
The familiar and the other-worldly are both part of my spiritual DNA.
I am a child of a particular place, with ordinary parents named Dorothy and Jerry, who is a citizen of a particular country . . . and as well, I am a child of the world, God's child who is part of a global human family that transcends national borders and belief systems.
When I seek to live in only one of these realities, I find myself lopsided, out of balance. For example, if I only see myself (either first or only) as a citizen of the United States of America, I divide and separate myself from the rest of the world's population. Yes, I am a citizen of the United States, but I am a God-person first, identified more by my God-endowed personhood than by my national origins. I belong to a kingdom "not of this world".
One function of the Magi in the narrative of Christ's birth is to remind us that the story does not belong only to one people or another. Christ is not only for insiders. The Christmas story belongs to everyone of every race, gender, orientation, state of life . . . as does Christ.
For that reason alone, it is important to touch the Magi within us. For the Magi represent not only exploration, openness, and adventure . . . they also represent the foreigner within us, the part of each of us that stands outside and looks in, that does not belong to the status quo, that gets left out.
As even the Magi are invited into the birth story, so too is this alienated part of our lives invited to join the birth of Christ. The story belongs, not to one group or one belief system. The birth of Christ belongs to the everyone, to the world, to the cosmos . . . always and everywhere.
The inclusion of the Magi in the narrative says that every part of us is invited into the story . . . and that every part of the story lives within us.
For Reflection:
Consider some way in which you feel like an outsider or a stranger . . . some setting, perhaps, in which you feel you don't belong. Where in your body do you feel the sensation of being an outsider? Where does it ache? This may be one place where the Magi live within you. Sit still, in touch with that part of your being. Open yourself as much as possible to God's invitation to that part of you, including you into the birth of Christ. You don't have to force anything to happen, simply take what God brings to you in the silence.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)