MOTHERS AND PROPHETS

Almost all our favorite characters in the Bible are prophets: from Miriam, to Moses; from Elijah to John the Baptist; from Huldah to Anna. God gave us these prophets. God also gave us their mothers.

Bible scholars argue that the Bible was probably written by men for men and most of its central characters are men. Women characters who take center-stage in the biblical narratives are quite rare. Rarer still are mothers who are both named and who get to speak.

Let me offer two.

Let’s start with Hannah. She was loved but she was barren and in a society where barrenness was considered a curse, she cried and prayed and pleaded to Yahweh to remember her and Yahweh did. She gave birth to a son and named him Samuel, which meant, “I have asked him of Yahweh.”

And in her prayer in 1 Samuel 2, comparable to the power and the passion of Mary’s Magnificat in Luke 1. 46-55, we encounter a mother’s faith, a faith I’m sure she taught her son, a faith that continues to challenge us today… Let me read some of her prayer’s most powerful affirmations… The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength, God kills and brings to life, God brings down to Sheol and raises up, God raises up the poor from the dust, God lifts the needy from the ash heap.

However you read Hannah’s Prayer the message is clear—God will make things right. And most important, God is on the side of the poor, of the oppressed, of the hungry, of those whose only hope is God. This was the faith of Hannah, the same faith her prophet son, Samuel, had. Most of us probably remember the son more than his mother. The message has not changed. Hannah and Samuel’s faith remain. We worship and serve a God who actually takes sides.

If we read our Bibles then we know that the God we serve and worship has always been on the side of the poor.

From Genesis to Revelation, we read about our covenant relationship with Yahweh that requires us to take care of the widows, orphans, strangers and foreigners, yes, illegal immigrants, refugees, internally displaced communities, the Rohingya among us. From Genesis to Revelation, we are enjoined to feed the hungry, offer drink to the thirsty, welcome the sick and the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and the imprisoned.

We know whose side God is on but are we on the right side? Those of us who take pride in calling ourselves Christian, are we on God’s side?

Do we let poor widows, orphans, and strangers give everything they have, even the little money left to buy food, so that we can build our temples and our buildings as monuments to our messianic complexes and imperial theologies?

Mary of Nazareth believed in a God who brings down rulers from their thrones but lifts up the humble. She believed in a God who fills the hungry with good things but sends the rich away empty. And this faith, we know she taught her Son, the One we call Lord and Savior. Hannah and Mary knew what God required of us. It is not burnt offerings or ten thousand rivers of oil or mighty buildings. Then and now, God requires of us to do justice and to love kindness and to take sides…

And the message will never, ever, change. We worship and serve a God who takes sides. A God who takes the preferential option for the poor. A God who brings down kings and kingdoms. A God who weeps with those who weep and who cries with those who cry. We worship and serve a God who, in the fullness of time, in the life and ministry of one Jesus, son of Mary from Nazareth, did the greatest act of taking sides—God became one of us. God left heaven to be with us. And God continues to take sides—as we encounter God among the least of the least, among the hungry and the thirsty, among the prisoners, the strangers, and the sick, among the homeless and the naked, among those devastated by nature’s wrath and by humanity’s greed, among those whose only hope is God.

Let me share with you a story told by John Dominic Crossan, probably the most read Historical Jesus researcher today: He imagines a conversation with Jesus. He asks Jesus what he can say about Crossan’s research. Jesus says he has done great work, his research is excellent, and his reconstruction of Jesus is the closest to the real person. Crossan is ecstatic about Jesus’ praise, until Jesus adds: “One thing you lack.” And Crossan, asks: “What is it, Lord?” And the reply: “Sell everything you have, including all the royalties you’ve received from the books you’ve written about me; give the proceeds to the poor, and follow me.” Crossan says, “I cannot, Lord.”

Yes, my dear sisters and brothers, the final test. Those of us who take pride in calling ourselves Christian, worship and serve a God who takes sides; but most importantly, the Christ we worship and serve wants us to sell everything we have, give all the proceeds to the poor and follow him.

Hannah and Mary gave the very best they could offer to God: their children. And their children did so, as well. They offered the very best. They gave their lives for others.

As we welcome 2018, are we ready to do so? Did our mothers teach us to do so?  I  believe they did. I know they did.

Amen.

NEVER AGAIN!

It is time we took another road. Over and over again we take the same road. We never learn. We imagine that doing the same thing will change the outcome. It never has. It never will.

The Empire strikes back. Always. In the case of the Magi, innocent children were massacred. And innocent children will continue to die as long as we try to save Baby Jesus from Herod. We should stop. He is not a baby anymore. He also does not need saving. The Magi did that already.

The Empire always strikes back. There are more Herods today. They are purveyors of war. Last year alone 1.7 trillion dollars were spent on the arms industry. Over half a trillion in the illegal drug trade. The War on Terror and the War on Drugs have left a trail of suffering and death on the innocent.

Thus, you and I need to be wiser. We need to be Magi-er. We need to be more sensitive to the warnings in our shared dreams. We need to know when to beat swords into plowshares. And when not to. We need to take other roads.

And we need to do all these to make sure that the massacre of innocent children does not happen again. Anywhere. Ever.


["Scene of the Massacre of the Innocents," Leon Cogniet, 1824]

TRANSGRESSING BORDERS

Going outside boxes is hard. Leaving our comfort zones? Equally hard. The Magi’s quest took over two years transgressing borders. In search of a child. A complete stranger. A stranger they believed would liberate his people from oppression.

Crossing boundaries, discarding prejudices, tearing down walls: very, very hard. And very, very scary! And taking another road back is hard and scary, as well. The Magi went against the orders of Herod the King and innocent children were massacred. More often than not, then and now, when the powerful are threatened the most powerless get hurt.

Who among us have flown on airplanes? Who among us have looked out the windows of those airplanes and seen the land masses below? What did you see? Did you see the lines, the borders that separated one nation from another? Did you see the markers that identified each country's territory apart from another? Like in our color-coded maps? The boxes we make, our comfort zones, our prejudices, our bigotry, our racism, the thick and high walls around our homes and even our churches, that Apartheid Wall in Israel, and Trump’s White Walls, the borders that separate us are all man-made.

We put them up, which means we can tear them down! 

In the verses that most of us have been reflecting on this holiday season, from the first chapters of Matthew and of Luke, one element is crystal clear. Except for Mary and Joseph, all the characters who come together to celebrate the birth of the Messiah are strangers. Complete strangers.

Empires and Kingdoms create systems, structures, and lifestyles that create strangers, that divide, that alienate, that pit one against the other, whether the division is based on class, race, creed, gender, religion.

The birth of the Messiah, the fulfilment of the promise of Immanuel, the coming of Yeshua—which means Yahweh Liberates—brings complete strangers together. It births community! The birth of the Messiah, my dear friends, can tear down walls.

And as the Messiah showed us, feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, visiting the sick and the imprisoned, clothing the naked, welcoming the stranger, proclaiming good news to the poor, all these tear down walls as well.  One word.  Immanuel.

But let us not forget. The best way to experience Immanuel, God’s presence in our lives, is to be Immanuel to someone else.  The key is not to wait for Immanuel but to be Immanuel to those who need God the most, to those whose only hope is God!

Today, as so many people struggle for life, for safe spaces, for dignity, each of us is invited to be active participants in the quest for a just and lasting peace, to be agents of love and faith and hope in the healing of our world, to tear down walls that divide, that disempower, that marginalize, that dehumanize, that kill.

Scary? Yes. Hard? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. But this is what the incarnation is all about. No one deserves to be alone, so God took the first step. God transgressed borders. God left heaven to be with us. God chose to be one of us. God took sides. And God took the side of the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized.

And we, those who confess to follow God, should do the same. My friends, as we celebrate the Birth of the Messiah, I invite us all to cross borders like the Magi, to tear down walls that divide, to be God’s presence in others’ lives, to change our ways and take another road.

And like the Magi, by taking another road, the road less traveled, and even the road-less travel, let us participate in the healing of our world and in our own healing.

Immanuel.

NO ROOM

 No Room

This is the reality of our world today.  There is no room.

No room for refugees. No room for Lumads. No room for the Rohingya. No room for Palestinians. No room for PLHA. No room for LGBTQi. No room for the Other. Sadly, nothing has changed.

The first Christmas. We combine Matthew’s and Luke’s narratives. We re-enact it almost every December in our school plays and in our church pageants. St. Francis started the tradition in the 1200s. In our re-enactments, Joseph and a very pregnant Mary find no room in any inn. No one is ready and willing to welcome the couple. Eventually, they find shelter among animals, in a manger, where Jesus is born. Soon, visitors arrive: angels, shepherds, even the Little Drummer Boy in some of our plays, and then the magi bringing gifts. Incidentally, in one TV spot I saw abroad, one of the magi brings the Baby Jesus the newest Android Smartphone.

In artwork going around in our social networks, the Wise Men are blocked by Israel’s Apartheid Wall. Mary and Joseph experience an IDF checkpoint. No room for the Magi. No room for the Holy Family. Not even in Bethlehem.

We think our Christmas Plays end on a happy note because we either end it with everyone singing carols or with a rendition of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus, sang by the choir or blasted through our sound systems.

We forget that the play ended the way it began: there was no room in the inn.

In rare occasions we do find people going against the script. Sometimes, someone from the audience, someone from our congregations would volunteer to welcome Joseph, Mary, and Joseph to their homes. Sometimes, we hear someone crying out: “There is a place for them in our home.”

Today is one of those times when we are challenged to affirm that “there is a place in our homes, in our churches, in our schools, in our communities.” Today, more than ever, we need to go against the script. We cannot afford to close our doors. We cannot afford to put up walls. Trump is wrong. Israel is wrong. Duterte is wrong.

We cannot afford to be inhospitable. We cannot afford to spend Christmas without opening our homes to the Christ who confronts us through the least among the least: the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, the prisoners, the unclothed, the complete stranger, the orphan, the widow... the thousands left homeless and devastated by the Marawi Siege; the tens of thousands victimized by years of unabated mining, logging, militarization, and the culture of impunity; the countless others, human beings like you and me, who have been sacrificed in the War on Terror and the War on Drugs.  

The cycles of violence, of dehumanization, of exploitation, of disenfranchisement, of victimization have to stop. All these are man-made which means we can unmake them. Things need to change. Now.

There should always be room.  If there is none, you and I have to make sure there is. This is what Jesus did.  He gave his life creating room for the least, the lost, and the last.

This is what we must do.

[images from cifwatch.com and desertpeace.wordpress.com]

Mina, Romana, and Americana

The mina was 1/60 of a talent. If a talent was worth 15 years' wages, the mina was 3 months' wages.

This Lukan parable resonates with the one about the talents in Matthew. That one celebrated 100% profit. This one celebrates
1,000% and 500% returns on investment.

But there's more. It also promises death to anyone who opposes the current dispensation.

Empire has been not changed. Its idea of peace has always been peace based on victory in war. Peace based on silencing dissent. Then it was Pax Romana. Today, it is Pax Americana.

Most of Jesus's audience would have known the history behind the parable. Herod Archelaus, Herod the Great's Son, went to Rome to get Caesar's blessing. His enemies went there as well to raise their opposition. Archelaus gets the Empire's blessing and promptly has his enemies killed. Just like the nobleman who became king in the parable.

Jesus was a child when all these happened. His exposure to the evils of greed, lust for power, and systemic violence began early. The same applies to the children in Marawi, in Palestine, in many parts of our world where so many are treated as sub-human, as commodity, as illegals, or as animals.

When Jesus said, God's reign is for children, he envisioned a world that was the complete opposite of Empire.

Patches, wine, and change

One does not use new cloth to patch up a tear in an old garment. Nor does one pour new wine into old wineskins. Does not work. Never did. Never will.

Self explanatory.

But did Jesus mean something else? The parable is possibly an answer to the question about fasting. The Pharisees and John the Baptist and their followers fasted. Jesus and his group did not. Old ways, new ways. One way, another way. Forcing the new into the old does not work. Never did. Never will.

The old will eventually give way to the new.

Again, this is about good and good. There are people who fast. There are people who don't. It's also about change. And about waiting.

We love our old garments. We also love aged wine. Change is hard. For most of us. But it is inevitable. Eventually, we get new garments. And we finish our favorite wine.

The old will eventually give way to the new. Clothes. Wine. Every. Thing.

Many interpretations of this passage pitted the Pharisees, John's group, and Jesus's against each other. And, usually, the Christian way is always the right way. The only way.

But we have to remember, in the first quarter of the First Century, all three were Jewish liberation movements against Roman Occupation. All three were movements for genuine change.

All believed that change was inevitable. It might be protracted but it will come.

Two House Builders

Many of Jesus's parables involved two characters. Two sons, two men praying, two sets of flock (sheep and goats), two groups of five girls, two look-alike plants (wheat and bastard wheat), two debtors...

Often, when we are presented with two choices, two options, two paths, we assume that the choice is between good and bad so we automatically choose the good. But, in reality, many of the choices we make are not really that clear-cut. Usually it's between good and better. Or, for the majority, between bad and worse.

As I have done in the past, I will not offer a reading based on Matthew's appropriation of Jesus's parable (that the house builders represent the doers and the non-doers of Jesus's teachings) but on how the story may have resonated with its original hearers.

How many people do you think had the resources to build houses on rock during Jesus's time? How many people do you think had the resources to even build houses--any type of shelter or dwelling--at all?

Why to you think Jesus challenged everyone to feed the hungry, offer drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the imprisoned, and welcome the stranger? Because during his time, for most of the people, homes built on rock was an impossible dream, homes on sand was a long shot, homelessness was the stark reality.

Why do you think Jesus said, "Foxes have dens and birds of the air have nests, but humans have no place even to lay their heads"?

The Bad Samaritan

Yes, we love the parable. It is one of the two favorites among Christians. The other being the Prodigal Son.

We identify with the Samaritan. We name our institutions after him. But before we continue patting each other's backs and celebrating, let us remember what Samaritan meant during Jesus’s time.

There were at least three groups of people that were most hated and despised during Jesus’s time. Centurions, tax collectors, and Samaritans. These were the bad guys. Jesus's enemies pejoratively call him a Samaritan.

Priests and Levites were the good guys. The models of society in word and deed. They were expected to help the wounded. They did not.

The bad guy did. Ironically, to this day, the bad guys still do. Help the wounded, rescue the dying, save the half-dead. But we don't call them Samaritans anymore. We call ourselves that now. We even added a qualifier, Good Samaritan.

But, tragically, we still do not stop and help. We have even come up with the best excuses for our inaction, apathy, and indifference. Especially if the wounded is Black, Palestinian, Rohingya, LGBT, or PLHA.

The bad guys do not care about labels. They just continue helping the wounded along the world's bloody ways. And they actually have help. Innkeepers.

Josephine Anne and Mustard Seeds

A pint-sized woman with a big heart for the country. This is how friends and family have described Josephine Anne Lapira. Her description reminds me of the mustard seed in Jesus’s parables. It is the smallest of seeds which becomes the greatest of all shrubs, putting forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.

Pliny the Elder, in his Natural History, wrote that “mustard grows entirely wild, and when it is sown, it is scarcely possible to get the place free of it, as the seed when it falls germinates at once.”

John Dominic Crossan tells us that the mustard in the parable was a wild weed shrub that grew to about five feet. Even in their domesticated form they were a lot to handle. Mustard in a well-kept garden not only spread beyond expectations but also attracted birds of all forms thus disturbing the made-up balance of a well-manicured garden, with the birds’ unpredictable feeding habits, and worse, their droppings.

Gardeners, of course, did not want weeds in their gardens. They did not want wild mustard at all cost. They spend time creating the perfect balance in their gardens: putting in the best, throwing out the worst. A well-manicured garden has no room for wild mustard, so they cut mustard young and at the roots. The mustard weed though have a way of coming back.

They always do.

Jesus likens the reign of God to a weed. It grows where it is not wanted and eventually takes over the place. All wild mustard have to be cut down lest they disturb the domesticity of the gardens tended by the rich, the powerful, and the religious elite.

But wild weeds have a way of coming back. When you least expect them. Ask any gardener. You can never completely eradicate wild weeds like mustard. They have a way of sprouting in places where they disturb, disrupt, and dismantle well-manicured gardens.

They always do!

What gardeners never understand is this: for every mustard they cut down.  Ten will take its place. For every ten, one hundred. For every hundred, a thousand.

Josephine Anne and everyone like her will rise again. They always do.