WAITING IN GALILEE

Most of us love stories with surprises. The women in Mark 16: 1-8 were in for a few surprises themselves. They went to the tomb that early Sunday morning bringing spices to anoint Jesus’s body worrying about the stone blocking the entrance to the tomb. Unlike the many doors in our homes and churches and buildings—with its specific locks and, even, numeric codes—the women had no key to unlock the door.

The women expected a locked tomb, they expected a dead body inside, and they expected to use the spices they brought to anoint that dead body. But, and we all know this already, when they got there the stone had already been rolled away, the tomb was empty, there was no dead body to anoint—Jesus was not where they expected him to be.

Like the women at the tomb, most of us want Jesus in a box, with a lock, where we could do whatever we want to do with him. Moreover, like the women we expect Jesus to be in Jerusalem. Jerusalem, in Mark, is supposed to be a holy place. It is where God is supposed to be. It is a monument to faith and the faithful.

Do not forget this—the women went to the tomb expecting a dead Jesus. Over and over in the Markan story, especially in chapters 8, 9 and 10, Jesus told his followers that he will rise to life. Jesus’s followers did not believe him. They went to the tomb to visit a dead person. Dead people have no power over us. Sure we visit their graves once or twice a year. For many Christians, churches have become tombs—where we visit Jesus an hour or two once a week. A dead Jesus has no power over us; he cannot make demands on our lives, on our work, on our time, our talents, our treasures, our plans and commitments.

A dead Jesus is a safe Jesus. But alas, Jesus is not dead and he is not where we want him to be. He is risen. And he is not in heaven nor is he in Jerusalem nor in the exclusive elitist clubs we call his church. He is back in Galilee—where we don’t want him to be, among the sick, the poor, the demon-possessed, the discriminated, the marginalized. Among the odorized and the otherized.

He is back in Galilee along the path that ultimately led to his crucifixion, along the path that ultimately led to the offering of his life. And he is already there waiting for us. Waiting for us to walk the same path and offer the same offering. Do we have the faith and the heart to go and meet Jesus in Galilee?

Do we?

FAITH THAT CAN MOVE MOUNTAINS

I am sure most of us have heard sermons about moving mountains with our faith (Mark 11. 22-23). Actually, not real ones but metaphorical mountains. But I would like to believe that Jesus actually meant moving real mountains.

Historians offer two possible mountains. The Temple Mount and Herod the Great's Herodium (see picture above). Herod was called the Great Master Builder and was responsible for the man-made harbor at Caesarea Maritima, for the fortress at Masada, the magnificent Temple Mount, and the Herodium (his palace and burial site). Herod, through forced labor and heavy taxation, literally moved mountains to build the last two monuments to his greatness.

Whether Jesus was talking about the Temple Mount or the Herodium, I would like to believe that he was challenging his listeners to have the faith that any man-made mountain that is built on exploitation, dehumanization, and oppression can be brought down. And thrown into the sea.

If we work together.

[image from https://www.timesofisrael.com/herods-mountain-hideaway/]

PAIN HAS NO SABBATH

Luke 13: 10-17 10 Now he was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. 11 And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. 12 When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” 13 When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. 14 But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day.” 15 But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? 16 And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?” 17
When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing. (NRSV) 

The Gospel of Luke is a favorite among many Filipino Christians. Two of the best loved parables of Jesus are in Luke, the Samaritan in Chapter 10 and the Prodigal Son in Chapter 15. The Roman Catholic Church’s Preferential Option for the Poor is grounded on this gospel. The UCCP particularly loves Luke 4 (and Matthew 25). Lest we forget, the gospel that Jesus was anointed to proclaim is good news to the poor. And Luke is the best source for understanding the challenge of this gospel that takes the side of those whose only hope is God, of those who need God the most.

Critical parts of Jesus’s mission are to proclaim release to the captives and to let the oppressed go free. Both mean the same thing: liberation! Our reading for today is Jesus doing his mission of liberation. In Jesus’s response to the leader of the synagogue (verse 15) he mentions three characters who are all bound and have to be released. The ox and the donkey are both tied. They have to be released in order to get water. If they are not released, if they do not get water, they might get dehydrated or worse, die. The woman, whom Jesus calls a daughter of Abraham—which incidentally is the only time in the whole Bible that the description is used—is also bound. Satan has bound her for 18 long years. Medical experts who have studied this passage say that those were 18 agonizingly painful years. Whether she had tuberculosis of the spine, spondylitis ankylopoietica, osteoarthritis of the spine, or osteoporosis of the spine, she was in terrible pain. Every single day. She had to be released. She had to be set free.

My friends, the exchange between Jesus and the synagogue leader is not about good and bad. It is about good and good. How do we choose? Justly. The synagogue leader was saying: you can heal her any other day except today. He was arguing: what is one more day of suffering to someone who has already endured 18 years of agonizing pain? That’s 6570 days of pain. What is one day more? Jesus, on the other hand, was saying: why do I need to heal her any other day when I can do it today! For Jesus, suffering is suffering. Why wait for tomorrow when we can stop it today! The synagogue leader’s opinion is justice delayed. Jesus’s retort was justice right now! The woman despite her agonizing pain, despite her suffering went to the synagogue regularly. Did you think for one second that her pain rested during those Sabbath days? Did you think her suffering stopped while she sang, chanted, and studied the Torah? Do not forget this, ever: suffering does not have Sabbaths. Oppression has no rest days. Evil does not rest.

Pain has no Sabbath!

Do you think the suffering, humiliation, and discrimination that Palestinians experience as they go through Israeli checkpoints twice a day stop during Sabbath? Do you think the daily average of 45,000 people, half of them children under 5, who die in the Congo, stop because the killers behind the world’s worst genocide have to go to church on Sundays? Do you think our Lumad sisters and brothers get Sundays off from the displacement, dispossession, and militarization they experience from the AFP, CAFGU, and private armies of mining corporations? Do you think the pains, the suffering, and the diseases that afflict close to a billion of the world’s children caused by malnutrition, poverty, and hunger cease every time they attend mass or praise and worship? Suffering does not have sabbaths. Oppression has no rest days. Evil does not rest!

Thus, the struggle for life, for liberation, for wholeness, for abundant life for all has no rest days as well. This is why Jesus always healed on the Sabbath. This is why he proclaimed release to the captives and set the oppressed free on the Sabbath. This is why we are challenged to do the same in 2018! My friends, today is the day of liberation. Of course, we can wait for tomorrow but tomorrow might be too late. Proclaim release to the captives! Let the oppressed go free!

NOW!

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]