The Bending of the Knee

Some years ago a person came into my office to talk about repentance and forgiveness. Well, he didn't
really put it that way. He said that whenever the river of his wrong-doings get jammed up & he has not
cleared out the dam, he finds that there is no other way to deal with it besides actually and physically getting
down on his knees in prayer.

This struck a chord in me. My own reflections on repentance follow a similar line, though I am slow to
do what this member does. I remember a line from a novel that deals with this most directly. I forget the
name of the novel & the name of the author, but it goes like this, "Anyone who has fallen to their knees while vomiting has discovered, if quite by accident, the position of prayer."

I don't really want to follow that metaphor too exactly, but it is just to this point. There is something about
physically rearranging one's posture that makes an honest & authentic prayer more possible. Especially
when prayer requires humility as it so often must.

The wisdom of all this is actually contained in the Hebrew word "blessed." The word, transliterated as "berakah" literally means, "to bend the knee.” Solomon, the third & most wealthy king of Israel, got down on his knees & stretched out his arms in front of all the people as he offered a blessing to God at the dedication of the great Temple in Jerusalem [II Chronicles 6:13, I Kings 8:54].

I would be willing to give almost anything to see this most wealthy and worldly-blessed of the kings of
Israel, knee-bowed and body-bent in front of God and everyone! It is an odd, almost humorous picture, to
think of Solomon--in "all his glory" as Jesus puts it--down there on his knees, his velvet and jewel bedecked
rump pointing skyward, offering God a blessing.

For Jesus, the most blessed may not be the most materially prosperous. Or, to put it differently, blessings and happiness may come in unexpected circumstances. Those who mourn, who are poor, who are brokenhearted, who are persecuted, who are meek, who are hungry are especially singled out by Jesus as
being blessed [Matthew 5]. Jesus also seems to love the dramatic use of irony. I can imagine that he delighted in the surprised looks on the faces of his listeners when he said, "Blessed are the poor, for yours is the kingdom of Heaven." I'd loved to have been able to hang around the coffee hour conversations following that sermon! For those who thought of blessing as resulting in material well-being, the Nazarene's notions of blessing must’ve been a thought-provoking lesson at best.

So, here we are in another Lent, a season of reflection on our humanity, our poverty of spirit, our brokenness. For those who are able (and that's not all of us, I know), we might consider rearranging our
posture somehow so that an appropriate position of prayer is reached.

And we shall be most blessed.

Salvation is Here!

Sally and I do a "day-old" bread run each Friday morning for the Salvation Army in Waukesha. Last

Friday we parked the truck outside the Cousins on Bluemound and as I walked in, the person at the
cash register called out to the prep area, "Salvation is Here!" I thought, "Wow that certainly puts a lot of
responsibility on me."

I'd be up for it as long as it doesn't involve a cross. Alas, it always does. Maybe not the very one Jesus was on, but he did suggest that each of us must bear our own cross. Bringing in the Kingdom of Heaven always involves some sort of sacrifice, some sort of "cross." Some sort of giving up something in the hope that God will do something with it and make peace possible.

Little contributions here and there. Serving at a meal program at the Hope Center. Driving a truck to
deliver donated furniture for people who have unfurnished apartments. Visiting folks in our
congregation who are unable to make it to church. Praying with all our hearts for folks in difficult
times. All these things mean we give up something. Time, Talents, Treasure. That's how the kingdom
works. And no matter how little our contribution, God works with it to make it powerful.

John Calvin once told a marvelous story about a little girl who saw a beautiful flower in her mother's garden
and picked it and presented it to her mom with all the  joy a child can possess. How could she know that her mother was planning to "show" that flower in the annual flower show in town? But the mother received the
gift from her daughter as if it were made of pure gold.

So does Almighty God.

My favorite prayer from my favorite theologian, Thomas Merton, goes like this:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
 "I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you." 

And because of that Salvation is Here and the Kingdom
of Heaven is "at hand."

Come and Go

 I am struck especially by the verbs “Come” and “Go” in this story. It is representative, I think, of the mystical rhythm of our faith in Jesus Christ.

I’ve always loved these lines from Matthew’s telling of the Easter story (chapter 20). It’s a kind of poem when reduced to a focus on the verbs:

 The Angel came and rolled back the stone “Come” the Angel said “and see where he lay.” Go tell the men that he is risen

He is going ahead of you. Jesus met them and they came to him

“Go to Galilee” Jesus said. There they’ll see me.

 We come to an encounter with Christ and he bids us go and tell; go and do.

 Imagine how these two women, “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary”, must have felt in that at once terrifying and beautiful encounter in the garden on that first Easter morning. Wouldn't they want to have stayed there where he "walks with me and he talks with me and tells me I am his own?" Wouldn't you?

 This grand and wonderful story is, however, all about going and not staying. After hearing of the empty tomb, the beauty of the garden in that early morning, the lovely sounds of the birds in the trees, the warmth of the rising sun, we would all like to stay.

  But we must go.

 Go and tell others.

 Go to Galilee.

 When we join churches, we make for ourselves a place of delight and comfort and most of us would like to stay here. But the Gospel compels us to go.

 Go to the difficult places; the broken places, in Waukesha, in Milwaukee, and tell of the wonders in store even for the most broken in body, soul and spirit. There is good news for us all even in the darkest of times and places. We all need someone who has witnessed the resurrection to tell us that our broken hearts are not the end of the story but the beginning of newness of life in Christ.

 "Go to Galilee," Jesus says, "for there I have work for you to do."

 This garden has a lovely view, but Galilee has need of you.

 Come and Go. He’s going ahead of us and has promised to be with us even to the end of the age.

 So should we go and tell the Good News of Jesus and his love.