Thursday, December 15, 2005

Tell me to come to you

Peter’s reaction to Jesus’ appeal for courage and peace in Matthew 14 seems in contrast with many of the prayers heard in today’s churches. Peter and others were trapped in an un-navigable boat pushed far from shore by a surprise storm. The impact of the wind and waves was accentuated by the pre-dawn darkness.

Peter’s fear of drowning was not alleviated by the surprise appearance of Jesus. The early church’s account of the event notes that Jesus’ walking-on-the-water approach signaled Peter and the other disciples that a ghost was nearing. They cried out in fear.

Jesus announced himself and assured the men they should not be frightened. “Be brave,” he told them. “It is I.”

Peter was so moved by it all that he shouted above the noises of nature a most unnatural request. “Lord, is it you? If so, tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Tell me to come to you.”

That is an uncommon prayer, seldom heard then or now. Most prayers of the church center on a longing that Christ will come to us. “Come and bless us,” we plead. “Come and heal us; come and meet our needs.”

Petitioning Christ to come to us takes little faith. In fact, such a prayer might be triggered more by fear than trust. It even can be a self-centered prayer resulting from a hope that God will bless our mere human initiatives.

We continue to miss the significance of Peter’s prayer even though we have an advantage he did not have. We know where Christ is found.

He is in the gathered people of God, and he is in the sacraments.

He is in the “least” of folks—the abused and the forgotten. He is in prison and under cities’ highway overpasses. He appears in “ghostly” fashion in food lines, nursing homes and hospitals.

He waits for his people in dark and dangerous places, but we persist with our prayers of invoking his presence. Should we not pray that we will come to him?

Monday, December 12, 2005

Christmas is offensive

Numerous people recently have raised the issues of courtesy and inclusiveness concerning particularly the celebration of Christmas in the culture at-large. First, let me say that this essay has nothing to do with whether the clerk at Wal-Mart should be allowed to wish us all a Merry Christmas rather than a Happy Holiday. Nor are these comments in reference to public displays of religious symbols or the use of bell-ringers by department stores.

These musings are about being offensive. Many have noted that Christians should not offend people of other faiths. I agree! Jesus' followers should be civil and kind. Christ never stooped to being obnoxious or demeaning. Neither should we.

But, isn't the Gospel offensive? Isn't it offensive that the Creator of all became fully human, born of a virgin teenage girl? Isn't it offensive that the Son of God was delivered in a dung-filled stable and that the child himself had his own soiled diapers? Isn't it offensive that God's Son taught that his body would be ingested by the church through the eating of the bread and the drinking of the cup? Isn't it offensive that he was crucified between common criminals by those who insisted that religion should be a marketplace phenomenon? Isn't it offensive that the crucified man of Galilee was raised from the dead and lives forevermore? Isn’t it offensive to live a faith that claims that Christ somehow represented us all in his death and resurrection? Isn’t it offensive to embrace a hope that all of history will someday be declared “his-story” and that peace will come to us all?

Do we really want Christmas to be a mainstream holiday? Do we want a Christmas endorsed by corporations that pay their execs millions while their $14,000-a-year workers can afford to buy gifts only by using their employee discounts? Do we want Christmas promoted so that most will find it palatable? Do we want Christmas promoted at all?

Yes, we should be aware that we live in diverse communities, and we would be wise to show a respect that is founded on a confidence that God reveals himself in ways beyond the traditions of the Christian Church. But, rather than demand equal time or majority-rules, why don’t we simply gather at the intersections of cultural values and sing “Emmanuel?” And, let's sing it a cappella.