Upside down life
Readings:
1 Samuel 16:1-13
John 9:1-41
Nothing much happened to me this week in my new rhythm of life. I have been working from home, and will be for at least the next several weeks. I’ve gotten into a routine where I wake up at 6 AM, and am logging into work by 7, and finish up around 4 PM or so, depending on the urgency of requests that come to me. This new life is one where I feel disconnected from the pandemic, and distant from others around me yet still have things I must get done. It is difficult to do, but the internet, as much garbage as it contains, also contains ways in which we can connect and build a community. I regularly interact with people from Australia, England, and France in an on-line Facebook group, the kind of community that is impossible to have in the physical world. I am expanding that sense of community to people who live near me, or at least in the same country. Still, it is a strange feeling to be at home, away from the drama that the pandemic brings, sort of like sitting in the calm eye of a hurricane.
In the Old Testament reading, Samuel has been called by God to go to Jesse and his family to find a new King. Saul has been rejected by God as King of Israel, for disobeying God and placing the requirements of ritual ahead of moral conduct. This is a weighty thing for Samuel to do, as God’s prophet, to find a new King particularly when Saul, though repentant, is still alive. Saul had been called by God to destroy the Amalekites and wipe the ground clean because they did not believe in the one God that Saul had faith in. Saul had made the mistake of disobeying God’s command to destroy everything in the Amalekite kingdom by taking cattle as prizes, to be slaughtered as sacrifices to God on the altar. Saul was operating by the rules he was used to, and did not listen to the change called for by God. He was doing what he thought was best, and God responded by rejecting him as the legitimate King of Israel. A new king needed to be found.
Samuel goes to Jesse’s family compound in Bethlehem as directed by God, with the expressed intent of sacrificing a young cow and asking Jesse to join in the sacrificial feast. God had chosen a new king to come from Jesse’s family, and Samuel was to find out who that was during the feast. Samuel is uneasy, afraid that Saul will see him on his journey to Bethlehem, and kill Samuel before he has a chance to reach Jesse. As Jesse’s sons are presented to Samuel, none are found to be the chosen one, until David stands before Samuel. David, to everyone’s surprise, is the one chosen by God to be King of Israel. He was the youngest of the family, far removed from the line of succession that ran from Jesse, to the oldest male Eliab, then Abinadab, and so on. David was also a shepherd, a low status job to have, so between being the youngest and a shepherd, he was the least in the family. He had no right to be selected to be King, and the surprise came because like Saul, God was calling Samuel and Jesse to listen to God’s call, rather than fall back on the familiar rules.
In the Gospel reading, Jesus comes across a blind man as he and his followers and detractors traveled with him. His disciples ask Jesus about how the blind man came to be blind, was it because of his sins, or his parents’ sins. This connection between sin and disability was common in Jesus’ time, where a visible disability was an outward sign of sin, something done by God to punish or to show the world that this was a sinful person. Thus, the blind man was a sinner and an outcast, seen and treated as the least valued by God, and was expected to live his life that way. Any attempt to elevate him was to usurp God’s authority and disobey God. Yet Jesus showed the blind man great compassion and restored his sight, which meant to the Jews that Jesus had effectively forgiven the blind man of his sins by restoring his sight. Like Saul, they were caught up in the familiar rules created by this connection between disability and sin and did not pay attention to the change that Jesus was calling for. Jesus had acted as Samuel had, elevating the least to a position of honor as a glorification of God. This was not how life was supposed to be, and the unexpected change caused outrage and fear among the religious authorities.
This week, an epidemiologist from the University of Chicago Medicine department, Dr. Emily Landon, spoke at a news conference on a Chicago television station. Her address was short, but her message was powerful. She said that while most people will survive being infected with the novel coronavirus, a small portion of the population won’t. The things that we are being called to do, to stay home, to not go out to eat, to close schools and cancel sports events, to postpone meetings, to even close churches are all necessary to protect the small population that wouldn’t survive the disease. She said that the healthy and optimistic people will doom the vulnerable because they don’t see the threat, they haven’t experienced the illness, they think it will be mild, and that the media is overreacting. She was, in effect, calling on us to do what Samuel and Jesus had done, that is, to choose the least and elevate then to a position of honor and importance. She was reminding us that while we may be inconvenienced by or consider the actions of our leaders to be unnecessary or infringing on our rights, we have a moral obligation to protect the least among us from dying by the coronavirus. That moral obligation comes from scripture, and we heard two examples of it in the readings. The things happening in our communities are not so much to protect us, but to protect the most vulnerable from the virus, and the rest of us.
An Orthodox priest I spoke to late this week said that the closings, shutdowns, and staying at home is our Lenten sacrifice. He even extended it to missing Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter as we continue to avoid assembling in groups of any size for any reason. His wisdom made me realize that it is our Lenten sacrifice to protect those among us least able to survive the coronavirus infection. We are being called to no longer operate by the rules and rituals we are used to following, and we are being called to listen to the change called to us by God. This call is so powerful that it supersedes what we consider to be obligatory activities in daily personal and community life. It is a call to elevate the least in our communities, those who could die from infection to a position of honor, honor in this case being disease free. This call is to put ourselves last, when it seems to not make sense, or overreacting, or being inappropriately dramatic. Doing nothing and seeing no one become sick is the best outcome for us and those whose lives are threatened by infection. So, as I sit home, not being physically around other people, I am actually doing what I need to, to protect and elevate the least among us. This is counter-intuitive, because our natural response to a disaster or illness is to act. Jesus’ response to the needy and marginalized around him is to heal them, or feed them, or bless them. But like Jesus turning everything upside down, making the last first and the least greatest, we do something profound by doing nothing at all.
It is hard, sitting at home, pacing around the house and occasionally riding my bike around the neighborhood when the weather cooperates. It is a very different way of responding to a crisis around me that feels like I’m shirking some responsibility. The COVID-19 virus is challenging us in a lot of ways, forcing us into lives and habits that are unfamiliar, making us uncomfortable, anxious, or outright fearful of the change. We have nowhere to go for emotional or moral safety, because the virus infects, and kills, without regard for political or religious beliefs, without regard for social or economic status, without regard for race or ethnicity. What has divided us as a community and a nation has been torn off and discarded, and we feel vulnerable, not being able to say who is right or wrong, good or bad. We are having to relate to each other in unfamiliar ways that seem to violate the social rules we have set up to protect ourselves from “them”. But in this moment of fear and vulnerability, we hear a call that transcends what has separated and polarized us. We hear a call to compassion, a call to help, a call to protect the least among us. This Lenten sacrifice we are struggling to make is our response to that call, and one that we will live in well beyond Easter. I hope that it is a response that we will make permanent, to put aside differences, to care for the least, and to see each other as humans, to treat each other as children of God who loves us equally.
1 Samuel 16:1-13
John 9:1-41
Nothing much happened to me this week in my new rhythm of life. I have been working from home, and will be for at least the next several weeks. I’ve gotten into a routine where I wake up at 6 AM, and am logging into work by 7, and finish up around 4 PM or so, depending on the urgency of requests that come to me. This new life is one where I feel disconnected from the pandemic, and distant from others around me yet still have things I must get done. It is difficult to do, but the internet, as much garbage as it contains, also contains ways in which we can connect and build a community. I regularly interact with people from Australia, England, and France in an on-line Facebook group, the kind of community that is impossible to have in the physical world. I am expanding that sense of community to people who live near me, or at least in the same country. Still, it is a strange feeling to be at home, away from the drama that the pandemic brings, sort of like sitting in the calm eye of a hurricane.
In the Old Testament reading, Samuel has been called by God to go to Jesse and his family to find a new King. Saul has been rejected by God as King of Israel, for disobeying God and placing the requirements of ritual ahead of moral conduct. This is a weighty thing for Samuel to do, as God’s prophet, to find a new King particularly when Saul, though repentant, is still alive. Saul had been called by God to destroy the Amalekites and wipe the ground clean because they did not believe in the one God that Saul had faith in. Saul had made the mistake of disobeying God’s command to destroy everything in the Amalekite kingdom by taking cattle as prizes, to be slaughtered as sacrifices to God on the altar. Saul was operating by the rules he was used to, and did not listen to the change called for by God. He was doing what he thought was best, and God responded by rejecting him as the legitimate King of Israel. A new king needed to be found.
Samuel goes to Jesse’s family compound in Bethlehem as directed by God, with the expressed intent of sacrificing a young cow and asking Jesse to join in the sacrificial feast. God had chosen a new king to come from Jesse’s family, and Samuel was to find out who that was during the feast. Samuel is uneasy, afraid that Saul will see him on his journey to Bethlehem, and kill Samuel before he has a chance to reach Jesse. As Jesse’s sons are presented to Samuel, none are found to be the chosen one, until David stands before Samuel. David, to everyone’s surprise, is the one chosen by God to be King of Israel. He was the youngest of the family, far removed from the line of succession that ran from Jesse, to the oldest male Eliab, then Abinadab, and so on. David was also a shepherd, a low status job to have, so between being the youngest and a shepherd, he was the least in the family. He had no right to be selected to be King, and the surprise came because like Saul, God was calling Samuel and Jesse to listen to God’s call, rather than fall back on the familiar rules.
In the Gospel reading, Jesus comes across a blind man as he and his followers and detractors traveled with him. His disciples ask Jesus about how the blind man came to be blind, was it because of his sins, or his parents’ sins. This connection between sin and disability was common in Jesus’ time, where a visible disability was an outward sign of sin, something done by God to punish or to show the world that this was a sinful person. Thus, the blind man was a sinner and an outcast, seen and treated as the least valued by God, and was expected to live his life that way. Any attempt to elevate him was to usurp God’s authority and disobey God. Yet Jesus showed the blind man great compassion and restored his sight, which meant to the Jews that Jesus had effectively forgiven the blind man of his sins by restoring his sight. Like Saul, they were caught up in the familiar rules created by this connection between disability and sin and did not pay attention to the change that Jesus was calling for. Jesus had acted as Samuel had, elevating the least to a position of honor as a glorification of God. This was not how life was supposed to be, and the unexpected change caused outrage and fear among the religious authorities.
This week, an epidemiologist from the University of Chicago Medicine department, Dr. Emily Landon, spoke at a news conference on a Chicago television station. Her address was short, but her message was powerful. She said that while most people will survive being infected with the novel coronavirus, a small portion of the population won’t. The things that we are being called to do, to stay home, to not go out to eat, to close schools and cancel sports events, to postpone meetings, to even close churches are all necessary to protect the small population that wouldn’t survive the disease. She said that the healthy and optimistic people will doom the vulnerable because they don’t see the threat, they haven’t experienced the illness, they think it will be mild, and that the media is overreacting. She was, in effect, calling on us to do what Samuel and Jesus had done, that is, to choose the least and elevate then to a position of honor and importance. She was reminding us that while we may be inconvenienced by or consider the actions of our leaders to be unnecessary or infringing on our rights, we have a moral obligation to protect the least among us from dying by the coronavirus. That moral obligation comes from scripture, and we heard two examples of it in the readings. The things happening in our communities are not so much to protect us, but to protect the most vulnerable from the virus, and the rest of us.
An Orthodox priest I spoke to late this week said that the closings, shutdowns, and staying at home is our Lenten sacrifice. He even extended it to missing Palm Sunday, Holy Week, and Easter as we continue to avoid assembling in groups of any size for any reason. His wisdom made me realize that it is our Lenten sacrifice to protect those among us least able to survive the coronavirus infection. We are being called to no longer operate by the rules and rituals we are used to following, and we are being called to listen to the change called to us by God. This call is so powerful that it supersedes what we consider to be obligatory activities in daily personal and community life. It is a call to elevate the least in our communities, those who could die from infection to a position of honor, honor in this case being disease free. This call is to put ourselves last, when it seems to not make sense, or overreacting, or being inappropriately dramatic. Doing nothing and seeing no one become sick is the best outcome for us and those whose lives are threatened by infection. So, as I sit home, not being physically around other people, I am actually doing what I need to, to protect and elevate the least among us. This is counter-intuitive, because our natural response to a disaster or illness is to act. Jesus’ response to the needy and marginalized around him is to heal them, or feed them, or bless them. But like Jesus turning everything upside down, making the last first and the least greatest, we do something profound by doing nothing at all.
It is hard, sitting at home, pacing around the house and occasionally riding my bike around the neighborhood when the weather cooperates. It is a very different way of responding to a crisis around me that feels like I’m shirking some responsibility. The COVID-19 virus is challenging us in a lot of ways, forcing us into lives and habits that are unfamiliar, making us uncomfortable, anxious, or outright fearful of the change. We have nowhere to go for emotional or moral safety, because the virus infects, and kills, without regard for political or religious beliefs, without regard for social or economic status, without regard for race or ethnicity. What has divided us as a community and a nation has been torn off and discarded, and we feel vulnerable, not being able to say who is right or wrong, good or bad. We are having to relate to each other in unfamiliar ways that seem to violate the social rules we have set up to protect ourselves from “them”. But in this moment of fear and vulnerability, we hear a call that transcends what has separated and polarized us. We hear a call to compassion, a call to help, a call to protect the least among us. This Lenten sacrifice we are struggling to make is our response to that call, and one that we will live in well beyond Easter. I hope that it is a response that we will make permanent, to put aside differences, to care for the least, and to see each other as humans, to treat each other as children of God who loves us equally.
thanks Pete!
ReplyDeleteYou're quite welcome. I'm glad you got something from this.
ReplyDelete