Gospel reading: Luke 12.32-40 (Click HERE for last Sunday's readings)
Sometimes a guy walks into a bar, and it's not funny. The guy Kathleen Norris described in this chapter slept on her couch one night after her bartender husband deemed him too drunk to drive home. He had done some hard living while working in the oil fields of North Dakota. But for a time things seemed to be looking up. A promising future made a new business partner's shady past easy enough to ignore. Then one day the partner pulled his truck suddenly to the side of the road. An acquaintance had passed them headed in the opposite direction. Norris continues the story:
"I need to kill him," he said matter-of-factly, reaching for a gun that our friend had not known was stashed under the front seat. "I need to kill him, but he's with someone, and I don't know who. So it'll have to wait. Damn."
"It was right then I decided to get out," he said. "This was over my head." And that is salvation, or at least the beginning of it. The Hebrew word for "salvation" means literally "to make wide," or "to make sufficient," and our friend had recognized that the road he had taken was not wide enough to sustain his life; it was sufficient only as a way leading to death." (from Amazing Grace by Kathleen Norris)
What's interesting about this story is the way Kathleen Norris doesn't make it into an analogy of salvation or an allegory about salvation. It's an instance of salvation. Humans tend to fold their hands reverently and speak sweetly and beatifically when they speak of salvation. But the term wasn't primarily a religious one for the Hebrews. It was meant for the here and now.
When our son Alden was about three we hadn't been attending the Episcopal church in town for long. He wasn't receiving Communion then, and one Sunday the cup went past and he heard the words "The blood of Christ. The cup of salvation." He snapped to attention, pointing at the cup, saying, "I want some of that! I want some salvation!"
Salvation wasn't a spiritual concept. It was the stuff in that cup. And when we sat back down Ardelle started to explain to him that it wasn't really salvation in the cup. And then she realized that he was probably a lot closer to the truth than those of us in the adult world of abstractions and spiritual meanings. If salvation happens, it happens here. If it's not in the cup, what is? If it's not in the cup, where is it?
In last Sunday's gospel Jesus says "Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys." This is one of those biblical sound bytes that are so effective in turning our attention away from this life and toward the next in our search for salvation. Jesus certainly does tell us of treasure that does not wear out. But what he really tells us is to pay attention. Right now.
"Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit...Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert." There are eternal treasures it seems. But Jesus doesn't tell us to think about eternity. He says pay attention. Pay attention to the revolver pulled from under the seat of your friend's pickup truck. Pay attention to the cup that just passed in front of you. If you're off thinking about heavenly things salvation might just pass you by.
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(ramblings on theological things)
About Me
- Scott Walters
- Rector, Christ Episcopal Church, Little Rock, AR
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On Luke 12:40 "You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour."
Sometimes salvation comes in the form of a bacon wrapped fig. I had the opportunity last weekend to ride up to northwest Arkansas, to see and old friend who lives up there and to visit an Episcopal church I had never been to. It was a special occasion, so the church was packed. Mercifully the air conditioner was doing an admirable job.
The sermon was on familiar themes for us at Christ Church: Salvation is here and now; the gospels have us working out our own salvation, not that of other people; salvation comes in the form of unconditional love we share, and feel in places where the gospel is lived. And then the preacher said something that grabbed me. He told of having a friend over for dinner. The meal was a simple one consisting of BLTs with tomatoes form mother's garden, and a delicacy new to me; bacon wrapped figs. At the end of the meal the guest pushed his plate away and exclaimed, "That's good enough to make you want to live!"
As new to me as bacon wrapped figs is the idea that salvation is not Jusus up in the sky on the day of judgment, but a quiet meal at the kitchen table, enjoying home grown produce with a friend who knows how to love unconditionally. I guess I need to be ready, because maybe that is the Son of Man, serving up simple food and powerful salvation.
On the ride back my friend asked me what I had learned. I said I don't even know yet. More will be revealed, but I think I have tasted the uncontional love of Jesus in the form of a bacon warpped fig.
Salvations Many Forms
“…the uncontional love of Jesus in the form of a bacon warpped fig???”
Typographical errors being the creepy, sneaky things they are, and I being the hopelessly bad speller and proofreader that I am, I am always looking for any grammatical/spelling help I can get. It will be amazing to many to know, that it was only a couple of days ago, with the unconditionally loving help of a friend at the church, that I learned that I can write my blogs in “Word” and paste them into the blog, hence taking advantage of he obviously needed help my word processing program can give me. There is salvation in that.
It is just these sorts of logistical problems with words, from which we are spared in our Episcopal liturgy, by the policy that priests should confine themselves to authorized texts. I had the good fortune to participate in a liturgy recently that was cobbled together by a priest and his wife. It was so full of clumsy language, sloppy theology, and typographical errors that a friend and I had to have a chuckle. On the way home he asked me what I learned this weekend.
Part of what I learned is that we in the Episcopal/Anglican tradition have a great treasure in our liturgy. Hammered out with great care over the centuries, it is slow to change but none the less beautiful and in a powerful way, free of the sorts of inconsistencies I would certainly put in if I were writing it, say, now on my little lap-top.
There are those who, for political reasons, want a different liturgy in areas like the sacrament of marriage, and chafe at the insistence that priests in this diocese confine themselves to authorized liturgy. Coming myself from the Presbyterian tradition, where the laity are free to whip up homespun liturgy from week to week, some fabulous, some dreadful, I am grateful that we Episcopalians have this wonderful gift we call “the prayer book.” Each one of us may be able to come up with various changes we would like to make, for various reasons, no doubt all good ones. But as we roll around in our heads the changes we would make, let us take a moment to revel in the excellent gift we offer the world in our liturgy.
Salvation comes in many forms. Sometimes it is a little word processing help from good friend, and sometimes it is the realization that for all its slowness to change, our Episcopal liturgy offers to a world of pain and chaos, powerful salvation
Now I will try my hand at copying and pasting.
Salvations Many Forms
“…the uncontional love of Jesus in the form of a bacon warpped fig???”
Typographical errors being the creepy, sneaky things they are, and I being the hopelessly bad speller and proofreader that I am, I am always looking for any grammatical/spelling help I can get. It will be amazing to many to know, that it was only a couple of days ago, with the unconditionally loving help of a friend at the church, that I learned that I can write my blogs in “Word” and paste them into the blog, hence taking advantage of he obviously needed help my word processing program can give me. There is salvation in that.
It is just these sorts of logistical problems with words, from which we are spared in our Episcopal liturgy, by the policy that priests should confine themselves to authorized texts. I had the good fortune to participate in a liturgy recently that was cobbled together by a priest and his wife. It was so full of clumsy language, sloppy theology, and typographical errors that a friend and I had to have a chuckle. On the way home he asked me what I learned this weekend.
Part of what I learned is that we in the Episcopal/Anglican tradition have a great treasure in our liturgy. Hammered out with great care over the centuries, it is slow to change but none the less beautiful and in a powerful way, free of the sorts of inconsistencies I would certainly put in if I were writing it, say, now on my little lap-top.
There are those who, for political reasons, want a different liturgy in areas like the sacrament of marriage, and chafe at the insistence that priests in this diocese confine themselves to authorized liturgy. Coming myself from the Presbyterian tradition, where the laity are free to whip up homespun liturgy from week to week, some fabulous, some dreadful, I am grateful that we Episcopalians have this wonderful gift we call “the prayer book.” Each one of us may be able to come up with various changes we would like to make, for various reasons, no doubt all good ones. But as we roll around in our heads the changes we would make, let us take a moment to revel in the excellent gift we offer the world in our liturgy.
Salvation comes in many forms. Sometimes it is a little word processing help from good friend, and sometimes it is the realization that for all its slowness to change, our Episcopal liturgy offers to a world of pain and chaos, powerful salvation
Now I will try my hand at copying and pasting.
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