"And when he was at table..." (again)

-- I've been talking abut the appearance of Communion tables in churches during Sunday worship.  This all began with my post dated July 14 of this year. -- 

The other stuff on the table, is it “proper?”  Nope.  I would grudgingly give in to the placement of a cross on the table, but if and only if there was no other visible cross in the chancel area of the sanctuary.  If there is a large cross on the wall (or suspended from the ceiling) or even a processional cross up front, the table cross becomes redundant.  And I can tell you from experience that celebrating communion while working around a table cross is somewhere in between inconvenient and impossible.
 
Sometimes we treat the table as an “altar.”  Altar is a terribly misunderstood word in many of our churches.  We sometimes use it to refer to the kneeler or kneeling rail at the front of the chancel.  Some label the Communion table as altar.  Truth be known, many in the church use the term “altar” without clarity or understanding.  A church that has a true altar has a furnishing, usually a solid block without legs that the church situates against the wall at the back of the chancel area.  There it houses Communion elements but nothing else.  If we look at the biblical description of an altar, it is a place where animals are killed and then set on fire as an offering to God.  I honestly can't remember the last time I saw this in a Christian church.
 
This is not a place for full – or empty – offering plates.  The table is not a resting place for stuff when we have no idea what to do with it.  

Again, as I worshipped in a particular church several years ago, the preacher would come out of the pulpit (for whatever reason) and prop his computer tablet on the table and refer to his sermon notes while he stood alongside the table.
 
The way a portion of the church treats the Communion table causes the table to lose its sense of the holy.  It is as if the body and blood of Christ have equal standing with flowers and offering plates.  It causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…
 
Dr. James F. White was one of the giants of the liturgical movement in The United Methodist Church and beyond a few years ago.  He made an observation that has always stayed with me.  He said, “Show me a church that has an open Bible on the table, and I’ll show you a church that doesn’t use either one.”
 

“Ah, Rick!  All of a sudden in retirement you’ve got too much time on your hands and now you are becoming a curmudgeon!”  Maybe.  But when the church ceases to treat sacred things as holy and everything becomes plain vanilla then we lose an appreciation of the divine.  Please, please, don’t stand for that.  Don’t let it happen. 
 
Lord, have mercy!
Christ, have mercy!
Lord, have mercy!

 

 

"And when he was at table..."

Well, almost everybody who knows me has heard that I am in the very early days of my retirement.  After 51(!) years in the pulpit, I now attend worship from the other side of the chancel rail.  I’ll have to admit that it is different.

I also know that there is more than one way to do things in worship, and one is not necessarily more “right” or “correct” than the other.  I am a decorated veteran of the worship wars so I am aware that one has to make a differentiation between preference and true tradition.

Having said that, I have a couple of observations regarding the church in which I worshipped this past Sunday.  I won’t name names, because I don’t want to get into that sort of controversy.  Rather, let me describe what I saw when I went into this particular sanctuary.  It has a divided chancel – which I much prefer.  On the platform, between the pulpit on congregation left and the lectern on the right stood a Communion Table.  It is an impressive piece of furniture, a large substantial pedestal-type table. It has plenty of room and I can imagine presiding at such a table.  On the table stood a brass cross¸ even as the entire table stands underneath a massive wooden cross that hangs from the ceiling.  There is also a processional cross standing on the platform, though no one carried it in or out for this service.  But, as I say, the large cross sat on the table.  To the worshippers' left on the table was a large open Bible, propped at an upright angle that almost defied gravity.  On the right side of the table was an enormous flower arrangement (at least they were true cut flowers and not plastic).  As the service progressed the time came to receive the morning offering.  After the singing of the Doxology, the pastor took the offering plates and placed them on the table behind the Bible.

I suppose that, at this point, I should distinguish between my understanding of the table and a “worship center.”  Worship center is not an historical part of our worship.  Visuals are vital to our worship experience.  But that includes paraments, banners, flowers and other appointments that we may use in our sanctuaries or worship areas.  Please notice that I describe these elements as “appointments.”  Each of these items make their contribution – individually and as part of a collective – to the worship of God.  They are not “decorations.”  We do not seek to make our worship space “pretty.”  The presence – and absence – of these visuals make a statement about the particular day’s gathering.  And, there are many appropriate platforms for the presentation of these pieces.

That does not, DOES NOT, include scattering the Communion table with all manner of flotsam.  I attended a particular church service during Advent several years ago.  This Communion table housed an Advent Wreath, a creche, flowers, offering plates, Upper Room devotional booklets and a bit more.  I was in this church on a Sunday when this congregation celebrated Communion.  While the Communion table sat on the platform with this hodge-podge of clutter, the church had set up a plastic folding table on the floor of the chancel area.  There they situated the bread and cup.  This church relegated the body and blood of Christ to a subordinate, almost invisible, place in its sanctuary.  (It still gives me shivers.)

So, traditionally what DOES belong on the table proper?  The Communion elements find their place there, of course.  What else?  Nothing.  Nothing else. (I make exception here for seasonal paraments or the traditional fair linen as they almost serve as being a part of the table itself  If a meal table has a tablecloth, that is most appropriate.)  You can make an argument for candles, though freestanding candles at each end of the table would be better.  Parenthetically, we might ask, “Why candles in the first place?”  The madey-uppy answer that those who don’t really know is, “They remind us of the time in our history when the church met in catacombs in order to avoid persecution.”  That is interesting, of course.  But when so many of our churches ignore two thousand years of tradition, why hold on to a vague recollection of a time of persecution?  Do we find ourselves in solidarity with those – historical and contemporary – who endured persecution?  That is not a bad question on which to meditate.

But that is not why candles find their place on our tables.  It does harken to a piece of church history, although much more mundane than systematic persecution.  Why does one place a lit candle anywhere?  To provide light.  In a time before overhead fluorescent electric light fixtures, the officiant or celebrant at the Communion table required light in order to lead in the liturgy.  Why make something difficult out of something easy?

I'll have a little more to say about this soon.

The peace of the Lord be with you.

Sometimes, we can't leave well enough alone

 Luke 10:25-37
²⁵ An expert in the law stood up to test Jesus.^[a] “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ²⁶ He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” ²⁷ He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” ²⁸ And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

 ²⁹ But wanting to vindicate himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” ³⁰ Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead. ³¹ Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. ³² So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³ But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him, and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ ³⁶ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” ³⁷ He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

I just can’t help loving this poor guy.  I’m not talking about the victim in the parable – or the Samaritan or the priest or the Levite or the innkeeper – but rather the “expert in the law” who set this whole thing up.
 
Now, please don’t think that the admonition for merciful living eludes me.  This is a marvelous parable.  But there is a kind of big-picture issue that I think speaks volumes to all of us who study and live out Bible truths.
 
This expert in the law asks Jesus how he might inherit eternal life.  Jesus knows that there are all kinds of sectarian answers to the question.  So, if only to see if he can be on the same page as the questioner, Jesus turns the question back to the expert and asks, “Well, what do you think?”
 
The expert quotes the Shema from Deuteronomy 6:5. This is the defining scripture passage for all Israel.  It would take way too much time to outline the significance of this verse here.  Suffice to say that this is a scripture portion which all practicing Jews would recognize.  The questioner then tacks on Leviticus 19:18b, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
 
To this Jesus replies, “Good job.  You hit the nail right on the head.  Live like this and you’ve got your bases covered.”
 
Here, the expert of the law should have thanked Jesus for his time and moved along.  But, BUT, the guy just can’t leave well enough alone.  He has to say a little more.  He has to push things a little farther.  He desires to “justify himself.”  He is looking for another “ataboy.”  He seems to want more affirmation from Jesus that he has gotten things right.
 
So, he pushes his luck.  “Love your neighbor as yourself.  Fine.  But just who exactly IS my neighbor?”
 
This is where that sectarian question kicks in.  Rabbis variously have said that “neighbor” means those who dwell in close proximity to you, as in “next-door neighbor, backdoor neighbor, down-the-street neighbor.”  Others would say those who live in your town or district.  A broader meaning includes those of one’s tribe, or even all Israel.”  So, the expert says in essence, “and who are the people whom I must love in order to inherit eternal life?”
 
The answer is in the parable that Jesus tells, and I am guessing that all this didn’t make our expert vary comfortable.  He is, after all, a person whose confederates have tended to be conservative, party-line toeing¸ traditional scribes or Pharisees.  People generally see this fellow as being in an adversarial relationship to Jesus.  So, a parable that elevates a Samaritan (historic opponents of Jerusalem Judaism) to a level of admiration, and then compels the expert to make such an admission, must be a bit uncomfortable for Jesus’ questioner.
 
It seems to be a common human trait that we can’t just leave well enough alone.  We push, we lean in, and the result is often that we abandon our comfort zone.  This expert in the law could have taken Jesus’ initial response, tipped his hat, and walked away.  But in order to try to turn the conversation back on himself, he gives Jesus the opportunity to tell him that he must live like the Samaritan in the parable.  It didn’t take long for a nice, safe answer to turn into a squirming, collar-tugging admission.
 
I think Luke must have this in mind as he tells the story.  There is a rather simple truth wrapped up in a larger observation on human nature.  It is not always possible to discern the ramifications of our words – or deeds.  A thoughtful approach to all that we do yields a more faithful outcome.
 
The peace of the Lord be with you.

 

 

 

 

 

Just say "No!"

In The United Methodist Book of Worship (BOW), there are guidelines for conducting a variety of worship services.  As you might expect, there are rituals for marriage, for funerals, for Holy Communion and for a variety of other church observances. 

The portal for participating in all such events is Baptism.  The BOW there are six services of Baptismal Covenant that address a variety of contexts.  The language for each of these includes a pair of questions early in the ritual.  These are:

            Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness,
            reject the evil powers of this world,
            and repent of your sin?

Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you

to resist evil, injustice, and oppression
            in whatever forms they present themselves?

All who would become a part of The United Methodist Church answer these questions in the affirmative, or the service does not continue.

“Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness…?”  I would agree that, at one level, that leaves a lot open to interpretation.  But on the other hand, there is a certain amount of “I know it when I see it” involved.  I wouldn’t want to involve myself in the pages and pages it could take to come anywhere close to defining “the spiritual forces of wickedness.”  But, if it waddles like a duck and quacks like a duck, it is most likely a duck.  The ritual question doesn’t invoke words like “sin” or “unrighteousness.” It says “wickedness.”  The word itself leaves a bad taste in the mouth.  For the living of these days the church calls us to renounce and reject those things that do not glorify God.  I’m sorry – that is simple enough.  The day’s news headlines give ample illustration of what does and does not glorify God.  Invoking the name of God for the sake of a Fallen agenda does not glorify God.  A prayer circle on the floor of congress where the participants invoke the name of Jesus in order to dismantle health care and providing a basic living for those in need while establishing a budget for ICE that exceeds that of the FBI and CIA does not glorify God. 

The second question amplifies the first: “Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves?”  Freedom.  Freedom to resist or accept.  The freedom to make choices is one of the first options extended to the newly-created man and woman in the Book of Genesis.  They made a poor choice, but the choice was theirs to make.  The church here encourages us to employ our freedom in order to make the right choice.  Say “No” to evil.  Say “No” to injustice.  Say “No” to oppression.  And say no to each and every form in which these wicked forces make themselves known.

Renounce.  Resist.  Embrace those things that glorify God.

And no matter who the proponent – government, office-holders, obscenely wealthy heads of corporations, law enforcers, politicians who are too busy feathering their nests to govern efficiently and fairly, thugs on the streetcorner – no matter who.  Say no.  Just no.  No.

The peace of the Lord be with you.

thoughts on 2 Kings 5:1-14

 1 Now Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded, because through him the LORD had given victory to Aram. He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy.  2 Now bands of raiders from Aram had gone out and had taken captive a young girl from Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife.

3 She said to her mistress, “If only my master would see the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.”  4 Naaman went to his master and told him what the girl from Israel had said.

 5 “By all means, go,” the king of Aram replied. “I will send a letter to the king of Israel.” So Naaman left, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold and ten sets of clothing.  6 The letter that he took to the king of Israel read: “With this letter I am sending my servant Naaman to you so that you may cure him of his leprosy.”  7 As soon as the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his robes and said, “Am I God? Can I kill and bring back to life? Why does this fellow send someone to me to be cured of his leprosy? See how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me!”

 8 When Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his robes, he sent him this message: “Why have you torn your robes? Have the man come to me and he will know that there is a prophet in Israel.”  9 So Naaman went with his horses and chariots and stopped at the door of Elisha’s house.  10 Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”

 11 But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy.  12 Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage.

13 Naaman’s servants went to him and said, “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’!”  14 So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy.

I truly believe that churches ought to read this story without comment about once a month.  Don’t preach it.  Don’t wax eloquent about lessons learned.  Don’t say, “Now, aren’t we often like Naaman the Syrian?”  Just put it out there and let it do its work.  It is a powerful statement about God, about God’s servants, and about pilgrims who would approach God.

There are a lot of secondary issues here that could seduce us if we would let them. We could understand and even support this kidnapped servant girl if she had said to herself, “Well, there is a prophet in Israel who could help this leper.  But he has raided my home and taken me captive and pressed me into servitude.  Why should I do anything good for him?”

 The king of Israel is in a bit of a pickle.  Out of the blue a foreign general, and an officer of some repute, shows up at his door with a letter of introduction from a rival king extolling Israel’s king to cure this military man of his leprosy.  We comprehend that the Israelite king believes that this foreigner has come to pick a fight.  We could spend a lot of time reflecting on the king’s conundrum.

There us the conduct of Elisha himself that puzzles us.  We sort of expect our great biblical figures to be kind and accommodating and gentle.  (That is not always accurate, but that is often our anticipation.)  Their door is always open; they are always ready to receive visitors with a pot of hot tea and a tray of biscuits.  “Welcome!  Welcomed!  Come in!  What can I do for you?” is our unspoken attitude.  But Elisha here is curt, even rude.  Are we to infer that this is the recommended attitude for servants of God?

But these are inconsequential concerns.  What is on the front burner is that God is a mighty God, who will exercise power and mercy as God so chooses.  We also come to understand that God will work in whatever manner God wishes, irrespective of our preconceived notions.  I just love the point in this story where Naaman says, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy.  Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So, he turned and went off in a rage.  He wants some magic words and grand gestures, maybe a little thunder and lightning.  Instead, Elisha stays indoors and sends him a message to perform the most mundane of acts.

I once heard Zan Holmes talk of visiting a physician’s office after a period of feeling less than vibrant.  The doctor performed all the usual testing and examining.  Then the doctor took out a prescription pad and wrote a little something on it, ripped the page from the pad, and gave it to the patient.  It said, “Walk.”  The patient was irate.  “How much is this examination costing me?”  “Five hundred dollars” was the doctor’s reply.  “Five hundred dollars!” said Holmes.  “For that kind of money, I want some LATIN!”

 Elisha wasn’t asking for grand gestures.  He wasn’t promising cosmic signs.  He was asking Naaman for a humility in which he would merely do what God (through Elisha)) asked him to do. 

I think we ourselves would fast or give or sacrifice in order to receive some blessing we couldn’t acquire otherwise.  But, ordinary acts, acts of humility, are at times the most difficult things to do.  Or we are resistant because they seem common.

Naaman’s servant advises his master, “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’ ”

He’s a pretty good theologian.

The peace of the Lord be with you.

 

 

Some more thoughts on Luke 9

 Luke 9:51-62 (NRSVu)

⁵¹ When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. ⁵² And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, ⁵³ but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem. ⁵⁴ When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”^[a] 55 But he turned and rebuked them. ⁵⁶ Then^[b] they went on to another village.

 ⁵⁷ As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” ⁵⁸ And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” ⁵⁹ To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” ⁶⁰ And Jesus^[c] said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” ⁶¹ Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” ⁶² And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

I heard a sermon on this text Sunday (not a surprise – it is the gospel Lesson for the Third Sunday After Pentecost in the Revised Common Lectionary, and would have been the lesson for the day in numerous churches) that was by and large thoughtful and insightful.  But it left me begging at one point. 

The preacher talked of Jesus’ setting his face to Jerusalem, and of the resistance Jesus met in the Samaritan village.  The preacher spoke of the people whom Jesus summoned, and how one asked leave to go and bury a parent and another who responded by wanting to go and say some family farewells.  The pulpiteer demonstrated some depth of thinking that was encouraging.  But, in moving through the various elements of this pericope, the speaker omitted any reference to the encounter with the first individual altogether.  This is the person who said to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.”  Jesus’ reply is, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

This omission could have been an expedient – preachers sometimes can’t address every issue in the time allotted for a sermon.  The preacher may have wanted to examine a single strand of thought and considered that this portion of the reading didn’t support that exploration.  It could be that, in the mind of the preacher, it would take too long to unpack this portion within the framework of the sermon.  Sometimes we just don’t know what to do homiletically with certain pieces of material.

I contend, however, that the omission of this portion interrupts the flow of the narrative.  If in reading 9:51-62, we push the other material aside, what remains is a three-fold pattern: “I will follow,” “Follow me,” and again “I will follow.”  In each small conversation, there is a kind of thesis statement (“I will follow,” “Let me first…” “I will follow, but…”  What Jesus offers in each instance is commentary.  To maintain that there are two or three separate stories here – I believe – is to lose track of what is going on.  Each portion is as vital to internalizing the story as another.  Without a part, we miss out on the whole.

Let me be quick to say that it is not my purpose to tear down this preacher or to diminish the work done.  I have said that I thought the presentation was thoughtful and insightful.  I am left not so much with criticism as with hunger.

As I have observed previously, the twice-stated subject of this overall thought is, “he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  There are several responses to Jesus’ conviction.  I just would liked to have heard about them all.

The peace of the Lord be with you.

"And he set his face toward Jerusalem"

 Luke 9:51-62 (NRSVu)

⁵¹ When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. ⁵² And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, ⁵³ but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem. ⁵⁴ When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”^[a] 55 But he turned and rebuked them. ⁵⁶ Then^[b] they went on to another village.

 ⁵⁷ As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” ⁵⁸ And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” ⁵⁹ To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” ⁶⁰ And Jesus^[c] said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” ⁶¹ Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” ⁶² And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

This is the gospel lesson for Sunday, June 29 according to the Revised Common Lectionary.  Much of what is in this pericope is familiar to us.  But we frequently cherry-pick this passage and read fragments rather than the whole.  The fragments can be confusing.  A little clarity comes from considering the section as a whole.

Consider the several folks that Jesus encounters here.  There are the people of a  village in Samaria.  The text says that these Samaritans wouldn’t receive Jesus because “his face was set toward Jerusalem.”  That is an oddity, because it is unlikely that a Samaritan village would receive any Jew who was passing through their territory: “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans” -- John 4:9.

On the road, Jesus encounters someone who proclaims, “I will follow you wherever you go!”  Jesus dismisses him.  The reason is a bit unclear.  Jesus goes on to say, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  If the volunteer is looking for a kind of permanence, he will not find it here.

Finally, there is a pair of people whom Jesus summons, and each one has a delaying response: “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”  Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.”  Jesus then apparently moves on down the road and does not wait for these folks.

So, a village that says “No” on the basis of Jesus’ motive; a person who seeks to follow and is denied; and a brace of people who receive a call, but who make excuses.  What do these have in common.  And what do we take away from these seemingly disparate reactions to Jesus?”

Remember how this reading begins: “When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  That is no casual introductory statement.  It is in many ways the hinge upon which the entirety of Luke’s gospel depends.  We have had the infancy narrative and the record of the Galilean ministry.  But here, Jesus leaves home and hearth and familiar territory behind in order to travel to Jerusalem.  This is no trivial preliminary to a random road trip.  “When the days drew near for him to be taken up…” is an indication that Jesus intentionally embraced God’s plan, and that Jesus was now ready to set that plan in motion.  To go to Jerusalem is to go to Gethsemane, to the Judgement Hall of Pilate, to Calvary, to the Tomb.

One of the things that the other players in this little drama don’t get is that Jesus us going to Jerusalem to die.  The Samaritans may disagree with his choice of destination.  After all, Jerusalem is the seat of the powers that have rejected Samaritans for generations.  The person who would follow Jesus wherever he goes could not possibly intuit that Jesus was travelling to his time of sacrifice.  Those who gave a conditional “yes” to Jesus’ summons have no idea that they were delaying accompanying Jesus to a history-making moment over lesser priorities.

This entire reading is really a response to its opening line.  If Jesus is simply wandering across the landscape, then these encounters are trivial.  If these events are commentary on Jesus’ impending sacrifice, from our vantage point we see how short-sighted are the story’s participants.  

As modern-day disciples we see everything in light of the death (and resurrection, and ascension) of Jesus.  Our perceptions, our life choices, reflect our response the Lordship of Jesus Christ and his call on our lives.  Our preconceptions, our ill-considered thoughts and our mundane distractions can stand in the way of our following Jesus to the one destination that has any significance at all.

The peace of the Lord be with you.