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Some Thoughts the Morning after Another Election
All in Weekly Lectionary
The writers of the gospels always tip their hands when it comes to Judas. Whenever we get the roll call of the disciples, they always make sure to point out that he is the one who is going to betray Jesus. It colors how we view him; like he is this sketchy guy who from day one is rubbing his hands together as he hatches his evil plot to destroy Jesus.
But that doesn't seem to be the way that everyone else saw him. Judas had been with these guys for probably three years. He sat under Jesus' teaching. He was sent out to minister and perform miracles like all of the rest. He was one of them and I have to think that, despite what happened down the road, his heart was in what was going on.
When Jesus tells the disciples that someone is going to betray him, a disciple does not immediately say, "Oh, it's totally Judas!" There is uncertainty. No one is sure who the spy is. The twelve look around wondering, "Is it him? Him? Is it me?"
Several hundred, some may say several thousand, years worth of anticipation hung in the air. Like summer humidity that sticks to your shirt the second you step outside, you couldn’t avoid it. Not today. Not on Passover week.
A guy claiming to be the Messiah, or, at least, who people said was the Messiah was nothing new. There had been tons of guys going around saying that they were the One; saying that they were going to show Rome what’s what. So a messiah making his way to Jerusalem was about as common as a singer-songwriter making their way to Nashville.
But this guy was different. There was a good deal of discussion over whether he was the right kind of different. It wasn’t so much that he talked like he was the Messiah. Word had it that he tried to keep a lot of that talk and even tales of his miracles under wraps. But those stories still got out: dead men walking, the blind seeing, demons plunging a herd of pigs over a cliff, and thousands fed with a lunch meant for a kid. It is hard to keep those type of things hush-hush.
His name certainly carried great weight. Yeshua, which translates to Joshua or, as the Greeks put it, Jesus. The Lord saves. Sure tons of people gave their boys this name. What parent doesn’t want their child to be the redemption of his people. You have to name the kid to fit the bill. Poindexter isn’t going to quarterback the state championship team and Biff isn’t going to find the cure for cancer. Joshua, like Messiah talk, was nothing special. But it seemed special. At least with him.
We are in the homestretch of Lent. And yet this week, we have the Annunciation of the Lord which remind us of Christmas; or, rather, Advent. How odd. Advent in March. I am used to the inverse happening. Around Christmastime, many are quick to take the baby Jesus and get him up on the cross as quickly as possible. But Gabriel appearing to Mary and promises of God with us in the spring? Imagine if your church threw up the tree and busted out some "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" this week. It would be jarring.
Jarring, but maybe necessary. Advent and Lent, Christmas and Easter still need some room to breathe (there is something to be said for the fact that Advent is sometimes called Winter Lent). I think there is something important to the uniqueness of these seasons. But maybe we need small moments like this week's passages to remember the bigger picture. I once led a retreat at a church one weekend in which we looked at the life of Jesus. We sang Christmas carols on Friday night, looked at Jesus' teachings and miracles on Saturday morning, observed communion and went through the Stations of the Cross on Saturday night, and celebrated Easter on Sunday morning. I loved it. There is something about remembering the larger story.
Each week, I take some time to reflect on one of the lectionary passages for the upcoming Sunday. This week for the fifth Sunday of Lent, we're going to look at the reading from Psalms: Psalm 51:1-12.
I am not sure that I would say that I love Psalm 51. It is hard to love something that so starkly reminds you of the failings and darkness that live inside. We like to believe we are basically good people; that though we have faults, they are largely excusable. Psalm 51 doesn't allow us that luxury. Its naked confessional nature cuts deeper than Paul's declaration that all of us have sinned.
I do not love Psalm 51, but I need it. When I screw up, it gives voice to how I feel and how I want to be made right with God.
But there has always been something about the passage that has bothered me: "Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight." As beautiful and needed as this psalm is, that third verse has always sounded off-key to me. After all, we are relational people and so our sin often harms those around us as well.
