They went to Capernaum...

With my friend, Jim Munroe, in "Naum's Village"

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." (Ephesians 6:12, NRSV)

In The Episcopal Church, last Sunday and this coming Sunday are Annual Meeting Sundays. About half of our parishes in the diocese I serve met last week and the other half will do so this Sunday, with a couple of outliers. It is a stressful time for clergy especially and I can only imagine that this year is off-the-charts. Budgets and ministry and electing volunteers (in sometimes contested elections on Zoom) and the ever-present but real "danger" that Sally or Joe have been waiting all year to express how disappointed they are in their priest all contribute to the possibility that anything can happen.

And most of us get a little anxious when anything can happen. In my days as a parish priest, I found that most of my worrying was mostly for nothing. But not always. I remember one or two annual meetings where, literally, "all hell broke loose." It's not fun. And it wears you down.

Anyway, I'm not preaching this Sunday. But over the years when this Sunday came up, I was focused on writing a rector's annual address which was only very rarely a "deep dive" into the scriptures for the day. In a year when the readings appointed for this Sunday would come up, for example, I might focus in on a line from the reading from First Corinthians and remind the parish that "knowledge puffs up but love builds up" and then try to address the ways that perhaps both experiences had unfolded in the past year.

This year, however, I am neither a parish priest nor leading an annual meeting. I am not preaching this Sunday and what follows is not a sermon. It is, rather, a theological reflection on the gospel reading from the first chapter of Mark's Gospel, which is intense. You can find it here. It's a hard text to preach on in a progressive mainline congregation where talk of "unclean spirits" is rare. But I think we need to reclaim this Biblical language. The world depends on us doing that. 

Since this is not a sermon, however, a brief digression. I minored in theology as an undergraduate and studied in three respected seminaries after that. I have a lot of formal theological education and I've read a lot of theological books. I don't say that to puff myself up with my knowledge but only to say that without missing a beat, if you asked me to share a "Top-Ten List" for ordained pastors from the hundreds and even thousands of books I've read, these three would be on that list: 

• Walter Wink's Trilogy, (ok, I'm just counting this as one!) about "the powers." Forced to pick just one, I'd pick Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. I have previously written posts on these books here, and here, and here, and here. (See why it's a good thing this is not a Sunday morning sermon! It might be easier to just read Wink's trilogy than to wade through those four blog posts. I wrote them during a sabbatical when I had some time to think!)
• Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark's Story of Jesus. Honestly this is the best commentary I've ever read on any of the four gospels. You can find some great stuff on Myers and his approach to Biblical interpretation here.  As they put it on the site where you can buy the book, Myers "integrates literary criticism, socio-historical exegesis, and political hermeneutics in his investigation of Mark as a manifesto of radical discipleship."
• M. Scott Peck's, People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil. And this is my last link to myself, I promise, but I have written about this powerful book here.

So I realize this is a bibliography of sorts. Some of my readers here may have read some of these books and others may never have heard about any of them. But together they have shaped the way I think about and interpret the line from Ephesians with which I began and my understanding that evil is real. And that shapes my reading of this Sunday's Gospel, from the first chapter of Mark. 

In preparing parents with young children for Holy Baptism over decades, I always knew where the conversation would get interesting and real. It was in these these questions addressed to them as parents and godparents: 

• Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God? (Answer: I renounce them.)
• Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God? (Answer: I renounce them.)
• Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God? (Answer: I renounce them.) 

And then later, the first petition as the candidate for Holy Baptism is presented is this: "Deliver them, O Lord, from the way of sin and death." This language is highly symbolic but that doesn't mean it is not also very real. I would begin the conversation by asking these young parents: "what are your biggest fears about this child you have brought into the world? what do you worry could go wrong?"

Every parent gets this language whether they buy the whole Christian thing or not. They worried about war and rumors of war. They worried about drug and alcohol abuse and addiction. They worried about schoolyard bullies. They worried about racism and sexism and homophobia. They began to articulate how they could not protect their child fully from all the dangers of this world. Yes, now we could begin to make sense of these things that seek to corrupt and destroy the creatures of God. 

I don't remember anyone ever saying they worried their kid might be radicalized as a white nationalist. Or join a cult. But I think we need to find ways to talk about that, too. Foolishly and perhaps naively there was some part of me (in spite of that reading list above) that thought things might get better overnight in this country on January 21. Make no mistake about it; I think we are moving in a better direction than we were in the past four years. But those forces of evil - the forces unleashed on our Capitol on January 6 but also present throughout this nation's history in extremists groups like the KKK have been there all along. It's just that we can live for a while in our happy bubbles where this feels like an occasional unexplainable incident. We can no longer afford to be complacent, however. 

I think the big work for the Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery, in 2021 and beyond - is to confront White Nationalism in the name of the Risen Christ. I think the big work is to pay attention to all those Jesus signs on January 6 and also the one that said, "Nancy Pelosi is Satan." They invaded the U.S. Capitol in the name of Jesus! For the love of God, how sick is that? (See this excellent article from Sojourners Magazine.) They took God's name in vain and Christian leaders like me need to be clear about this. Dare I say it this way: their claims are demonic?

So, in this week's gospel reading there is a little ditty about Jesus walking into the synagogue in Capernaum and teaching "as one with authority." The Greek word is exousia. The unclean spirits know who he is and what he means to do. He means to unmask and to engage and to resist "the powers" of this world that seek to destroy the creatures of God. We may be tempted to think this work only happens out in the world - out in the streets - in mob violence and acts of terrorism. But evil sometimes can take hold of congregations. This is the sad and even frightening thing you discover as a parish priest but even more in diocesan ministry. Sometimes clergy abuse their power and authority and exploit and hurt God's people, male and female, young and old. When that happens, it stays in the water for a very long time. In my work I have sat with people now older than I am, who were hurt by clergy in ways we rarely speak about when they were ten, or eleven years old. It just does not go away...

In a week, our winter clergy day will be focused on antagonistic behaviors in the church: on bullying. If you didn't know this was a thing in the Church you may be new to the faith. You are surely not ordained, not even for a minute and a half. I'm not talking about honest heartfelt conflict which can be healthy. I'm talking about behaviors that destroy community. It happens and it's on the rise in these anxious stressful times. 

Many mainline "progressive" Christians were raised up to believe that "being nice" was the be all and end all of Christian discipleship. It is not. We have sometimes believed that if we just talk it through and appeal to reason we will be able to reach consensus. For way too long I believed this myself. No longer. You don't reason with bullies or overcome their abusive behaviors by being nice. You confront bullies with boundaries and clarity and the truth and by standing together. It's hard, exhausting work for lay and ordained leaders alike. I am grateful that when I was a parish priest, and I had to confront some bullies, that I had really capable wise, prayerful wardens to stand beside me. And to kneel with me in prayer, too. 

So this is a long post. To tell the truth it's written mostly for me. It fits the bill - lots of Rich ruminating! Most annual addresses aren't going to go this way - for lots and lots of reasons. And that's probable wise. 

Even so, there will be congregations in the diocese I serve where "all hell may break loose" at an annual meeting. And people don't usually know how to unmask, engage, and resist the powers in those moments. Too often the healthiest people leave. Who needs for church to be so exhausting?

We need to reclaim a vocabulary that is rooted in Holy Scripture and that is rooted in this week's gospel reading to do the work God has given us to do. No preacher can ever say about faithful followers of Jesus and those who claim the name of Jesus as bullies that "there are good people on both sides." We must choose sides - as Jesus does in this gospel reading. We must be willing to share the work of casting out unclean spirits, in the name of the risen Christ. If we mean to share in healing the Church and the neighborhood, we need to be clear about what we are up against. 

A Fishing Story

Today is the Third Sunday after the Epiphany. I have been asked to preach today at Saints James and Andrew in Greenfield - virtually. Below is the manuscript for that sermon.

Today’s gospel reading about the call of those two sets of brothers is important. And I do realize that two of those four are very near and dear to your hearts: James and Andrew. I get it. But you’ll just have to invite me back again, because I love Jonah too much to miss the chance to preach on this great fishing story today and that opportunity only comes up twice every three years. So here goes…

Once upon a time there was a man named Jonah, a prophet who never really got it. (Sad, but true!)

The Word of the Lord came to Jonah as it has come to God’s people throughout the Bible and down through the ages: as it came to Abraham and Sarah, Moses and Miriam and Aaron and Joshua the son of Nun and Rahab the prostitute; to Samuel and Jeremiah and Deborah and Esther and Peter and Andrew and the Zebedee boys and Mary Magdalene and Dorothy Day. And to each of us, in Holy Baptism.

The Bible doesn’t give us a lot of specifics about how that call becomes clear or offer seven habits of highly successful hearers of “the Word of the Lord.” But I’ve noticed two things that seem to be consistent throughout the Biblical narrative and down to the present day, whether the call is to be a bishop or a priest or a deacon or a more committed layperson:

1. It is impossible to hear God when you are doing all of the talking.
2. God is very likely to push you out of your comfort zone and ask you to take a risk you may well feel ill-prepared for.

God has this knack of using inadequate people to do very difficult work. So if God’s call scares you, then it might just be real. But be sure to listen closely for the angel that says, “be not afraid” and “I will be with you.” Again and again, the history of the Church is the still unfolding story of God working in and through ordinary people to do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. In a nutshell I think that is the whole of church history and the journey of faith for each member of Christ’s Body.

So back to Jonah: the Word of the Lord came to Jonah, “go at once to Nineveh, that great city, to proclaim God’s judgment there.” But Jonah didn’t want to go. In fact he promptly got on a boat to head in exactly the opposite direction. Nevertheless, God persists. And one of the points of the story, I think, is that if God calls us to a task, it’s easier to face up to it sooner rather than later because you can never outrun God. You may recall what comes next:  a storm at sea. Jonah is thrown overboard when it becomes clear that he is the cause of the storm and he is promptly swallowed by a great fish. And then the text says, quite literally, that the fish couldn’t stomach Jonah. So after three days of belly ache the great fish vomited Jonah back up on the shore right where he began. That’s where we picked up the story today:  the Word of the Lord comes to this reluctant prophet a second time. And the Lord says, “Jonah, go to Nineveh, that great city! (I AM really not kidding around!)”

This time Jonah goes. But he is still reluctant and his heart isn’t in it. Nevertheless, living in the belly of a great fish and being the cause of that fish’s indigestion is kind of gross. So he does it: “everybody repent. Thus saith the Lord…” And, amazingly the king and the people (and apparently even the cattle) of Nineveh all repent. This is pretty hilarious because usually the words of the prophets of Israel fall on deaf ears. Usually Israel tries to kill the prophets or ignore them or lock them up in an insane asylum. But these foreigners—these goyim—repent and change their ways. And God changes God’s mind about doing them harm and forgives them.

This confuses those among us who may be more familiar with the Unmoved Mover of the philosophers than with “I AM” of the Bible. We don’t like to hear about God changing God’s mind. It infuriates Jonah, but not for the same reasons it may trouble the defenders of Platonic idealism. It infuriates Jonah because he had assumed that his enemies and God’s enemies were one and the same. And so Jonah attempts a sort of jujitsu move against God; he tries to disarm God by turning God’s own nature against God:

I knew you were compassionate and gracious and slow to anger and abounding in kindness and renouncing punishment. And that’s exactly why I fled to Tarshish in the first place! I’d rather die than have you extend that kind of love and forgiveness to Ninevites!

My friends: the most real thing about the God of the Bible is not changelessness. The most real thing about God is that God is abounding in steadfast love and mercy. Meister Eckhardt once said, “You may call God love, you may call God goodness. But the best name for God is compassion.” Or as the Prayerbook puts it, “God desires not the death of sinners but that they may turn…and live.” (BCP 269) God’s change of mind is not out of fickleness! In fact it is completely in keeping with God’s character to show mercy to all who repent. Even Ninevites.

Some scholars believe that Jonah is a post-exilic book. That is, it was written as an op-ed piece after the Babylonian exile. That reading has always made the most sense to me as the right historical context. If it is, then it takes on an even more profound meaning because it’s about asking Jonah to forgive the very same people who caused the exile. (Nineveh is in Assyria, by the waters of Babylon.) So now you know the rest of the story, right? That little bit of geography makes all the difference in how we hear the story. But regardless of its original context, it’s a story for all times. Is God on our side? Or does God love all the little children of the world? (And even the cattle.) Can God’s love and mercy and forgiveness and healing extend even to those from whom we are tempted to withhold grace? Or would you rather die with Jonah than believe that God can forgive the people that you find undeserving of mercy and forgiveness?

I want to say a few words about each of the three main characters in this story. First, we should notice that Jonah is a funny character, but that he is not unique in the Bible. He is what you might call an unfaithful insider. Israel, as it turns out, has a lot of experience with this, and so does the Church. It’s about being God’s chosen people and yet behaving like everybody else. God says to Israel on a fairly regular basis something parents have been heard to say to their children over many centuries: you ought to know better! If you can recite the psalms and quote from Scripture, but are not a doer of the Word (as the epistle of James puts it) then what on earth is the point?

The foil to Jonah in this story are the faithful outsiders, the Ninevites. This, too, is not an isolated Biblical claim. Ruth, you will remember, was a faithful outsider too, a Moabite woman who understood covenantal love and responsibility quite well. “Wherever you go,” she told her Jewish mother-in-law, “I will go. Your people will be my people and your God will be my God.”

In the New Testament there is of course that “good” Samaritan. I always think it helps if you are of a generation that can hear George Carlin offering a litany of oxymorons like “jumbo shrimp” or “military intelligence” that we should hear him saying “good Samaritan” in the same tone of voice. Yet it is that faithful outsider who shows mercy. In doing so he reveals the will and even the face of God. The irony down to our own day is that sometimes people who claim to be atheists are a lot kinder and more merciful and loving than we Christians are. Sad, but true

The goal of this story is therefore a double whammy that is meant to convert faithful insiders. That may sound odd to our ears: we are tempted to think that we are already “converted” and our sole purpose is to make sure others know what we know. But this story pushes that presupposition. I think the right response to this fishing story is not resentment or denial, but laughter. This is pretty funny stuff because it hits so close to home and also, I think, because if we can laugh at ourselves, then we have a shot at redemption. The problem is that very often religious people are too serious. 

This leads me to the third character in the story: God. Most of us find it pretty comforting to be told that God is a God of steadfast love and mercy, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. At least when it comes to how we hope God will treat us! But when that same love and mercy extend to people we don’t like very much, then we may begin to wonder if God isn’t getting a little soft on sin. With our enemies we sometimes wish God’s judgment would kick in. It turns out, though, that God’s love is so deep and so broad and God’s grace is so amazing that it can save not just wretches like us, but even wretches whom we don’t like very much.

Our Jewish friends read the Book of Jonah at the afternoon service on the day of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In that liturgical context it serves for them primarily as an invitation to repentance: an invitation to return to God and entrust themselves to God’s steadfast love and mercy. They are reading the story in a way that calls upon them to do what the Ninevites did: to repent and return to the Lord. If we were to read this story on Ash Wednesday we’d probably hear it in a similar way.

But our liturgical context on this weekend is three weeks after the arrival of the wise guys in Bethlehem. One of the themes in these weeks between Epiphany and Ash Wednesday is about call – like the call of those brothers in today’s gospel. This day’s collect sums this up nicely: Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ… And our socio-political context is just a few days into a new chapter in American history that seems to be calling us to find ways to bind up the wounds of this bitterly divided nation.

So I wonder how Jonah helps us to answer this question: “What kind of community is God calling us to become?” And, “what kind of Christians are being formed here in Greenfield in the traditions of James and Andrew?” Where are your epiphanies – which is to say how is God being made manifest in your lives and in the life of this faith community?

We are living in dangerous times. Politically, economically, globally we are facing huge challenges and the Church is not an escape from all of that. Rather, it is an invitation to enter into it all even more deeply. Like Jonah, we are called to share the message of God’s grace and mercy with a broken world. We are called to proclaim that what makes God real is the lengths to which God will go to prove that steadfast love and compassion for all people is the very nature of God. That God desires not the death of sinners but that we might turn, and live. 

Grant us wisdom, and courage, for the living of these days. Help us to be brave enough to see the light, and then help us to be brave enough to be the light. 

On The Way

In 1606, James VI and I attempted to formally unite England and Scotland. Something interesting to ponder, but it really has absolutely nothing to do with this post.

Rather, that is the number of miles that I walked in 2020. I am indebted to a friend, Jim Naughton, who posted last month that he sets an annual goal of walking the number of miles in the year, each year. So in 2020 he walked more than 2020 miles. It got me to thinking about how many I'd walked and the answer is 1606.

But that's a deceptive number, because from January - June 2020, I only averaged about 2 miles a day. Then, from July to December I averaged something closer to 7. My life before pandemic included time most days at the gym on an elliptical machine, but I did very little walking. But after the gym closed (and after I got beyond feeling paralyzed by the pandemic) I began a daily practice of walking on the Central Mass Rail Trail, three miles from West Boylston to Holden and then three miles back again, for a total of six miles. Pretty much every day since July 1. Most days I walk early in the morning when at all possible.

At some point, it became clear to me that this walking time was roughly the same as my daily commute from Worcester - Springfield had been - an hour each way. In other words, to think that I did not have the time in the day to do this, but should add another Zoom meeting or two started to sound a bit crazy to me. A lot crazy, actually. 

It has been physically good to do that much walking, and over that six month period I lost over thirty pounds. But the physical benefits have been nothing compared to the emotional and spiritual health, that is perhaps harder to measure but no less important.

I've learned that there are more than four seasons. I walk the same path every day, but you see new things each day and there is a difference between early fall and late fall, for example. I've made a new friend during this time as well, "Dee" walks each day from the opposite direction. He grew up in Beijing, but has lived in Holden for thirty years and retired a couple of years ago. Like me, he has two grown sons. We cross at roughly the halfway point twice each day and, with masks on and six feet apart, catch up on our lives and discuss religion, politics, and the meaning of life. 

My old commute was on the Mass Pike. This new "commute" is much slower and far less stressful, even in a time of pandemic. Walking allows one to see things differently. I've seen a turtle cross the path and I see birds and lots of squirrels and chipmunks and one day, even a raccoon. I see ducks and swans. This pace allows me to consider things rather than see them in a blur. It allows me to focus.

On my walks I occasionally "ponder in my heart" all of the time Jesus and his disciples were "on the road" or "on the way." The walking around the Sea of Galilee, of course. And that famous story about the wilderness road to Jericho and the Emmaus Road and the way through Samaria and on the way to Jerusalem are all key moments in Jesus' life. But there is also Paul's Damascus Road experience, and that encounter with the Ethiopian eunuch on the road to Gaza. I've decided not to listen to audio books or music on my walks; I'm just trying to pay attention. As Mary Oliver once put it, "I don't know exactly what a prayer is; I do know how to pay attention." So I imagine that I am not alone on the road, that I am walking with Jesus. I am convinced that this has made the pandemic not only bearable but spiritually enriching, to have this quiet time to wander and wonder, each day. 

So in 2021, I am resolved to join Jim Naughton and determined to walk 2021 miles this year. I know that life is lived only one day at a time and there are no guarantees. Lots can go wrong. But I am going to take it one day at a time and on days when walking is not possible, I'll make it up on the weekend. God willing, one day at a time. 

That's all we ever get. But to get through 2021, it means a commitment to average 5.5 miles a day, through all four seasons. Most days I will be on the Rail Trail, but the great thing I have discovered about walking is that you can do it anywhere. My first 5.5 miles of the new year were in West Halifax, Vermont. 

I realize that for some who are reading this, I'm preaching to the choir. But I'm much newer to this practice, so I've got the zeal of a convert! I also realize I have relatives who run a hundred miles in one day. I'm no extremist! I just want to double down on this practice; it's something I want to bring with me from 2020, into 2021. One day at a time. 

So, I'll see you on the way! And I cannot wait until we can walk again together, with friends, without masks. I am always glad to have companions on the way. 

Enjoy and Consider

I am not sure whether this post is a reflection on what I learned in 2020, or a prayer for 2021. Perhaps a bit of both. But it is my first official "rumination" of 2021. 

Lately my prayers have been bringing me back to Ecclesiastes. In my opinion, that book of the Bible is the most underestimated of all and least explored by scholars and ordinary people alike. 

The choice of the word “vanity” by the translators of this extraordinary book into English is unfortunate. There is a reason for it and the confusion goes all the way back to the late fourth century, when St. Jerome translated the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into Latin, in what came to be called the Vulgate. Jerome chose the Latin word, vanitas, for the Hebrew word, hevel. 

But the writer of Ecclesiastes isn’t talking about vanity in the same way that we use the word to talk about someone staring at himself in a mirror or as Carly Simon intended when she sang “you’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you.”  So let's forget about vanitas for a moment and focus on the Hebrew word: hevel. Literally it means vapor or mist or breath. (Think of a kid with the croup and running a vaporizer in her bedroom; that mist coming out is hevel.) 

The thing about vapor is that you can see it, but you can’t grasp it. Why? Because it’s not graspable. It’s more air than water. So we might more accurately try to hear that second verse of the very first chapter of Ecclesiastes in this way: vapor of vapors, says the Teacher, vapor of vapors. All is vapor. (Now admit it: that has very different implications than "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity...")

The writer insists that life is sometimes (and maybe even most of the time) like vapor. Ungraspable. Uncontrollable. We try to convince ourselves that it is otherwise and that the world we inhabit fits into a predictable Newtonian model where there is a cause for every effect. We sometimes assume that if we can influence the right causes then we will get the effects we desire. If we do “a” and “b,” then “c” will surely follow. 

Sometimes we plan our careers like that: if we go to this college and major in this subject then the next thing is we will find the right job that will lead us to the next right job. The problem is that the world isn’t always like that. Sometimes you do everything you are supposed to do and yet the result comes out of the blue for good or ill. Maybe you train hard to be a horseshoe maker and you are the best one in town, but then someone comes along and invents an automobile. (Damn it!) Or you get trained to work on the auto lines in Detroit but then the company moves overseas and now you are 42 years old with a couple of kids and you are out of work because of larger macroeconomic forces that you can barely understand, let alone control. All is vapor and a striving after wind. 

If you do “a” and “b,” then “c” is supposed to follow. But the world does not always work like that. So you eat more fiber and you reduce the saturated fats in your diet and you faithfully build in thirty minutes four times a week to get cardio-vascular exercise. You do everything your doctor tells you to do. It’s supposed to follow, then, that you will live to be ninety or a hundred, right? Except there you are, sitting in the doc’s office and before she opens her mouth to tell you the results of the tests you know what she is going to say. “How long do I have?” you ask with a trembling voice.

Life is not always fair.  In fact, sometimes life is brutally unfair. That is not an excuse to avoid hard work in school or to stop listening to our doctors. It just means that there are no guarantees. Sometimes the world is insanely unpredictable. It's like vapor, like mist. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, says the Teacher.  

Usually in English translations the writer is called “the Teacher” or in some translations, “the Preacher.” But here, too, it helps to go back to the Hebrew, which is Qoheleth: literally, “the Gatherer.” The irony here is clearly intentional. The Gatherer was taught in school that wisdom was like a commodity, something you could gather and control and use and manipulate. He once believed that. But what he has discovered in his life is that Wisdom, too, is more like vapor; it is simply not gatherable. Qoheleth seems to have been raised by parents and teachers who put a lot of stock in the Book of Proverbs, which is pretty good stuff about learning how to navigate your way in the world. It’s common sense, really. Mind your “p’s” and “q’s.” Look both ways before you cross the street. Honor your mother and father. Remember the meaning of the story of Pinocchio and choose your friends wisely. Because one bad apple can spoil the whole bunch. All that good stuff. There is a reason we get cliches; because over time they seem to reveal truth. At least most of the time. Just not all of the time. 

These things are mostly true. Of course it is better to study hard and you are more likely to succeed than if you don’t. And it is surely true that one should choose one’s friends wisely, because they influence the situations we find ourselves in and the choices we make. And it is also true that people who care for their bodies do live longer, as a rule. And I hope it's true that what goes around comes around. 

And yet...

None of these proverbial truths represent quite the whole truth and therein lies the danger. Because when bad stuff happens we often spend all of our time trying to find the cause and maybe even blaming the victim. This is where Qoheleth comes in. Proverbial wisdom is mostly true, but because life is more like vapor, it is not always true. Sometimes shit just happens. I had a class once at Princeton Seminary on wisdom literature and that is what the distinguished professor said about Qoheleth. Shit happens! Sometimes you choose the best friends and life still unravels. Sometimes you end up in the wrong crowd and that’s where you learn the most important of life lessons. 

I like to picture Qoheleth as a crusty old guy about my age. (I'll turn 58 in a couple of months.) If I were making Ecclesiastes into a film I’d convince someone like Jack Nicholson or maybe Clint Eastwood to play the lead and the film would open with him sitting at a bar and sipping on a scotch as he delivers those first lines:  Vapor of vapors, it's all vapor. Can you hear those famous voices? They need to be called in to to be lectors whenever we read from this great book...or at the very least the ordinary person reading the text needs to channel their inner Nicholson or Eastwood!

Qoheleth says that we will all face good days and bad days, but here is the thing: we cannot control which will happen when. So he offers two words of advice that summarize well the entire book: enjoy and consider. When life is good, then be sure you aren’t too busy to miss it. Enjoy. And when life is a mess, then stop and consider. Ask the question, what can I learn here? 

This is the verse I am taking from 2020 into 2021 and thanks to any reader who has made it this far! It's Chapter 7, Verse 14a.  It reads like this in the New Revised Standard (NRSV) translation: 

In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider; God has made the one as well as the other...

It is because life is not controllable or graspable—because it is more like vapor—that this is what we can do. In a year like 2020, for sure. But also in the days that lie ahead. It's not about what we "resolve" to do. It's about what comes our way, one day at a time. There will be good days ahead, and truth be told there were good days in 2020, even if it was mostly a hard challenging year. There were moments to enjoy. And shame on us if we were in too much of a funk about the hard stuff to enjoy them! 

And, for sure, there will be some pretty shitty days, too. That's the correct theological term. That's how you say it in Greek and Hebrew. Shit does happen. But - and usually in hindsight - those shitty days are also opportunities to learn and grow and to see. In Hebrew, that's what consider means. It means to look And to look again. It's a word that Jesus of Nazareth loved. Consider the lilies of the field, he said. Consider the birds of the air. Pay attention. 

Good days: enjoy. Soak it all in! Bad days: consider, look, and pay attention. As that most familiar of Qoheleth's sayings puts it, there is a time and a season for everything: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to pluck up what has been planted. One needs to learn how to tell time like that and learn to go with the flow, so if it is a time to be born then focus on birth. And if it is a time to die, then try to die well. The problem is that we forget how to tell time and sometimes try to force our own agendas "out of time."  We spend all winter yearning for spring except that spring comes and it's raining all the time because of those famous April showers. So we start dreaming about those long summer days, except that when summer comes it turns out to be too hot, so we can't wait until fall. As a distant cousin of Qoheleth once put it: the secret to life is enjoying the passage of time. We do that not by making every day sunny, but by learning how to tell time. And then enjoy and consider. 

For me, as a bit of a control freak by temperament and by training, there is tremendous freedom in recognizing the great vanity of thinking we were ever in control in the first place. From that place, good news can be discovered. One of the discoveries that can come from that place is something perhaps like the Serenity Prayer attributed to Reinhold Niehbur, who perhaps in some small measure was indebted to Qoheleth, and certainly to Jesus: 

            God grant me the serenity
            to accept the things I cannot change;
            courage to change the things I can;
            and wisdom to know the difference.

            Living one day at a time; 

            Enjoying one moment at a time;
            Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
            Taking, as Christ did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it;
            Trusting that God will make all things right if I surrender to His Will;
            That I may be reasonably happy in this life
            and supremely happy with Him forever in the next.