To anoint means to smear or rub with an ointment, lotion, or oil.  It also means to bless or to make holy.  I work in a hospital, where many people anoint patients with healing ointments on a daily basis, but others of us are anointed for all sorts of other purposes.  The readings I will contemplate today both have to do with anointing.  The first is from Isaiah 43:16-21

The second is from the gospel of John.  Before I give you the link I have to admit that I struggle with this gospel.  At the time this gospel was written, the Jesus-followers were splitting off from the rest of the Jewish community.  There was a lot of bad feeling on both sides and it comes through in this gospel in “anti-Semitism” or anti-Jewish feeling. 

This is unfortunate because for centuries after some people would use the anti-Semitism in the Christian gospels as an excuse for prejudice, hatred, terrible violence, and oppression against Jewish people, the ancestral people of Jesus. I think this would have made him both sad and angry, because he worked against oppression of all kinds. One positive message we can take from this is to careful about what we do or say, because it can cause ripples and consequences we never intended.  I don’t think John intended to perpetuate centuries of persecution of Jewish people.

 And still, I struggle with John’s gospel.  Today’s reading the gospel keeps talking about the Jews as if they are somehow separate or other than Jesus and his followers, who were all Jewish!  Jesus taught in synagogues and temples!  So I have changed to wording to reflect that, while Jesus lived, this separation did not really exist. 


John 12:1-11
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.  Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.)

Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.   You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” 

When the great crowd learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, 11since it was on account of him that many of Jewish people were deserting them and were believing in Jesus.

Anointing was the first thing that struck me in these readings.  When I looked at them I had just read the 23rd Psalm (The Lord is my Shepherd) to a patient and the words “He anoints my head with oil, my cup overflows” jumped out at me.  For the first time I realized there was an anointing there – an anointing that seems to have a healing quality to it.  That is one purpose of anointing, to heal.   

Anointing can also mean to empower a person to do something, or to recognize the power they already possess.  In scripture kings, priests, and prophets were anointed.  It was a ceremony or ritual that signaled a change, some threshold they had crossed into a calling.

Christ literally means “anointed one.”  For what was he anointed?  In Luke’s gospel Jesus goes into a synagogue early in his ministry and reads from the prophet Isaiah, chapter 62, 18“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, 19to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”  Jesus says, quite clearly, that this is what he has come to do. 

It’s interesting that he quotes the prophet Isaiah because I think the reading from Isaiah for today also talks about anointing.  Isaiah describes the Jewish people as anointed by God.  Speaking for God, he says, “21the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.”   That is our purpose.  We are anointed to declare praise for the Sacred.

So anointing can mean many things.  It can have a healing meaning. It can be about being called for a purpose. It can be about power – the power of a king, or of a priest, or of a prophet, or of a people- the power to priase.

Jesus proclaims himself to be anointed, as he is in this gospel reading.  In the other gospels there are also stories of a woman anointing Jesus, but it’s his head she anoints – this is how a king was anointed.  In John’s gospel Mary anoints the feet of Jesus, which was only done in anointing a dead body.

Barbara Brown Taylor, one of my favorite preachers, says that in doing this Mary is being a prophet, foretelling that Jesus will soon die.  Perhaps at some level she knew that would be her only chance, because when she and others came to anoint his dead body they would find only an empty tomb.

So all kinds of people can be anointed - healed, empowered, honored. My question is, have you ever been anointed?  Are you being anointed for some purpose that is growing in you?

Perhaps you have been anointed for the purpose of healing – someone has anointed you in order to heal you.  Or maybe you have been anointed others, to heal them.  Maybe since childhood you have wanted to help heal people who are suffering, as a doctor or nurse, or in some other way.  Have you ever been anointed?  Are you being anointed?  Sometimes it is something that grows slowly in you.

Perhaps you have been anointed for a kingly sort of purpose, like being a manager or being responsible for a number of people.  You may have always wanted that role, or the role may have chosen you.  Have you ever been anointed?  Are you being anointed, called to some different purpose in life?

Perhaps you have been anointed for some priestly purpose, to recognize through ritual the transitions in life.  Perhaps you have always felt the calling to help people in the transition from life to death – it’s a special calling.  Have you ever been anointed?  Are you being anointed?

Maybe you have been anointed to act as a prophet – to speak against injustice or to look into the future.  Maybe that flame has always been in you or maybe circumstances pushed you to the point where you had to stand up and speak.  Have you ever been anointed?  Are you being anointed?

Perhaps you have been anointed for the purpose of holding up and praising the sacred, the holy, what is most important in life.  That is an anointing anyone, in any role, can share.  Have you ever felt anointed for that purpose?  Are you being anointed for it now? 

If you have ever felt anointed for some purpose, you know it can be challenging and even dangerous, at times.  It was for Jesus.  Isaiah reassures us that even in those wilderness times we will find restoring waters that will refresh our spirits.  It is important to take advantage of those oasis times, so that we can return to our work.  Anointing does not mean driving ourselves into the ground.

And so being anointed can be comforting as well- imagine the comfort Mary offered Jesus in anointing his feet as she did.  She was saying, in her actions, that though he was going to die soon he would be surrounded by love - generous, humble love.

So I pray for all who are anointed and exhausted to receive the anointing of rest.  I pray for all who are called to an anointing, for the courage to take up that call.  I pray for all of us called to uphold the Sacred and praise what is important in life, that we may go through our days with praise in our hearts.

We Are Your Hands                   By Tess Baumberger

We are your hands upon this earth.
May we touch each other with gentle strength,
Offering healing, comfort, expressing love.

Your arms are our arms.
Give us strength to build the world
According to the blueprints of compassion.

We are your voice unto the nations.
May we speak words of comfort, hope,
And sing bravely songs of justice.

Your feet are our feet.
Guide them on the paths of righteousness
And when we become lost, find us.

We are your body on this earth.
Renew us who are your acting in the world
That we may experience your joy in the doing.

 We all know that terrible things happen in this world.  Last December we witnessed violence against innocent children and their teachers.  Almost every day we hear of terrorism and of political upheavals. We know the suffering caused by racism and other types of prejudice.  We see people harmed by natural disasters.   We know the realities of poverty, famine, disease.  

Those are large, global tragedies, but  we all know that terrible things can happen in our own lives.  Some of us may experience violence in our own neighborhoods, even in our own homes.  Some of us may have been the victims of racism, political oppression or terrorism. We may have suffered as the result of natural disasters, poverty, famine, and disease.  Terrible things can happen no matter how good you are, no matter how faithful, no matter how hard you pray.  This can lead some of us to doubt and to despair.  What are we to make of this?  How do we cope with this reality in our spiritual and religious lives?

Here are two scripture readings that address these questions, two of the readings for March 3rd, 2013.

Isaiah 55:1-13
Luke 13:1-9

This gospel reading begins with people telling Jesus about a terrible event - some Galileans put to death in an atrocious way.  The people who told Jesus about this were probably seeking comfort.  Judging my Jesus' response, it seems they had already comforted themselves by saying, “Those Galileans must have done something bad, so God let this bad thing happen We are good.  Nothing like that could happen to us.” 

This is an old idea rooted in the ancient covenant (a set of promises) that God established with Jewish people. Basically, if they followed the rules, God would protect and provide for them.  If they didn’t, all bets were off.  This was a satisfying theology so long as things went well - it meant they were good and righteous.   

But then disaster struck.  Foreign powers defeated them, destroyed the temple and forced Jewish leaders to go live in Babylon.  They had to live among the very people who had ruined their holy of holies, the very people who had killed their sons, brothers, fathers.  Given the belief in that covenant, people began to question whether they had done something wrong, to deserve such a tragedy.  It is hard to imagine they could have done anything to deserve such a fate.

We still see this religious reasoning today. When something terrible happens to others we wonder if God is punishing them, and when something terrible happens to us, we wonder if God is punishing us. Why is this idea still around, so many centuries later?  I can think of three reasons. 

First, we want to think we can prevent terrible events.  If they only happen to bad people, then by being good we think we can prevent them.  It gives us a feeling of control in a world that can often feel chaotic and out of control. 

Second, we are meaning-makers.  We look to find meaning in the world and in the events of our lives.  Whenever something happens, especially if it is negative, we want to understand why it happened – what does it mean? We want things to make sense in a world that includes meaningless tragedies.

Finally, I think we want the world to be just, with good people rewarded and bad people punished.  And of course we want to be counted among the good, feeling smug that we are better than others and so favored by God.  We want justice in a world that can sometimes (or often) be unjust.  

It makes sense that this ancient religious idea persists.  However, it has two unfortunate consequences.  First, it casts guilt on people who most likely have done nothing wrong and blames the victims for the trauma or tragedy.  Surely no one could think the children and teachers in Newtown, their families and friends and parents, did anything to deserve such a terrible thing.  It seems wrong to suggest such a thing.

The other problem is that this theology makes God out to be a terribly cruel, not at all like the God of my experience, or the merciful God in our reading from Isaiah.  This theology makes God out to be some sort of monster, when many people experience the Sacred as quite the opposite.

Returning to consider the gospel reading, people are disturbed about what happened to the Galileans and thinking they deserved such torment.  Jesus sets them straight right away, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you;” 

Jesus says the same thing about the eighteen people who died when a tower fell - they were no worse than anyone else.  He says that the victims of disaster were no worse than anyone else, including those who asked him about what happened.  He denies that old theology emphatically, and he denies it twice.

He does tell those around him to look to their own spiritual health, especially if they are congratulating themselves that they are somehow better than the victims of both tragedies.  If they are doing that, they had better get right to the work of repenting.  I think Jesus is saying that it’s spiritually deadly to believe others suffer because of something they did and that you are better than them if you suffer less than they.  If you’re tempted to believe that, start repenting.

And if you think about it, he’s also saying, “If you are suffering, please do not believe that God is punishing you.”  Now sometimes we suffer as a consequence of our own actions – like when we take a stupid risk and hurt ourselves.  I’m not talking about those times.  Those things are our fault I’m talking about not blaming our selves for suffering that has nothing to do with what we did.

So today’s gospel reading asks us to consider whether we blame ourselves or others when we’re sick, hurt, or in pain.  Do we see this as a punishment from God?  Jesus says it isn’t, and if we think that way we need to think again.  I believe God is merciful, slow to anger and abounding in compassion, as the scripture says.  I believe God never wants anyone to suffer.  On the contrary, I believe that God is with us in our suffering, to offer us comfort if we ask.

After this rebuke, Jesus goes on to tell a symbolic story about a fig tree in a garden.  The tree has not produced any fruit.  I wonder if this tree might represent those spiritually barren people who blame victims for tragedy.  Such people, like the tree, do not bear the fruits of the spirit. What are the fruits of the spirit?  In his letter to the Galatians Paul says the fruit of the spirit “is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” Such fruits could not possibly come from believing people who suffer deserve that suffering.

However, the parable suggests that can change.  The gentle gardener says, "Perhaps we need to dig around the roots."  I see this is rooting out that harsh theology.  Dig that up, get it out of the garden.  How can a tree bear fruit with that strangling its roots?  And then put a little compost around that starving tree.  Maybe when we break that oppressive theology down it can become a compost that that nurtures life.  Then we’ll see if that tree doesn’t bear some fruit.  Let’s give the tree another chance.

Given this view of things, it is no coincidence that one of the readings paired with this one is that selection from Isaiah.  In the gospel there’s a barren fig tree and in Isaiah an enormous feast.   At this point in Isaiah, the terrible thing happened a generation ago - the destruction of the temple and the exile.  

Early on Isaiah said this happened because they had strayed from the covenant, but here he’s saying something different.  I wonder if suffering changed him.  It can have that effect – it can soften people.  I see that movement in scripture – the more the Jewish people suffered, the more compassionate they became and the more their theology changed.  You start to see an increasing belief that God is merciful, a Good Shepherd who walks with you through the valley of the shadow of death.

In this reading from Isaiah the first generation has died, and a new generation is being released from exile. They can go back – but they are used to living in Babylon.  They have never even seen Jerusalem.  Isaiah is trying to persuade them to return to Israel and rebuild the temple.  He’s tried just about every means of persuading them, and here he promises if they go back it will be like such a feast, so that even those who have nothing will have plenty to eat.  

He promises that God will renew the covenant and raise them up from their lowly position. He assures them that even those who have strayed from the covenant will be granted mercy.  There is life after tragedy, Isaiah assures us.  There is forgiveness after wrongdoing.  It must have been hard for the old guard to believe this so Isaiah (speaking for God) explains, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”  There is a higher truth. It is always better to be compassionate.  There is a more evolved theology – that God never wills our suffering, but instead is the gentle companion.

This is good news, indeed.  It frees all who are oppressed from any belief that they somehow deserve that oppression. It frees all who suffer tragedies and traumas from believing God is punishing them.  It frees those who believe others deserve the evil that befalls them to grow more compassionate hearts and souls.  It frees all of us to become like fig trees that bear good fruit, the fruits of the spirit - love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  And when we bear such spiritual fruit, it is like a feast laid out before us, a feast we can all share.  

In the words of the poet May Sarton, Help us to be ever faithful gardeners of the spirit, who know that without darkness nothing comes to birth, and without light nothing flowers. 

"To you I lift my soul; show me the way I should go."  (Psalm 143; vs 8).  My last post ended in lamentation due to recent events - bombings and missile launchings, shootings, people with mental illness who lack sufficient support, children dying.  It is hard to stay in that place of lamentation.  This psalm asks where do we take this sense of grief, loss, anger, pain?

My spiritual director recently recommended the Starbridge series of novels by Susan Howatch.  They are about clergy that come up against some sort of crisis they have to work through. The books contain theology and inspiration, and also are somewhat tawdry in places. So like life, basically.  The most recent one I read is Absolute Truths.   It has a phrase from scripture that runs through it, "All things work together for good for them that love God." (Romans 8:28).  This can be particularly difficult to believe at such a point in time.  What to make of it?

At one point a character in the book points out that a better translation is "All things intermingle for good for them that love God."  The good doesn't redeem or end the bad - as though the two are mixed together like cake batter and the good flavor wins out.  Howatch writes, "the good and the bad remain quite distinct.... The bad is really terrible and the good may seem powerless against that terrible reality....." The characters go on to explain that when the good and the bad intermingle (not merge) they form a pattern.  Howatch writes, "The darkness doesn't become less dark, but that pattern which the light makes upon it contains the meaning which makes the darkness endurable."

Where is the good today?  I see it in all those who are helping those parents and families in their time of intense grief, the security guards, the police, the mental health workers, the school psychologists, the clergy, the parents, the children, the teachers in Newtown.  I see it in all those doing whatever they can to prevent such a thing from happening again.   Without that help, the pain would be unendurable but it is there. It is there in all those who are working for peace against all the odds in war-torn places in the world.  It is between and in and even among us.  It is advent, and so we sing, "O come, o come Emmanuel," which means God is with us. O Come, be with us in our time of pain, sorrow, grief, and anger.  Help us lift up our souls. Show us the way out of this.

Years ago at this time of year I wrote this poem which somehow seems to me like an advent poem.

Truth is a Wanderer                                   by Tess Baumberger

Truth is a wanderer disguised as something else entirely.

A tall man walks a narrow path, 
muddy in the rain beneath his feet,
 and red, a sign of clay in the soil, 
against the hills around him green.

He carries a long stick which he, weary, leans upon at times. 
He wears gray clothes tattered 
like the clouds above the hills.

The wind worries them as thoughts concern his brow. 
A hat encloses his head
like a child full of sleep.

He walks with love, and the aging glow of trying, 
trying to love the Earth 
which momentarily embraces 
each foot as it lands.
His shoes bear the evidence.

He has in him a king but his kingliness is a dowdy gift, 
dressed in rags and wandering, 
a hat his only crown, 
a ragged cloak his robe, 
a wooden stick his scepter, 
his ponderous domain 
drawing down his shoulders.

Courage shares a lexicon with grief.

****
May we somehow lift our souls so they can move.  May their good direction become clear.