Remember Lot's Wife--This Thanksgiving Remember Not to become a Pillar of Salt

“Remember Lot’s wife.”

--Luke 17:32

 

When I come upon a scripture verse cited in a different context (a novel, a poem, a movie, etc), most of the time I just accept it at face value.  I trust the author is using it sincerely and appropriately.  This morning, however, as I was reading a papal encyclical about love (“God is Love” by Benedict XVI) I came upon this quotation from Luke:

“Whosoever seeks to save his life

will lose it, and whosoever loses

his life shall preserve it.” (17:33)

 And for some reason, I almost immediately got out my Bible to look it up—as if fact checking the Pope!  But still, I went to my Bible and found the chapter and the verse and had a strange kind of epiphany, an “Ah, ha! moment,” as the wonderful Dr. Joy Linsley (UST) used to call them. The verse just before these words is the call to remember Lot’s wife, and I wondered: How had I never noticed that before? 

 Yet here I am on a rainy Saturday morning in November, curious about God and Love and so many other things, and I can’t stop thinking about that iconic pillar of salt and trying to connect it to the idea of seeking to preserve one’s own life…  How are those two things connected?  And why is that the one sure way of losing everything.

“Remember Lot’s wife.

“Whosoever seeks to save his life

will lose it, and whosoever loses

his life shall preserve it.” (17:32-33)

 I don’t have an answer, but I have an image.  Contemplating this passage, I was struck by the image of a woman turned not into a literal pillar of salt, but into an embittered soul, someone who seems to bring a dark cloud with them wherever they go, sowing discord, creating distress, or simply bursting bubbles with every sharp comment or piece of unwanted “advice.”  And I am wondering if the real lesson of Lot’s wife wasn’t simply that she looked back, but that she wouldn’t stop looking back?   

Before this morning, I’d always thought of Lot’s wife as a kind of Jewish version of Pandora.  But, instead of opening a box, she couldn’t resist the temptation to look back. But now I am picturing her sitting at the Thanksgiving table with Lot and the family, complaining about the turkey—too dry, too small—and the stuffing—not enough sage. The green beans needed more dried onion, and the Jello mold wasn’t quite moldy enough… The world, seen through those eyes, never quite measures up, is never as good as it used to be, as she remembered… something is always wrong, something always needs correcting.  It was always better before, in the old days, back in Sodom and Gomorrah! 

You see, in the ancient world, what was salt used for? Flavor and as a preservative. The pillar of salt that I see now, isn't a stone like figure, but an embittered person who refuses to let go of the past, who uses her salt to preserve old memories, old arguments, old slights and wounds are kept alive in this pillar of salt. Remember Lot's wife, makes me now think of someone who refuses to move forward, but instead constantly recalls how things were and especially how they were better....

Thinking about this, I realize, I don’t want to be a pillar of salt. I don’t want to be someone who brings a dark cloud of judgment and bitterness.  I want to be a life-giving stream of living water, a source of joy and refreshment. I want to open doors for others to find their way, their memories, their traditions, and their new paths.

 And so this Thanksgiving, while celebrating family and tradition, I want to make room for something new, be open to the gifts and graces of the moment, and each and every person I meet.  Listen with an open ear and heart, let others (even my family) find in me a chance to shine their light and discover their own gifts, feel not only accepted but loved. I may not agree with every opinion, but I don't always have to express my own. Of course, at our table there will be our traditional To-furkey, along with chestnut dressing, mashed potatoes and gluten free-veggie pot pie, but I will also be open to anything new that comes along.  New side dishes, new desserts... Heck, I might even try some of that new-fangled treat people call: pumpkin pie!  But whatever comes my way, instead of comparing it to the past, or to what I hoped it would be, I will instead be grateful for the gift of family, friends, food on the table, and love in the air.  Whether it’s raining and cold or muggy and warm this Thanksgiving, I want to remember that all may not be as I like, but --in truth-- all is grace.
 

And so, I say: Thank you and God Bless you all.   

And Happy Thanksgiving.

Pilate and the act of listening: some thoughts on the Gospel for Christ the King Sunday

25 Nov 2018 –Christ the King

“Pilate said to Jesus:
Are you the King of the Jews?"

--John 18:33B-37

Often when we are in an uncomfortable situation, perhaps a debate about politics, perhaps sitting at the Thanksgiving table --your drunken uncle is singing the praises of the Republican party and your self-righteous niece is ranting about corrupt capitalists—often—in situations like this—I find myself only half listening to the people talking.  If am listening at all, it is not with curiosity or trying to understand, not to hear what they have to say, but to hear how and where they are wrong; if I am listening at all it is to hear a misstep, a fallacy, some weakness in their argument.  I am listening, watching for a mistake; a flaw in their logic or error in their data... And as soon as I hear one, I snatch it up like a fumbled football and take off running with it: 

Now, wait a minute!... You said!!... but that’s not!!!... anyway, NPR did a report and!!!!

It is a constant theme in the media today how Americans don’t listen to each other anymore.  We are a divided nation, and thanks to technology we are only getting more divided every day. We don’t want to hear different opinions; instead we want echo chambers that echo back to us our own opinions.  Instead of sincerely listening to different voices and seeking the truth wherever it may be found, we too often simply yell over each other in an effort to shut the other person down and declare ourselves the winner! 

And yet, reading Sunday’s Gospel from John, I thought—Hmmm... this sounds oddly familiar.  Divisiveness and an unwillingness to really listen –to really hear—is one of the major themes of all four Gospels.  We are constantly being presented with scenes where the truth of Jesus is heard or accepted by some figure and often soon after that unheard (and rejected) by another.  Usually the ones who hear are the weak and the vulnerable; the poor and the sick; Jesus is their last hope and they are desperate –they pay attention. They get it. Whereas the ones who don’t listen, who don’t hear the truth of Jesus’ message, who don’t recognize the witness of the miracles happening right before their very eyes; they are usually the powerful and the respected: i.e. the religious leaders and the governing powers.  They don’t hear because they don’t listen; they don’t really pay attention.  They aren’t coming to Jesus in search of the truth, or even in search of a miracle (except for that centurion and Jairus); they are coming to try and trick Him. To trip Him up.  To find a way to dismiss Him, His miracles and the donkey He rode in on!  They are comfortable with their place in society. They like their robes and their greetings in the market and their special places at the table; they have the upper hand, and they don’t want to lose it.  They don’t want anyone to rock the boat.  Don’t want anyone to challenge them or the system that gave them power. Because, as far as they can see, everything is fine just the way it is.

And doesn’t that describe a lot of us today?  I know that too often it describes me.  I am comfortable with my ideas, my notions, my system, and I don’t want anyone to rock the boat.  I see the world a certain way and I feel like everyone else should, too.  And if they don’t, there must be something wrong with them.

On some level Pontius Pilate –in this passage from John’s gospel—could be the icon for our age of unlistening; an icon of the incurious: the willfully blind and deaf. Reread the conversation he is having with Jesus.  He is doing the exact same thing the experts say we do.  If you want to feel convicted reread this passage and listen to the way Pilate talks to Jesus.  Think about it?  Is he really listening?  He asks questions, but does he really hear the answers?  Does he really care about the truth?  No. He simply wants to get it over with. He wants to extricate himself from a difficulty and troublesome situation.  So instead of listening, instead of trying to truly hear the other person (Jesus) he simply asserts his own power, dismisses the other person as a problem, and justifies the rightness of his own position. In other words, he doesn’t care about hearing the truth –he simply wants to win.  He treats the interview with Jesus not as an opportunity to learn something important (i.e. the Truth).  But, instead he treats it as a debate; mental Greco-Roman wrestling in a way; nothing but a civic annoyance that he must partake of before returning to the pleasures of his lifestyle (of the rich and famous)!

But, what if Pilate had actually listened to Jesus? What if instead of trying to extricate himself ASAP, he had asked Jesus to explain? Tell me about this kingdom that isn’t of this world? What do you mean by that? Could you elaborate?  Then, instead of ridiculing the very idea of “truth,” asked Him to explain how the truth had brought this itinerant Jewish teacher and healer to this moment? This place? The Praetorium? With a crowd demanding His death?  What if Pilate had taken a moment and considered: What kind of truth could spark such a flame?  Perhaps there was more to this man and more to the anger he stirred up than just jealousy and hurt feelings?  If Pilate had just taken the time to listen, if he had let himself be quiet for a moment and maybe let the answer sink in – even contemplated it before responding-- would Good Friday be remembered differently? Who knows—but, what is clear from this record of a conversation from around 33CE is that divisive societies and tone-deaf leaders are nothing new; nothing particular to our age.  Or to our politics.

I also see in Pilate an example of how not to read the Bible.  He approaches Jesus with his heart and his mind closed.  In his eyes, Jesus is a problem to be dealt with as quickly and easily as possible. With as little attention and effort as possible.  Read the Word of God with that attitude and you will find it unrewarding and frustrating and more than likely you will be glad to close the covers and never open it again. Consider Pilate...

But, if you open your eyes, open your heart and open your mind you will find that the Word is alive and each time you open the Bible you will find something new; a new facet, a new depth of truth, an image or an element that you never saw before.  The truths of the Gospels grow deeper and more profound every time I read them.  For instance, usually when I read this passage, I focus on Jesus and His resolve to be true to His mission –regardless of the results.  But this time, for some reason, Pilate and his questions caught my eye.  Opened my eyes. 

The next time I find myself acting a little too much like Pilate: defensive, feigning interest, looking for a way to dismiss them, I need to remember this lesson.  I need to remind myself to pay attention.  Listen.  This doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything everyone says.  But it does mean, I need to listen. I need to be vulnerable.  I need to hear what they are actually saying. Open my heart –like the weak and the vulnerable—and watch not for a chance to shut someone out, but for the opportunity of letting them in.  I need to make sure I’m not putting up walls but tearing them down. 

There is a lot we can learn sitting around the holiday table: about family, about friends, about differences and about sharing.  And remember, a conversation isn’t about winning, it’s about learning.  But, for that to happen –you have to open your heart. You have to be vulnerable.  You have to listen, and you have to hear.  And as you do –you just might find that you begin to recognize the person sitting next to you as something more than an annoying roadblock between you and more plum pudding! Look closely, listen deeply and you might even begin to see in them a glimmer of a kingdom... not of this world.