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.

Grasping for things we do not understand; walking in ways we do not know--thoughts on the Wrath of God

“And scarce do we guess the things on earth,

and what is within our grasp we find

with difficulty; but when things are in Heaven

who can search them out?”
–Wisdom 9:13-18

 

Something that I often struggle with is the idea of the “wrath of God.”  And as I read through the book of Jeremiah, it is a phrase that comes up quite a bit. I guess that is true of most of the prophets.  Even the tender-hearted Isaiah, with his beloved “suffering servant” imagery, gets worked up with the wrath of God more than a few times.  The imagery, the language, the concept even of the “wrath of God” is frightening.  The idea of an all-powerful being enraged at something we have done, is pretty fearful.  And yet, I keep going back to the ultimate truth about God, that God is Love.  And knowing that, makes me wonder… Just what exactly is “the wrath of God?”  As the book of Wisdom reminds us, we can barely understand what is within our grasp, but things of Heaven –like the wrath of God—who can search them out?

 

But we can ponder; what makes sense? What could it all mean? As I pray and contemplate over this troubling image, it occurs to me that the wrath of God may not be some divine emotional state, or state of mind, but could be a poetic way of describing something quite different.  What if this language was the human author’s attempt to understand something that was witnessed, an attempt to make sense of it after the fact?  The facts were that Israel kept straying from God, the poor were abused, widows and orphans neglected, foreign gods were honored, priests were corrupt, and the king even worse; then suddenly there were the Babylonians knocking at the gate, slaughtering people, dragging others away into captivity.  If you are supposed to be God’s chosen beloved people, how do you make sense of that? 

 

What happened?  Why didn’t God protect His people, His beloved Jerusalem?

 

Trying to make sense of it, perhaps the easiest explanation is: God is made at us! His wrath has descended upon us like a hurricane! And that must be what it felt like.

 

But the thing that is interesting to me is how often God sends a warning, sends a message to Israel to turn back. To change directions.  The prophets are the best example of that.  They are sent to call God’s people back to the right path.  To change their ways, and act with justice and mercy.  And –it seems to me—that every time the wrath of God comes, it is because God’s people “have refused to listen” (cf. Jer.29:19).  It is the result of the people’s actions, their choices. Their own stubbornness of heart.

 

And so, perhaps God’s wrath (or anger) is not an emotion that overcomes God, the way we might think of a human emotion; something that flashes up suddenly out of rage or frustration.  I wonder if a better way to think of it is as a way of understanding what happens when we turn away from God, from God’s love. Like walking out of the sunlight and into a dark cave. As we walk into the cave, at first there is some light, and we can see the path, the walls, shadows, the edges of rocks. But the further we go into it, the darker it gets. The more confusing it gets. The blinder we become to what is around us… until it is pitch black and we cannot see our way. We cannot find the walls without banging into them.  Outside the cave someone stands calling to us: Don’t go in. Turn around. You’ll get lost.  That is the voice of the prophets.  The darkness within the cave is what we call the wrath of God—but it isn’t a positive thing, an action of God, it is the absence of God. It is what happens to us, in us, when we turn away from God.  I guess what I am saying is, in a sense, that sin is its own punishment. 

Another aspect that we can't forget is: the story of Job.  To Job's friends it looked like Job was suffering from the wrath of God. Retribution or punishment for some sin or some failing.  But, in actuality Job was being invited into a deeper relationship with God.  What seemed like "wrath" was --in some sense-- an invitation.  Gird up your loins, know me better man... to paraphrase the author of Job and the ghost of Christmas present...  I read scripture through the lens of love, always looking for the love of God and how it is being revealed.  That is my lens, and maybe it is a cloudy one.  But it is mine. In case you couldn't tell.

But these are just thoughts about something that truly is too big for me, beyond my grasp. Someone who has a lot more grasp of the Hebrew language and the history of OT scripture is the prophet like scholar Abraham J. Heschel (1907-1972).  His book, The Prophets is an inspiring and thought-provoking study of the OT prophets, that explores such questions as the pathos and the wrath of God and what it means to be a prophet.  (His take on the wrath of God is different from mine, and probably more on target... But, I had to try.)  I highly recommend his book; it is filled with wisdom, insight and an intense sense of the urgency of seeing and bearing witness to the truth.

 

    Lord, open my eyes to Your Word

    that I might read it more clearly;

    Open my ears to Your Word

    that I will hear You more completely,

    and open my heart to Your Word

    that I will be filled with the Love

    that is always found there.

    Amen

Make a straight path--some thoughts on Hebrews 12 (21st Sunday in Ordinary Time)

“So strengthen your drooping hands and your weak
knees. Make straight paths for your feet, that

what is lame may not be disjointed but healed.”

--Hebrews 12:12-13

 

The voice of one crying in the wilderness: make straight the way…  When I hear this phrase, I always think of John the Baptist and the baptism of our Lord (cf. Mk 1:3; MT 3:3, etc).  I always imagine a bony finger pointing toward the desert, or a raging fist shaking against the horizon, and a prophetic cry to clear the way—God is coming!   For me, this image usually comes with locust and honey and a scraggly beard.  But today as I was studying the mass readings for this Sunday (21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time), I suddenly heard something new in the text.  I didn’t hear a warning, or a challenge, I heard a kind of invitation, and a curious note of compassion; concern for the traveler.  And that opened my eyes and my ears to see and hear this image in a new way. A way touched by concern not just for the honor and glory of God, but also for those who struggle with their faith journey, for those who may stumble along the way.

 

Before I go any further, let me say a word about the Letter to the Hebrews.  First, we do not know who the author was, though some have speculated it was written by Paul or one of his followers.  Second, though it is often called the Letter to the Hebrews, scholars now refer to it not as a letter, but as a sermon.  And last, it is one of the most influential “letters” of the New Testament, a powerful influence on both Christian theology and the liturgy of the church.  This is the book that develops the theology of Jesus as high priest, and employs the visionary image of the community of believers as a “cloud of witnesses.” If you have never read it, I highly recommend you set aside a little time and read it through.  It can easily be read in one sitting—probably less than an hour.  You will find it an inspiring book, reverberating in your soul long after you finish; perhaps the rest of your life.

 

I don’t have anything profound to say about this verse, only that I was deeply touched by the way it brought together the prophetic call to make a straight way with the detail of an injury.  It humanized the call for me, and made it personal.  That concern for weak knees and drooping hands, speaks to my heart.  I often feel exhausted in both my faith life and my family life (forget about work).  And so, that call to renew my strength and to be careful and avoid turning a minor injury into something worse, made me stop and think.  This verse, this prophetic cry, it has a real life application.  When we are feeling overwhelmed, weak, exhausted, we need to be careful, to give ourself grace, and let our strength be renewed, so that we can continue our journey.  What I hear in this is good coaching. It is a word of encouragement wrapped around some good advice:  You can do this.  It isn’t going to be easy, but you got this.  Be careful. Pickup your feet, and take it slow and steady. Walk a straight path and you won’t get lost, and it will be easier on your knees. Don’t overdue it or start walking just any which way. That’s how you got hurt in the first place and that’s how you make things worse: you’ll end up disjointed.

 

Yes. But I also hear the coach telling me—this isn’t just about you!  Make a straight path.  Others will follow. You don’t want to lead them into the ditch or out into the wilderness. Just walk the straight path; and know that with every step you take will make it that much easier for the person behind you. That straight path in the wilderness that Isaiah and John the Baptist proclaimed, was a prophecy of the coming of the messiah.  But in the light of Jesus’s life and sacrifice, it becomes a prophetic call to live that path, to become that path of kindness and compassion, to live a life of hope and peace and simplicity and love for your neighbor—even the ones you don’t know or notice. What I am hearing is this: the straight path isn’t a geographic or geometric line, it is a line that runs straight through every human heart. Walk that line. Walk that path with care not just for yourself and your reputation, but with concern and compassion for those that walk with you and those who will come after you.  Make straight the path not just for the sake of your own weak and crackly knees, but for the sake of those who will come later, with their own infirmities and injuries, souls who may find themselves struggling in ways I could never imagine.

 

What I hear most decidedly is a call to clear away every obstacle you can, that those who follow will find a path clear and straight and smooth and paved with love.