But I am the Chosen One!

In an earlier post a made a quick reference to Harry Potter, "...that kid forced to live in the closet under the stairs by his wicked aunt and uncle after the horrific murder of his parents who turns out to be The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One..." and made an even quicker reference to something that is at the heart of what it is to be a geek—namely being ostracized and rejected.  I think maybe that's one of the appeals of one of the stereotypical hero journeys, the kind where the little guy, the underdog, the powerless one forced to the margins of society turns out to be the one who's actually important.  In other words, we geeks can instantly relate to Harry being whaled on by Dudley Dursley and we all—well, I was going to say we all secretly wish for an owl to deliver us an invitation attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I think most of us are actually out in the open on that one.  That's the other piece of being a geek—openly loving things that might get us pushed to the margins ourselves.

Jesus tells a story about the end of days, when we shall all be judged and separated out into two groups—the in crowd and the outsiders.  Only he used the metaphor of sheep and goats.  Of course, that's probably because he was talking to people in First Century Palestine.  But you get the point.  They guy in charge, a character Jesus calls "The Son of Man" comes to earth and separates us all out into two groups.  One group will be "in" and the other "out."  So the most important part of the story is learning what the measuring stick is that will decide whether you're in or out.

And in the story, the measuring stick is how the people treated the Son of Man during their lives.  The people who fed the Son of Man when he was hungry, gave him something to drink when he was thirsty, welcomed him when he was a stranger, clothed him when he was naked, took care of him when he was sick, and visited him in prison get to be part of the in crowd.  Everyone who refused to do those things is tossed out in the cold and dark.

Which all makes sense.  Except that both the "in" folk and the "out" folk are thoroughly confused.  "When did we do that?"  So the Son of Man explains, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."

Do you see what Jesus is doing there?  He's taking the marginalized people—the little guy, the underdog, the powerless ones—and he's saying that they are the most important!  It feels pretty good, doesn't it?  After all, who doesn't like Harry Potter?  Who doesn't want to be the Chosen One?

But here's the thing:  as is frequently the case, this story carries both hope and a challenge.  It's pretty easy to see the challenge that this story has for the privileged upper classes who's mantra of "I worked hard for this!" not only keeps them from feeding the hungry and taking care of the sick but also subtly implies that the sick and the hungry simply aren't working hard enough.  But there's a challenge here for the marginalized—and yes, I'm looking at us, fellow geeks.

You see, in my experience groups of marginalized people have a tendency to get hyper-focused on their own oppression.  The gay and lesbian community sometimes gets so caught up in their own struggles that they fail to support the struggles of trans folk—let alone other kinds of genderqueer people, for example.  Some furry communities get so marginalized that they become completely xenophobic, for another.

So the challenge for geeks (and the queer community and furries and whomever) in this story from Jesus is to recognize the Son of Man in each other, not just their own people.

What it comes down to is simply what I tell you every week.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for November 23rd—Thirty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A—are:
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24—Psalm 100—Ephesians 1:15-23—Matthew 25:31-46

For another blog entry that relates well to Matthew 25:31-46, click here!

Talent Tree

It has been a long hard road to get here—and I recognize that my journey is far from over—but the house is finally sold.  Our things have been successfully stored, no thanks to Merlin, by the way.  I finally have some time to spare for blogging again, so here we go!

I've been pondering the Parable of the Talents, and even I am almost surprised at how well it can be framed in geeky language.  If you're a language geek, you might be interested in the etymology of the word, "talent."  Originally, the word referred to a unit of money, so when Jesus begins a story with the setup, "...a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability," what he's talking about is silver.  In fact, when Jesus was speaking a talent of silver was about 130 pounds.  Can you imagine the kind of wealth the man in the story was tossing around?  A hundred and thirty, two hundred and sixty, six hundred and fifty pounds of silver!!  In any case, it was the parable of the talents—and its most common interpretation—that changed the meaning of the word "talent" from a unit of measurement to today's meaning of a natural ability or aptitude.  How cool is that?

The other thing that immediately popped into my head, of course, was the rpg version of "talents."  Those special, heroic abilities that you earn for your character through gameplay.  A new talent is a goal worth working for when you're gaming.  And for a good gamer, choosing a new talent is usually a carefully considered process.

That's when it hit me that the Parable of the Talents could be retold in gamer terms:

When the word ends and we have to answer for the way we've lived our lives, it'll be kind of like the end of a tabletop gaming session.  The GM decided to give out new Talents based on the quality of the RP and the combat skill of each of the players.  The GM gave the Rogue five talents, the Warrior received two, and the Mage received one.

And then the players all went home until it was time for the next week's session.

And the GM asked each of the players in turn what they decided to do with their talents?  The Rogue had done of a lot research, not only into how each Rogue talent interacts with each other, but also into how they might interact with each of the other party members.  The result was beautiful example of min-maxing for the sake of the party.  The Warrior decided to focus on her own damage output, linking together her Talents in a clever way that would allow her to solo foes greater than her level.  But the Mage hadn't chosen a new talent.  He was afraid of choosing the wrong one and came to the table unprepared.  And the GM was ticked and took away the Mage's one Talent and gave it to the Rogue.  "You can't play tonight.  Go home."

 The Parable of the Talents, you see, is kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The Mage would have been better off picking anything rather than coming to the table empty-handed.  But he was so afraid of making the GM angry by picking the wrong thing that he did nothing.  And that made the GM more angry than anything else could have!  It's better to be prepared poorly than completely unprepared.

What does it mean to be prepared though?  What Talents should we chose?  I believe that we can never go wrong choosing those Talents that align with the Rule of Love. Or put another way...

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for November 16th—Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A—are:
Judges 4:1-7—Psalm 123—1 Thessalonians 5:1-11—Matthew 25:14-30

Uhhhhh... Hockety? Pockety?

I freely admit that The Geek Shall Inherit has already had its ups and downs.  Or rather its stops and starts.  I'm actually really happy with the epiphany I had, well, around Epiphany—it has been a great experience holding myself to weekly posts and to following the Revised Common Lectionary.  It's my dearest hope that I'll continue posting throughout the whole three year cycle that the lectionary follows before re-evaluating what I'm doing here.

Unfortunately, life sometimes gets in the way, and this is one of those times.  I am in the process of selling my house and the time has come for me to be packing and cleaning and doing yard work in preparation for the final appraisal of the house and—God willing and the creek don't rise—a closing date.  Not to mention moving out!

While I am accomplishing these things, the blog will be on a hiatus.  Unless the Spirit hits me especially hard, of course!

In the meantime, if you see Merlin wandering about, send him my way.  No matter how many times I sing Higitus Figitus, I just can't get a whole room into one suitcase...

I'll be back.
Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The Force will be with you, always.

I didn't set out to write two Obi-Wan Kenobi posts in a row, but I couldn't help but see the similarities between Luke Skywalker's experience of his beloved mentor and Jesus's promises in this week's portion of The Farewell Discourse:

[Jesus said:] "If you love me, you will keep my commandments.  And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever.  This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him.  You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you. 

"I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live.  On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.  They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them."

The spirit of truth that lives within Luke Skywalker is The Force.  As Obi-Wan defines it, "It's an energy field created by all living things.  It surrounds us and penetrates us.  It binds the galaxy together."  And his promise to Luke?  "Remember, the Force will be with you, always."  The Advocate that Jesus promises will be with us forever is the Holy Spirit.  It is just as difficult to define or describe, but much like the Force, you know it when you feel it...

Now, Obi-Wan didn't promise not to leave Luke orphaned—but he did it anyway.  Let's face it, by the time Obi-Wan is struck down by Darth Vader (as I discussed in the previous post), Luke has experienced the death of way too many parental figures.  His mother died in child-birth, his father—as far as he knew, anyway—killed by Darth Vader.  He was raised by his Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, who were killed by Imperial Stormtroopers masquerading as Sandpeople.  Old "Ben" Kenobi was Luke's last parental figure until he, too, was killed.   But Obi-Wan doesn't leave him orphaned.  His voice comes to Luke in key moments.  In others, Luke experiences Obi-Wan's full-bodied apparition.  He sends Luke to a new teacher—although I have never seen Yoda as a father figure for Luke.  Obi-Wan's ghost and Luke even have an extended heart-to-heart talk!  In fact, that talk feels to me like the first time Luke speaks with one of his elders on an equal footing—as an adult.

Now don't get me wrong, Obi-Wan Kenobi isn't meant to be Jesus any more than Darth Vader is meant to be Herod Antipas or Emperor Palpatine is meant to be Augustus or Titus.  But there are some strong parallels there, don't you think?

The Force will be with you, always.
Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh

The scripture lessons for May 25th—The Sixth Sunday of Easter Year A—are:
Acts 17:22-31—Psalm 66:8-20—1 Peter 3:13-22—John 14:15-21

You can't win, Darth.

There aren't many martyrs in geek culture.  There are plenty of Christ figures, like the ones I wrote about here and here, but that's a slightly different thing.  There's an intentionality about the death of a Christ figure that isn't quite there with a martyr.  Being martyred is something that just happens to you.  It's a wrong place, wrong time kind of thing.  Or maybe it's fate.  Barbara Brown Taylor once wrote in a sermon that it's what happens "...when people get so wrapped up in living God’s life that they forget to protect themselves."

Consider the martyrdom of Stephen.  When things started going badly he was "filled with the Holy Spirit" and saw a vision of Jesus standing at the right hand of the Glory of God before he was dragged off to be killed.  Then, when they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." When he had said this, he died.

The closest geek culture reference I can think of is the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars: A New Hope.  He doesn't see visions of God, but he clearly has a strong belief that death is not the end.  "You can't win, Darth," he asserts, "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."  It's not a perfect example, though.  Perhaps you could argue that this encounter between master and student was fated—but I still get the feeling that Obi-wan separated himself out from the others in order to seek Darth Vader out.  And as Barbara Brown Taylor also wrote about martyrdom, "I do not think you can seek it anymore than you can avoid it."

So why don't there seem to be any true martyrs in geek culture?  Well, I suspect that it's because of something I once identified as a great strength in geek culture.  As is frequently true, great strengths can also be weaknesses.  We can tell some truly epic stories by externalizing forces that we in the "real world" are forced to deal with internally.  If unbridled hatred or consumption become zombies, you don't end up with a Stephen preaching against the ways unbridled hatred and consumption are embedded in the social order.  You don't have the social order reacting violently to Stephen's preaching and stoning him to death.  You don't, in other words, end up with a martyr.  Instead of Stephen, you have Rick Grimes—and he either gets eaten by zombies, or he doesn't.

I believe that a lot of geek culture has to do with fantasizing about having control and power in a world where we have very little of either.  It's about wanting to be able to kill the zombie instead of getting kicked around by the unbridled hatred and consumption that is embedded in the current social order.  Just look at one of the most popular fantasy heroes of all time—that kid forced to live in the closet under the stairs by his wicked aunt and uncle after the horrific murder of his parents who turns out to be The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One—Harry Potter.  What geek hasn't felt downtrodden at some point or another in their lives?  Who hasn't secretly wanted to be The Chosen One?

Perhaps this is one place where Christianity has something important to say to geek culture.  The Christian tradition has redefined "winning."  We recognize martyrs as particularly faithful and good.  We see people like Stephen, who never raised a hand to defend himself and even prayed that God forgive the people who were in the process of killing him, not as a miserable failure, not as a loser, but as holy.  We believe that the last will be first and the first will be last.  We recognize ourselves as rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God's sight.

You don't need to be the most powerful wizard in all of history to be The Chosen One.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for May 18th—The Fifth Sunday of Easter Year A—are:
Acts 7:55-60—Psalm 31:1-5,15-16—1 Peter 2:2-10—John 11:1-45

Why Do I Feel So Weakened?

Last week I was ill.  I don't know what I had, but it was preceded by exhaustion, moved into feeling absolutely gross for about 24 hours, and ended with yet more exhaustion.  I was worn out.  I felt like Mumm-ra after a battle with the Thundercats—little, shriveled up, and wanting nothing more than to lie down and hide from the world for a while.  So that's what I did.

Actual photo of Rev. Josh last week.

As I began doing the research for this week's sermon, I was surprised to see Kathryn Matthews Huey in one of my favorite theological resources for sermon writing—the United Church of Christ's "Sermon Seeds"—focusing on the lesson from Acts.  Mostly because it was so short that I can simply quote it here:

They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. 

Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles.  All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.  And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

~Acts 2:42-47

Kathryn Matthews Huey rightly points out that churches are still doing those first three things—devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching.  Fellowship.  Communion... or potlucks.  And prayer.  (I'm not even going to touch selling their positions and holding all things in common and making sure that nobody was in need—I suspect that's a different post for another time.)

What she says is missing is a sense of awe:

The "wonders and signs" may be passing us by, without our taking notice. One of the tasks of the preacher is to remind us, to turn our attention so that we might indeed stop in the midst of all that activity and take notice of the wonders and signs before us. Every church, in its own way, experiences wonders both large and small that merit our time and attention. But so often, the many activities of our life as a congregation get added to our busy calendars as more and more stress, rather than as something different, something qualitatively different from "ordinary daily activities": they are ministries. Do they feed us, or drain us? These early Christians, clearly, were fed by the things they did and the way they lived.

~Kathryn Matthews Huey

And then she goes on to point out that taking a break and refocusing—taking notice—can be a spiritual practice.  She even once served a church that took a break in January, abstaining from all meeting and activities that weren't for prayer, learning, or worship!

Which actually brings me back to Mumm-ra, believe it or not!  I've found him on top ten villain lists and in YouTube tribute videos.  And really, he wasn't any more deeper a character than Cobra Commander or more successful at defeating the heroes than Skeletor.  I honestly believe that his popularity stems from that sense of awe that Kathryn Matthews Huey is talking about.

There was something special about watching his sarcophagus open, seemingly of it's own accord, and see that little, shriveled up creature emerge and intone the invocation, "Ancient Spirits of Evil, transform this decayed form into MUMM-RA THE EVERLIVING!!"  There was something awe-full about watching him go through a Hulk-like transformation, cackling like a madman the whole time.

And we would cheer for the heroes to defeat Mumm-ra's powerful incarnation.  And they would.  And he would return to the depths of his pyramid, where he would shrivel and decay.  And he would back slowly into his sarcophagus, which would close of it's own accord.  And we knew that tomorrow afternoon that sarcophagus would open and he would emerge once more and intone that invocation...

The good news, of course, is that we don't need Ancient Spirits of Evil to experience that kind of awe.  Start a daily prayer practice.  Go to church on Sunday, or a synagogue on Saturday, or whatever weekly practice your Path espouses.  Observe a Sabbath.  Or at the very least, lie down and hide from the world for a while when you're ill!

Be good to each other,
even yourselves!
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for May 6th—The Fourth Sunday of Easter Year A—are:
Acts 2:42-47—Psalm 23—1 Peter 2:19-25—John 11:1-45

It's a spoof of the Born-Oppenheimer approximation.

This Sunday is one of those times that I step away from the Lectionary and do something a little different, because I like to observe Holy Hilarity Sunday the week after Easter.  According to The Joyful Noiseletter:

Many American churches are resurrecting an old Easter custom begun by the Greeks in the early centuries of Christianity-"Holy Humor Sunday" celebrations of Jesus' resurrection on the Sunday after Easter. 

For centuries in Eastern Orthodox, Catholic and Protestant countries, the week following Easter Sunday, including "Bright Sunday" (the Sunday after Easter), was observed by the faithful as "days of joy and laughter" with parties and picnics to celebrate Jesus' resurrection. 

Churchgoers and pastors played practical jokes on each other, drenched each other with water, told jokes, sang, and danced. 

The custom was rooted in the musings of early church theologians (like Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom) that God played a practical joke on the devil by raising Jesus from the dead. "Risus paschalis - the Easter laugh," the early theologians called it.

I myself am all for it!  Well, maybe not drenching each other with water.  It's been a cold spring around here and my robe and suit are dry-clean only and...  Well, anyway, you get the point.  It's absolutely appropriate to get a little silly after all the seriousness of Lent.  Besides, the Bible is chock full of jokes and puns!

That part wasn't a joke.  The Bible really is one of the punniest pieces of literature around.  It's just that unless you read ancient forms of Hebrew and Greek that are no longer spoken, you'll just have to take my word for it.  Kind of like that early scene from The Big Bang Theory where Sheldon points at a board full of physics equations and says, "That part right there?  That's just a joke..."  I have it on good authority that it really is a joke of some sort—but I can't read it!

Adam, for example, is a pun on the word for mud, adamah.  It's kind of like if I made sculpted a ceramic man and named him "Clay."  Or take Paul's letter to Philemon.  In that letter, Paul talks about how he meets this runaway slave named "Onesimus," converts him to Christianity, and then sends him back to his Christian master, Philemon, along with the letter which is meant to convince Philemon to receive Onesimus as a beloved brother.  Part of the argument is, "Once he was useless to you, but now he is useful to both you and me..."  Get it?  No?  It's a spoof of the Born-Oppenheimer approximation!  No, wait...  that's Sheldon's joke equation.  The pun is that in Greek "Onesimus" means "useful."  Literally!

There are others, but I won't pull them out for you today.  Just keep in mind that it's not only ok to tell jokes or even laugh in church—it's actually divine!

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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