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
052714

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
051314

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
050614

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
042214

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved to read.  His parents, I think, were pleased that he loved to read!  Nevertheless, they would say things like "You don't need a book in restaurant, leave it in the car."  They insisted that he should try playing various sports, none of which he was particularly good at.  And they enrolled him in piano lessons, which he wasn't bad at.

Once day, the boy's piano teacher asked him what he was reading, and he told her that he was rereading The Chronicles of Narnia.  The boy explained that he had read it once before, when he was much younger, too young to understand everything he had read and so he was reading it again.  And his piano teacher looked at him and said,

"That story is about the Gospel you know."

The boy was confused.

"Think about it, Aslan sacrifices himself...  comes back to life..."

It hit the boy like a bolt from heaven.  The Chronicles of Narnia had many layers of meaning, some obvious, some more hidden...  and God was in one of those layers.

I am quite sure that The Chronicles of Narnia were among the first fantasy novels I ever read as a boy, and so I have no problem citing them as one of the reasons I became the huge geek that I am today.  But I'm even more sure that my deep interest in the ways theology and popular culture interact with each other in general—and the Geek theology of this project, specifically—can be traced to that brilliant epiphany brought to me by my piano teacher all those years ago.

While there a plethora of Christ figures to explore in fantasy, science fiction, and even horror—for the Easter story, Aslan is still my favorite:

The rising of the sun had made everything look so different — all colours and shadows were changed— that for a moment they didn't see the important thing.  Then they did.  The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no more Aslan.

In one of his many letters, Lewis refers to the Stone Table as Narnia's version of the tablets of stone on which the Ten Commandments were written.  But I can't help interrupting the narrative here to point out that there's another allusion here.  When Jesus breathed his last, the curtain in the temple that separates the Tabernacle—the place where the Glory of God resided in a very real sense—split from top to bottom.  It tore in two pieces.  From end to end.  And where is the Glory of God then, one wonders...

"Who's done it?" cried Susan.  "What does it mean?  Is it magic?"
"Yes!" said a great voice behind their backs.  "It is more magic."  They looked round.  There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
"Oh, Aslan!" cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad.
"Aren't you dead then, dear Aslan?" said Lucy.
"Not now," said Aslan.
"You're not — not a —?" asked Susan in a shaky voice.  She couldn't bring herself to say the word ghost.  Aslan stooped his golden head and licked her forehead.  The warmth of his breath and a rich sort of smell that seemed to hang about his hair came all over her.
"Do I look it?" he said.
"Oh, you're real, you're real!  Oh Aslan!" cried Lucy, and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses."

When the girls calm down, Susan asks Aslan what it all means.  But I'm not going to give you Aslan's answer here—that quote is easy to find and it even made it into the resurrection scene in the Walden Media film.  The point of theology is, indeed, to make meaning.  But sometimes in our struggle to make meaning we forget to pay attention to how we feel.  And Lewis painted a brilliant picture of how the Resurrection—and therefore Easter—should make us feel!

"Oh children," said the Lion, "I feel my strength coming back to me.  Oh, children, catch me if you can!"  He stood for a second, his eyes very bright, his limbs quivering, lashing himself with his tail.  Then me made a leap high over their heads and landed on the other side of the Table.  Laughing, though she didn't know why, Lucy scrambled over it to reach him.  Aslan leaped again.  A mad chase began.  Round and round the hill-top he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge an beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs.  It was such a romp as no one has ever had except in Narnia; and whether it was more like playing with a thunderstorm or playing with a kitten Lucy could never make up her mind.  And the funny thing was that when all three finally lay together panting in the sun, the girls no longer felt the least tired or hungry or thirsty.
"And now," said Aslan presently, "to business.  I feel I am going to roar.  You had better put your fingers in your ears."

Happy Easter!
Be good to each other,
Have a good romp,
Rev. Josh
041514

The scripture lessons for April 6th—The Fifth Sunday of Lent Year A—are:
Acts 10:34-43—Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24—Colossians 3:1-4—John 11:1-45

“It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy.  "It's you.  We shan't meet you there.  And how can we live, never meeting you?"
"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan.
"Are -are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.
"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name.  You must learn to know me by that name.  This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Into Every Generation, There Is A Chosen One...

Although creating Christ figures is considered a literary technique, there have been innumerable examples in all kinds of story-telling including video games, graphic novels and comic books, movies and television.  But as I consider the Gospel lesson for this Sunday, the one that springs most easily to mind is none other than Buffy Anne Summers, aka Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Again, I'm going to assume that if you haven't hunted down the 1992 film or the juggernaut of a television series, you probably have no intention of doing so now.  But just in case, this is your half-hearted spoiler alert!

I believe that Buffy was intended to be a Christ figure from the very beginning of the television series.  After all, what else do you call a unique person with special powers specifically intended for overcoming evil, who is the subject of prophesies and ancient texts, who's existence is meant to be the bane of all things demonic?  But even if she doesn't strike you that way from the beginning, the finale of the 5th Season,"The Gift," wherein Buffy intentionally sacrifices herself to save the world, and the opening of the 6th Season, "Bargaining, Part One," which depicts her subsequent resurrection should get you there!

So what kind of a Christ figure is Buffy?  Well, first of all, there are lots of prophesies and ancient texts and about the Slayer and therefore many, many expectations—many of which Buffy completely ignores or outright defies.

"The Slayer does not walk in this world."
"I walk.  I talk.  I shop.  I sneeze.  I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back..."

And the way she does that reminds me of Jesus.  Buffy is constantly hearing about what the Slayer is supposed to be like and what the Slayer is supposed to do and how the Slayer is supposed to behave.  And her responses are always, underneath the delightful snark, "Well I am the Slayer and this is who I am..."  If you substitute the word "Messiah" for "Slayer" who does that remind you of?

And part of who Buffy proclaims herself to be, despite all her impressive powers, is human.  Part of that is trying to fit into high school, some of it is proclaiming things like "I walk.  I talk.  I shop.  I sneeze..."  But part if it is also in the way the responsibility of being the Slayer weighs so heavily on her shoulders.

"Do you think I chose to be like this?  Do you have any idea how lonely it is?  How dangerous?  I would love to be upstairs watching TV or gossiping about boys or... God, even studying!  But I have to save the world.  Again."

There's something in that heaviness and the resolute nature with which Buffy carries it that reminds me of Jesus setting his face towards Jerusalem.  Like in last week's Gospel lesson when Jesus says, "Let's go to Judea again." And the disciples reply, "Teacher, the people there were just now trying to stone you, are you really going to go back there now?"  But they do go back there.  They go back there and Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead.  So human and so powerful!

And both of those things, battling expectations with the reality of who Jesus really is and carrying the weight of his responsibilities in very human, resolute ways,  remind me of the lesson for this Sunday—Palm Sunday.

The Messiah is supposed to be a king, an earthly and powerful king cut from the same cloth as King David!  By this point in the story there are many people who are (rightly) convinced that Jesus is the Messiah.  And so when he enters Jerusalem, one might expect him to ride in on a valiant steed with an army at his back to drive the Romans out once and for all!  But Jesus is the Messiah and he chooses to show them just what kind of a Messiah he is—the kind that rides on a lowly donkey surrounded by a bunch of his friends.

On the other hand, according to Matthew, even this act of defying expectations is a part of Jesus's responsibility, "This took place to fulfil what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, 'Tell the daughter of Zion, / Look, your king is coming to you, / humble, and mounted on a donkey, / and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.'"  Of course, according to Matthew what happens next is a very Buffy the Vampire Slayer kind of moment, where he goes into the Temple and absolutely cleans house!

But perhaps most powerfully, I hear an echo of Jesus marching inexorably to the cross and leaving behind his final teachings in the last words Buffy speaks in "The Gift."

"Dawn, listen to me.  Listen.  I love you.  I will always love you.  This is the work I have to do.  Tell Giles that ... tell Giles that I figured it out.  And ... and I'm okay.  And give my love to my friends.  You have to take care of them now.  You have to take care of each other.  You have to be strong.  Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it.  Be brave.  Live.  For me."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
040814

The scripture lessons for April 13th—Palm Sunday Year A—are:
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29—Matthew 21:1-11