Friday, September 4, 2020                (today’s lectionary)
Dinner at Levi’s house
The scribes and Pharisees said to Jesus,
“The disciples of John the Baptist fast often and offer prayers,
And the disciples of the Pharisees do the same.
Not yours, Jesus.”
Matthew (Levi) the host is thinking.
I’ve been wondering the same thing, Jesus. I watched the Romans eat drink and be merry, and usually felt disgusted at their clattering clowning parties. We don’t do that, but who’s to say? Couldn’t things get out of hand?
The Pharisees are following us like hounds a fox. Everywhere we go, they are there too. What are they trying to prove?
But still, watching them wiggle and niggle, I start to wiggle and niggle too. I’ve always been a little OCD, Jesus, and you don’t seem to mind. You don’t need to change me, and I really thank you for that. Already I feel like your friend, or even your bride, if you want to put it like that.
Jesus answered the Pharisees,
“Can you make wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them?”
The Pharisees shook their heads. But what do you mean, bridegroom?
Jesus eyes sparkled with his Father’s humor. Jesus’ metaphors must have pleased Him. Kingdom, Wedding, Living Water, Bread of Life, Fishers of men! What will come out of his mouth next?
Actually, this time it was a sad prophecy of unexpected loss.
The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away, yes, taken away.
Then the bride will be bereft, and yes, they all will fast in those days.
I collected the Roman tax, kept close account. Now when the others are eating and drinking, I think I will sometimes sit alone and write down the stories of the day. What has Jesus done, what has Jesus said? The other disciples, who paid me taxes and sometimes got in trouble when they didn’t, might not like me much.
Jesus told them a parable.
No one tears a piece from a new cloak to patch an old one.
Am I wearing my old cloak or a new one, Lord? I am walking away from my profession, turning away to follow you. I’m in the new cloak now! But already, Jesus, I know how quickly it will turn to rags. I cannot measure up to the pure life you want me to live. Even now, Jesus, I need patches! Every day there is another hole.
I patched my coat with sunlight
It lasted for a day.
I patched my coat with moonlight
But the lining came away.
I patched my coat with lightning
And it flew off in the storm.
I patched my coat with darkness
That coat has kept me warm.
Jesus, someone showed me that poem when I felt hopeless and trapped, before you came to my house, Jesus. Then I clung to the promise that darkness would not devour me.
But now you come, Jesus, and you have another poem for me:
Inside this new love, die, Matthew,
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like somebody suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You’re covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side.
Die, and be quiet.
Quietness is the surest sign that you’ve died.
Your old life was a frantic running from silence.
The speechless full moon
comes out now.
Now I understand what you mean when you say we will fast when you are gone. You bring the bride the greatest joy she will ever know. You want to transform us all. Making us new is what you DO.
No one pours new wine into old wineskins.
New wine must be poured into fresh skins.
Am I ready for this? Your gentle spirit waits patiently for me even as you call, “Come.” It is hard to change our ways, and you know that. All men cling to what they know.
No one who has been drinking the old wine wants the new, for he says the old is good.
Catch me, Lord, I’m going to jump right up into your arms. Old cloak and all. I want the new wine! Pour it down into my throat, for I am falling in love. Oh Lord, let me follow you.
            (1 Corinthians 4, Psalm 37, John 8, Luke 5) (poems by Dennis Lee and Rumi, see details at the links)
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