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Marking Time: Preaching Biblical Stories in Present Tense
Marking Time: Preaching Biblical Stories in Present Tense
Marking Time: Preaching Biblical Stories in Present Tense
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Marking Time: Preaching Biblical Stories in Present Tense

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The preacher is too often caught between biblical and contemporary time. Residing first in one, then in the other, the preacher must somehow find a way to bring the two times -- separate as they might seem -- together. The temptation of course is to capitulate to one side or the other of this tension. The preacher can reside solely in the biblical time, offering the congregation what amounts to weekly lectures on history and archeology, spiced up with the occasional moralistic conclusion. Or, setting up shop permanently in contemporary time, she or he can offer commentaries on society and culture that occasionally tip their hats in the direction of Scripture. A third way, contends Barbara Lundblad, lies in marking time, a way of allowing biblical time to speak to the contemporary world and vice versa. When the preacher marks time, he or she admits that there can be no one-to-one correspondence between the world of the text and the world of the congregation. Nevertheless, the preacher demonstrates that when the biblical text is let loose upon our day to day existence, it challenges and judges, redeems and sanctifies it, infusing it with new meaning. Likewise, contemporary situations, needs, and experiences open up new possibilities within Scripture, allowing the congregation to see truth in the text they had never before discovered there, allowing them to discern the leading of the Spirit through the text and into the present moment. In this volume, which grows out of Lundblad's 2000 Beecher Lectures delivered at Yale Divinity School, the author presents both an argument for the ongoing intersection of the biblical and contemporary worlds, and examples of how that intersection might take place.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 1, 2010
ISBN9781426721014
Marking Time: Preaching Biblical Stories in Present Tense
Author

Rev. Barbara K. Lundblad

Barbara K. Lundblad is Joe R. Engle Associate Professor of Preaching at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Rev. Lundblad has been heard regularly on the Protestant Hour for many years and is formerly pastor of an ELCU parish on the upper west side of Manhattan. She was chosen to deliver the Beecher lectures at Yale in October 2000.

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    Marking Time - Rev. Barbara K. Lundblad

    CHAPTER ONE

    Marking Time: Reading Scripture at the River’s Edge


    At 8:46 a.m. there was silence. No sound on radio or television. No shouting or laughing in the grade school auditorium. No speeches. No taxis honking. The day was September 11, 2003, and New York City was marking time. How long will this go on? Will the silence be broken when the memorial is completed? When Freedom Tower reaches to the sky? When the children sitting in the grade school auditorium have graduated? There are no answers now, only the need to mark time.

    Marking Time has at least two meanings. When the drum major whistles a certain signal, the marching band comes to a stop. The marchers’ feet are still moving up and down, but the band stays in one place. We say they are marking time. There is another meaning: an intentional attentiveness to the time so that an hour or a day does not pass unnoticed. Someone held in captivity scratches a line on a wall or a stick to mark the rising of the sun, the numbering of the days. The people in the city watch the clock: at 8:46 a.m. they mark the time when the first plane hit the glistening tower on the bluest September day. They etch another mark on their memories, drenched again in sorrow, grateful to be alive one more year.

    Throughout the centuries, cultures have developed rituals for marking time: birthing and dying, naming and coming of age. Families celebrate birthdays and circle the dates on the calendar even after loved ones have died. Nations mark the end of a war or its beginning. Religious communities mark time in Sabbaths and seasons. In the church year, even the long season not marked by events in Jesus’ life has a name—Ordinary Time. The longest of the Ten Commandments gathers up both meanings of marking time. Even as the Hebrew people marked time at the foot of Mount Sinai, God called them to mark their time intentionally with the remembrance of Sabbath:

    Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it. (Exodus 20:8-11)

    For those wilderness wanderers, time was to be marked not only by sunrise and sunset but by making a special mark on the stick—a longer mark, a different color—a reminder that God created the days and the nights and all that is in them.

    I learned to mark time in a different way during my years as a pastor in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan. In earlier times, this uptown neighborhood on the cliffs above the river was known as Frankfurt on Hudson because of the many German Jewish immigrants who settled there during and after World War II. Our church was on Bennett Avenue, an obscure street only eleven blocks long, still home to two Orthodox congregations. On weekday mornings the men rise early for study and prayer at the yeshiva before going to work and on the holidays the street is filled with people.

    The parish I served shared space with Beth Am, a Reform Jewish congregation. Every Friday night, the music of Sabbath worship drifted up three flights of stairs to my apartment. Over the span of years, I learned to mark time by the rhythm of the Jewish Sabbath. September and October were marked not only by the falling leaves, but by the coming of the new year, Rosh Hashanah. Though I have moved from that street and the apartment above the sanctuary, this rhythm still marks time for me.

    The Beecher Lectures that form the core of this book began on the day of Yom Kippur. This timing was coincidental, since convocation at Yale Divinity School was normally scheduled for the second week of October. But as the date approached, my chosen theme of marking time intersected the rhythm of these holy days. On the morning of the first lecture, the people of Beth Am had gathered to pray the Yom Kippur liturgy:

    This is the day of awe. What are we, as we stand in Your presence, O God? A leaf in the storm, a fleeting moment in the flow of time, a whisper lost among the stars.

    This is the day of decision. Today we invoke You as the Molder of our destiny. Help us to mend the evil of our ways, to right the heart’s old wrongs. On this Sabbath of the soul, inscribe us for blessing in the Book of Life.

    This is the day of our atonement. We would return to You as penitent children long to return to a loving parent. We confess our sins on this day, knowing that the gates of repentance are always open. Receive us with compassion, and bless us with Your forgiving love.¹

    At the end of the day, the setting sun marked the time when the long day of fasting was broken by sharing a simple meal. The fall cycle of holy days ends with Simchat Torah when people dance the scrolls down the aisle of the synagogue and out into the street. On that day, the Jewish people read the last words of Deuteronomy and the first words of Genesis within the same service. The end and the beginning are brought together. Then, for the rest of the year, they unroll the scroll, reading from Genesis toward Deuteronomy, until they arrive once more at the river. No matter that we are almost certain Deuteronomy was written centuries after crossing the Jordan. No matter that we understand the Books of Moses as metaphor rather than historical reality. (Hadn’t we wondered even in junior high how Moses could have written about his own death?) But in their wisdom the ancient writers returned to that place on the far side of the Jordan. Before crossing over into the new land they stopped. They did not move. They marked time and they

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