The first church we served was in Nebraska.  We were in the Presbytery of Central Nebraska.  At one of the presbytery meetings, there was a lay pastor ready to be certified.  He was answering questions about his beliefs and his sense of calling, his faith journey.

One of the ministers asked him about his views on Jesus Christ’s descent into hell.  The fellow didn’t know what to say.  My guess would be that was the first time anyone had ever asked him about it.  I can understand that; no one has ever asked me about it!  As you might know, there’s a line in the Apostles’ Creed saying about Jesus, “he descended to the dead.”  That’s from the modern, ecumenical version.  The original, traditional reading says of Jesus, “he descended into hell.”

I honestly don’t remember the pastor’s name, but he took the opportunity to speak of Jesus’ descending into hell as an image of his own life.  He spent about two minutes telling us of his trials and tribulations.  (If two minutes doesn’t seem like much, get a stopwatch and time it.)  I really didn’t know him very well, but from what I did know, I knew he wasn’t lying about his experiences.  Meanwhile the poor fellow, the prospective lay pastor, was still up there, waiting for him to finish!  (By the way, he was certified.)

It was one of the more interesting presbytery meetings I’ve been to.

The epistle reading in 1 Peter 3 has some verses that are often associated with the so-called “harrowing of hell,” that is, the plundering of hell.  The harrowing of hell is said to be what transpired on Holy Saturday, between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  Jesus visited hell and liberated the saints of old, and others.  There is no direct Biblical testimony to this, but it is based on a number of scriptures and the centuries-old witness of church tradition.  But let’s hold off on that visit for a few moments.

The lectionary reading actually begins with verse 18, even though the paragraph starts with verse 13.  Looking at it, I suppose I can see why that part was left out.  “Now who will harm you if you are eager to do what is good?  But even if you do suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed…  For it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil” (vv. 13-14, 17).  “If suffering should be God’s will.”  Yikes!

Tucked away in the midst of that is this little gem: “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence” (vv. 15-16).  Don’t get in people’s faces.  Don’t make them feel stupid.  Don’t be a jerk.  (That last sentence is from an alternate translation.)

Peter’s audience has had plenty of opportunities and/or demands to explain themselves.  They have had to deal with persecution.

Then there’s a transition to Christ, who “also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God” (v. 18).  He has set the example for them, and us, of underserved punishment and unjust treatment.

Then Peter’s thought takes a slight turn.  “He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah” (vv. 18-20).

Who are these “spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey”?  There’s a curious story in Genesis 6.  There is mention of “the sons of God [who] saw that [the women] were fair; and they took wives for themselves of all that they chose.  Then the Lord said, ‘My spirit shall not abide in mortals forever, for they are flesh; their days shall be one hundred twenty years.’  The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went in to the daughters of humans, who bore children to them.  These were the heroes that were of old, warriors of renown” (vv. 2-4).

[One image of Nephilim]

No one really knows who these sons of God and Nephilim were.  Theories abound about fallen angels, giants, unrighteous men.  Whatever the case, they were consigned into the prison Jesus visited.  In response, Jesus found them worthy of hearing his message of good news.

But then there was Noah, of whom he and his family “were saved through water.”  Peter says, “this prefigured [baptism, which] now saves you” (vv. 20-21).  The water of the flood, through which Noah and his family passed, prefigures, or foreshadows baptism.

So there’s water, but what about fire?  We’re back to the harrowing of hell, the plundering of hell!

The New Testament has three different words translated as “hell.”  So pick your favorite.  The first one, “Hades” (άδης), like “Sheol” in the Old Testament, is the land of the dead, the grave.

The second word, “Gehenna” (γέεννα), is the one associated with fire.  It goes back to the valley of Hinnom, where some Israelites burned human sacrifices to pagan gods.

The third word, “Tartarus” (ταρταρόω), is used only once—in 2 Peter 2:4.  In Greek mythology, Tartarus was said to be as far below Hades as the earth is below heaven.  Friends, that is a long way!

The word “hell” in the Apostles’ Creed (κάτω katō) means “down” or “below” and can be translated as he descended to “lower ones” or “those below.”  So it’s not a place; it’s people.

Some speak of a struggle with Satan.  Many have been really creative in describing how Jesus kicks open the gates of hell and demands the release of the captives.  One of my teachers had a dim view of this whole scenario.  He didn’t put much stock in portraying Jesus in a boxing match with the devil!

Banu said that, after my surgery seeing me unconscious in the intensive care unit, with all kinds of lines hooked into me and a ventilator tube going down my throat, she could better appreciate Jesus’ descent into hell.  He came down to where she was.

(Actually, on occasion, that might be a good story for hospital chaplains to use when consoling those in the waiting room.)

C. S. Lewis said of the harrowing of hell, “It was not once long ago that He did it. Time does not work that way once ye have left the Earth. All moments that have been or shall be were, or are, present in the moment of His descending.  There is no spirit in prison to Whom He did not preach.”

We’re told, “Whatever hells we may find ourselves in, whether in this life or another, Jesus is there waiting for us—and He has the power to pull us out.  Hell’s days are numbered.  Indeed, the only thing that keeps us there is our refusal to accept God’s love—and we may genuinely hope this love will [at last] prove irresistible.”[1]

How much during this particular Lent is this a meaningful word?

On Ash Wednesday, I spoke of the ashes put on our foreheads as a reminder of our mortality.  We are on this planet for a finite amount of time.  “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  I suggested perhaps this time we might not need to be reminded “we are dust.”  We’ve witnessed plenty of dust this past year.

It’s possible we might be in our own Hades, indeed our own Hell, and yet, hope is here.  The word of good news, of gospel, is being delivered.

As we end the chapter, the good news of resurrection breaks forth from down below into glorious majesty.  Christ “has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers made subject to him” (v. 22).  We speak of the triumphal procession of Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.  How can we not also speak of the triumphal procession of Christ freeing the captives and defeating the grave—literally plundering death of its ultimate power?  Who else has gone to hell and back?

Angels, authorities, and powers have been made subject to him.  This isn’t some abstract nicety.  I’m not sure how often we encounter actual angels, but authorities and powers are forces we run into every day.  We can think of visible authority, like government.  There is easily recognized power, like the power of knowledge.  (Teachers, would you agree with that?)

There are realities more elusive and unknown.  Many of them we choose.  With others, we allow ourselves to be chosen.  We obey the authorities of money, of fashion, of “what will the neighbors say?”  We choose the power of life and death in the multitude of ways they are expressed.

We build up, and we tear down.  We affirm, and we negate.  We help, and we hinder.  All of that stuff has been made subject, all has been made subordinate, to Christ.

So, what about this Lent?  Are we to give something up?  Should we give up that which keeps us from answering others with gentleness and reverence?  Should we give up that which keeps us from having a clear conscience?  Should we give up that which imprisons us?

Thanks be to God, we have one who goes before us, one who leads in procession for us, one who has gone to hell and back for us, Jesus Christ.

[1] godoftheodd.wordpress.com/2017/04/07/the-harrowing-of-hell-what-really-happens-between-good-friday-and-easter-sunday

We’ve all heard the saying, “With friends like that, who needs enemies?”  Actually, some people fuse those two words together and come up with “frenemies.”  We can have a love/hate relationship.  Unfortunately, the church is not immune to that.

Of course, we see in the news the scandals of sexual and financial misconduct in the church.  It seems to be an almost routine story, whether it’s something fishy going on in the local congregation, or at the hierarchical level.  I’ll admit to becoming somewhat desensitized to it.

Henri Nouwen, a beloved spiritual leader who died in 1996, had many thoughts on this very issue.[1]

“When we have been wounded by the Church,” he says, “our temptation is to reject it.  But when we reject the Church it becomes very hard for us to keep in touch with the living Christ.  When we say, ‘I love Jesus, but I hate the Church,’ we end up losing not only the Church but Jesus too.”  There’s the temptation to throw the baby out with the bath water.

He goes on, “The challenge is to forgive the Church.  This challenge is especially great because the Church seldom asks us for forgiveness.”

I definitely agree with him on that.  And worse than that, far from asking our forgiveness, sometimes the church reprimands those who point out its errors.  Often it does it in ways using intimidation, shame, and even physical violence.  It must leave Jesus weeping tears of sorrow.

So we don’t have to look very far to find our own frenemy.  I’m sure we can easily find those who think of us that way!

We find such characters in our gospel reading.  In Mark 12, Jesus is teaching in the temple, and not everyone is happy with what they’re hearing.

Jesus turns his attention to the scribes.  These were people who were primarily teachers of the law.  When reading the New Testament, we might get the impression they all were a bunch of bad guys.  That isn’t the case.  It’s true many of them did question Jesus about what he was doing and teaching, but they all didn’t have the same motivations.

Like the fellow in verse 34, who sees the wisdom in what Jesus is saying, some of the scribes do their job with sincerity.  Then we have the scribes we meet in today’s reading.  There are always some who give the rest a bad name.  That’s often true, no matter what group we think of.

Henri Nouwen: “The challenge is to forgive the Church. This challenge is especially great because the Church seldom asks us for forgiveness.”

Jesus says, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!” (vv. 38-39).

Please note: the focus is not on the actions themselves, but on the fact they like displaying themselves while they do them.  It’s not about walking around in long robes, but being a show off.  It’s not about being greeted with respect in public, but the sense of entitlement that gives them a feeling of being better than others.

Listening to Jesus, what expressions are on the people’s faces?  Are they shocked?  Are they thinking, “What has he done now?”  Or are they smiling?  Are they laughing?  Does Jesus act out “walking around in long robes” and “being greeted with respect”?  In the verse right before this, Mark has just told us “the large crowd was listening to him with delight” (v. 37).

Whatever the case, in verse 40, things really do get serious.  Jesus says of the scribes, “They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.  They will receive the greater condemnation.”  If those boys don’t shape up, they’re going to be in a world of hurt!

We don’t know precisely what that bit about “devouring widows’ houses” is about.[2]  Some say he’s talking about a function of the scribes in which they serve as trustees of widow’s estates.  (The idea being widows can’t be trusted with their dearly departed husband’s property!)  For their service, the scribes get a percentage of the assets.  And surprise, surprise—embezzlement often occurs.

Other people say Jesus is addressing the religious system itself.  Funding for the temple is an economic drain on the widows—and on all of the poor.  Nothing gets Jesus quite as ticked off as robbery disguised as piety.

After this, the story we hear about the poor widow is the perfect illustration of the system sticking it to the helpless.

But what really tops it off for Jesus is “for the sake of appearance [they] say long prayers.”  In the previous chapter, Jesus exposes the greed behind the system of sacrifices when he goes into the temple.  He tosses out the moneychangers (who rip people off with unfair exchange rates); he knocks over their tables.  That’s the point of his protest.  It’s not because they’re selling things; it’s because they’re cheating people.

But I like the way he specifies “for the sake of appearance [saying] long prayers.”  In Matthew 6, right before what we call the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus warns against “[heaping] up empty phrases” with “many words” (v. 7).  Actually, any prayer done for the sake of appearance is messed up.

Still, that emphasis on long prayers can be quite liberating.  God is far less interested in any eloquence we might think we have than what comes from the heart.  And incidentally, the mere fact that I’m a minister doesn’t mean God cares about my prayers any more than anybody else’s.  (Including being called on to pray at public events!)

One of the primary documents of Christian monasticism is the Rule of Benedict.  Written in the sixth century, it includes this about prayer: “We must know that God regards our purity of heart and tears of compunction, not our many words.  Prayer should therefore be short and pure, unless perhaps it is prolonged under the inspiration of divine grace.  In community, however, prayer should always be brief.”[3]  Notice it says, “in community.”  If you’re all by yourself, pray as long as you like.  In those moments, you’re not performing for anybody; it’s just you and God.

Those warnings about prayer help to keep us from using faith as a cover for less honorable motives.

So, to that point, who has been hurt by the church?  I began by talking about sexual and financial misconduct.  There are other ways: being ignored, disregarded, being the object of gossip.  Pope Francis spoke about “the terrorism of gossip.”[4]  He half-jokingly added, “which is even worse than an occasional physical confrontation.”  All of these things corrode our relationships as the body of Christ.

And yet, as Henri Nouwen reminds us, we are called to believe in the church.[5]  He says, “The Church is an object of faith.  In the Apostles’ Creed, we pray: ‘I believe in [among other things] the holy Catholic Church.”  (The Nicene Creed says, “We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church.”)

The creeds do not “say that the Church is an organization that helps us to believe in God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  No, we are called to believe in the Church with the same faith we believe in God.

“Often it seems harder to believe in the Church than to believe in God.  But whenever we separate our belief in God from our belief in the Church, we become unbelievers.  God has given us the Church as the place where God becomes God-with-us.”

I won’t deny believing in the church, loving the church, forgiving the church, can be a really tall order!  Especially for those who’ve been hurt by the church, that can sound like a slap in the face.  And to be honest, I’m not sure I agree with everything our friend Henri says about this.

I remember when Banu and I were at our first church; this was in Nebraska.  We met a group of people who were part of the Baha’i faith.  (By the way, I agree with much of what they teach.)  Some of them had had bad experiences with the church.  A couple of them referred to “churchianity.”  They found in the Baha’i faith the acceptance and spiritual connection they did not find in the Christian church.

Of course, the terrible, bitter irony is that the church is the creation of Jesus Christ.  The church is the body of Christ now in the world.

As we are the church in this place and in this time, what are some ways in which we can check ourselves?  What are some ways in which we can act—and not for the sake of appearance?  Where are we on that strange continuum of “frenemy”?  No doubt, sometimes we’re more “friend,” and other times, we’re more “enemy.”

As those who Jesus calls friends, may we be there for others who have been hurt by the church.  Let us be a living example of God’s love, grace, and peace.

[1] henrinouwen.org/meditation/forgiving-the-church

[2] www.crossmarks.com/brian/mark12x38.htm

[3] from Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict:  Insights for the Ages (New York:  Crossroad, 1992), 90.

[4] www.catholicherald.co.uk/news/2014/11/07/pope-francis-urges-religious-to-crack-down-on-terrorism-of-gossip

[5] henrinouwen.org/meditation/believing-in-the-church

“All who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves.” Our Bible study is moving to chapters 10 and 11 of 1 Corinthians. Paul’s warning about failure to discern the body appears in verse 29 of the latter chapter. This is part of his critique of the Corinthian church and their observance of the Lord’s Supper, the Eucharist—or rather, the lack thereof.

The apostle begins this section in verse 17 with the rather diplomatic statement, “I do not commend you.” It seems that the divisions of rich and poor have not only been maintained among these followers of Christ, but they’ve found expression at the very heart of worship. He speaks of the agape or love feast, which was joined with the Eucharist, in which “each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (v. 21). His outrage boils over in the next verse: “What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing?”

This failure of love—this failure of generosity—is due to the aforementioned failure to discern the body, to recognize the body of Christ. Consequently, Paul’s verdict is that “many of you are weak and ill, and some have died” (v. 30).

What’s going on here? Verse 28 says, “Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup.” Is this failure in discernment a faulty self-diagnostic? Is it a question of being oblivious to what the body and blood of the Lord are all about? In extreme cases, does that lead to visible effects in health, even resulting in death? (I suppose the opposing maladies of overindulgence and hunger would seem to make that evident!)

There clearly is also in operation a reality that is communal, even political, in nature. Failure to discern the body is in line with one of Paul’s often repeated sentiments, “Do not seek your own advantage, but that of the other” (10:24). When we fail to love our neighbor, across the street or across the world, we fail to discern the body. We fail to recognize our sisters and brothers and our unity with them.

In his book, Deeper than Words, Brother David Steindl-Rast uses the concept of “the holy catholic church” from the Apostles’ Creed and expands on it. He says that “our horizon has grown wider…Truly catholic is only that faith in Life and its ultimate Source that all humans share. It remains alive in the hearts of humans who are not even aware of it.” (139)

That’s something deserving of our attention!