Scripture: 1 Samuel 3
Sermon: Speak Up!
In those days, the word of the LORD was rare.
In those days… the word of the LORD was rare?
What were those days?
Those days were long after Moses led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt and long after manna rained down from the heavens and water poured forth from a rock…
Those days were long after they’d received the
Ten Commandments carved into stone from the top of
Mt. Sinai… long after they’d built the tabernacle and placed the ark inside… long after the death of Moses.
Those days were long after Joshua led them into the Promised Land and the walls of Jericho came tumbling down and the tribes settled into their territories.
In those days, the LORD raised up judges to defend the Israelites against their enemies. They were a loose federation of tribes – they had no king. And in those days, the book of Judges says: all the people did what was right in their own eyes.
Those days sound a lot like these days.
In these days, in this land, we place a high value on personal freedoms, individual rights, private ownership and self determination. Truth is relative, boundaries are porous and no one has the authority to impose his or her idea of moral right or wrong on anyone else.
That’s not all bad. We value authenticity and taking responsibility for our own voices and thoughts and will. We want our children to grow up with confidence and to recognize and develop their unique passions and gifts. We encourage self development and self expression.
But in the pursuit of our highest American ideals of independence and freedom, we’ve sidelined mutual responsibility and shared community. We’ve ascribed higher values to some people over others… and some people’s freedoms over others… we’ve legitimized disrespect… and we’ve honored position and privilege over sacrifice and service.
We’ve forgotten that we grow alongside others… that we are actually accountable to one another… that we don’t live in individual silos but in families and in communities and we are interdependent, even as we are increasingly distant from each other… distrusting of each other… fearful even.
And in this land, we’ve allowed our Christian faith to be co-opted as an instrument of the state.
In these days, we do what is right in our own eyes… for our own pleasure and our own gain. And in these days, as in those days, the word of the LORD is rare.
In the biblical story, when things got out of whack, God raised up prophets – truth-tellers- people who would be God’s mouthpieces to call the people back into right relationships with God and with one another.
We live in a time of confusion, isolation and heartache. Our cities are being destroyed by earthquakes, storms and wildfires. Our communities are fractured by polarizing attitudes—if ever we need a word from the LORD, surely it’s in these days…
Is God speaking? Are we listening? Are we able to hear? Do we have the courage to speak up? Are truth-tellers welcome here?
Let’s look to our story from this morning for clues for today:
First – God calls prophets from inside the mess. Eli’s family was corrupt and Samuel, while not technically one of Eli’s sons, had a front row seat. Samuel was actually born to another couple: a faithful man who made regular pilgrimages to Shiloh – the center of Israelite worship before the Temple was built in Jerusalem – with his wife — who for years was barren. Hannah went with her husband to worship and she prayed and prayed for a child.
When she finally became pregnant, Hannah vowed to dedicate her son – who she named “Samuel” – God has heard — to the LORD – to literally give him to Eli the priest, to be raised by him – to grow as a servant of the LORD.
But all was not well in Eli’s house. Eli’s sons were priests too—priests who didn’t know the LORD or care for the people they served. They took what didn’t belong to them and used the privilege of their position to extort and coerce those who were vulnerable and trusting. They were a scandal to the priesthood, an offense to God and harmful to the very people to whom they were responsible.
Samuel grew up right in the middle of this.
He learned to be a priest while watching the effects of the perversion of it. Like Moses before him, growing up watching the brutality of slavery, Samuel knew first hand what wrong looked like.
Over and over again, God calls prophets from the middle of the context in which they are needed — calls people to speak up and speak into the very corruption in which they live… In the words of the prophet Isaiah: I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips. Prophets are called to speak a word of God into what they know first hand.
Next– God calls prophets who are tuned in. Samuel knew what was wrong—he regularly witnessed it—he lived surrounded by it, but Samuel was a young man of integrity in his own place. We’re told he grew in stature and in favour with the LORD and with the people. He was grounded and disciplined and remained focused on the task at hand. Maybe that’s why, when the call came Samuel was able to hear it.
Prophets are first and foremost listeners – intense listeners.
On the cover of the bulletin today is the Janet McKenzie painting entitled: Elijah Hears the Still Small Voice of God. About this piece, Janet writes: It is the moment Elijah has come through the violence of earthquakes, fire and wind and hears, in exquisite silence, the still small voice of God. His face reflects intense focus as he recognizes that ever so quiet voice reaching out to him. With eyes closed in concentration and hands cupping his ears, he strains to capture every word.
Prophets are tuned in and ready to receive. Here I am, Lord, Speak! I’m listening.
God gives prophets hard truths to speak. After the LORD finished speaking, Samuel stayed in bed. It’s one thing to know something is wrong and another thing altogether to be called to speak it aloud – to speak the pain of it… the inconvenience of it… the naked, shameful reality of it. It’s almost always bad news before it’s good news.
There needs to be a pregnant silence between hearing and speaking a word from the LORD… an uneasy and uncomfortable pause when the prophet holds the word—the necessary, aching word… holds it and examines it – wrestling with the seemingly impossibility of speaking it and the incredible burden of knowing that it must be spoken.
Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner imagines this pondering time as a time when all goes silent and images flash – as if we were to watch the evening news without sound and in slow motion – without interpretation or explanation or justification – just image after image playing in agonizing and blessed silence.
Samuel lay on the bed holding the word and watching in his mind’s eye over and over again all that he had seen – the greed and abuse, the disdain and disrespect, the heartbroken father suffering in silence, the people restless and abandoned…
And the word of the LORD washed over the images, confirming that there can only be hope on the other side of the pain… But Eli… what about Eli… the only father Samuel’s known…
Can truth be spoken without hurting the ones we love?
Finally, the grace in the story is in the invitation to speak. Not surprisingly, when morning came and he stood before Eli, Samuel was afraid to tell him what the Lord had said. But Eli welcomed the truth: What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me.
To welcome truth – that’s the real rarity. To intentionally cultivate hospitable space – to treat a truth-teller with honor and respect – as a guest – to make space for the uninterrupted hearing of unvarnished truth. Not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear.
Remember that Hans Christian Andersen story of the early 1800’s – The Emperor’s New Clothes? The emperor just had to have the latest and greatest wardrobe available – especially something made by those two new tailors in town who had such amazing fabric – magic it was – it was invisible to those who were either unfit for their positions or unusually stupid.
If he wore something made out of that, he figured, he would know instantly who was expendable from his court and he would be able to tell the wise man from the fool.
But, truth-tellers were not welcome in this emperor’s court. Instead, he demanded constant flattery. To the person: his minister, his officials, his entire entourage – each and every one pretended to see the cloth so they wouldn’t be revealed to be unfit or stupid. It took a child to speak the truth – in front of the whole town as the emperor paraded his new outfit for all to see:
He hasn’t got anything on!
Had anyone, anyone been invited to tell the truth at any point along the way, How that story would have ended differently.
It’s risky to invite a truth-teller into your life, your home, the church, the office, the halls of government – risky… courageous… but the way back into right relationships begins when truth is spoken and heard.
In those days and in these days, the word of the LORD is rare. Rare – not as in infrequent and not as in undercooked, but as in rare treasure: precious, costly, of great value.
What’s needed is good listeners: grounded in scripture, faithful practice and prayer – tuned in and focused to hear that still small voice amid the cacophony of distractions.
What’s needed is silence between the hearing and the speaking – silence to hold the word until it sinks into our bones and we are compelled to speak.
What’s needed is courage – courage to stand up and to speak up as the LORD our God leads us to do.
Speak O Lord, we pray, with a deep longing and not a small amount of trepidation… your servant church is listening. May it be so.
Scripture: Exodus 16:1-18
Sermon: Enough Already
For over 1000 years, Jewish families have been singing a favorite song during Passover. It’s called Dayenu — It would have been enough.
There are 15 verses: Had God brought us out of Egypt and not given us their wealth – it would have been enough…
Had God given us their wealth and not split the sea for us – it would have been enough…
Had God split the sea for us and not supplied our needs in the desert for 40 years, it would have been enough…
Had God supplied our needs in the desert for 40 years and not given us manna, it would have been enough…
Had God given us manna and not given us the Sabbath, it would have been enough…
It’s a song of thanksgiving for God’s generosity. Naming blessing after blessing after blessing — from Sabbath to Mt. Sinai to the Torah to the Promised Land to the building of the Temple – the song covers the story of Israelite and Jewish identity – each time with the chorus: Dayenu – Day: enough, enu: for us.
But the song was written long after the fact looking backwards – after all of these things had already been given. As the biblical writers tell it, the people were far from content along the way – grumbling at each step.
To remind each other of this, Persian and Afghani Jews hit each other over the head and shoulders with scallions every time they sing Dayenu – especially during the verse that talks about manna in the wilderness, because after eating manna day after day after day the Israelites longed for onions and leeks and garlic… How many different ways, after all, can you prepare manna in the wilderness?
That would have been enough for us? After the fact, they could sing it, but in the moment – they were anxious, angry, lost, fearful. But they were learning… learning to be God’s free people. Learning to trust, learning to depend upon God, learning the blessing of enough…
All that I have is yours, was the theme of the conference I attended on generosity week before last. All that I have is yours, said the father to the elder son in the parable of the prodigal son – luke 15. You remember the story?
Two sons. The younger went to his father and demanded his portion of the inheritance early then went far away and spent it all on wasteful living. When he had nothing left and nowhere else to turn, he came home — willing to be a servant in his father’s household.
In a surprising display of generosity and overwhelming forgiveness, the father welcomes him home– not as servant, but as beloved son. His Dayenu song might have sounded like this:
It would have been enough had you allowed me to come home and not run down the lane with outstretched arms…it would have been enough had you run down the lane with outstretched arms and not thrown them around me… it would have been enough had you thrown your arms around me and not given me a robe and a ring… it would have been enough had you given me a robe and ring and not thrown me a party… it would have been enough had you thrown me a party and not killed the fatted calf…
But the elder brother who always did right by his dad… the one who worked hard for him and never left home – when his younger brother comes home and he sees this extravagant welcome for him — the elder brother song sounds more like this: Isn’t it enough that he shamed our family? Isn’t it enough that he wasted his life? Hasn’t he hurt us enough? He doesn’t even want to come into his brother’s party because… well because there was never a party thrown for him – and how unfair is that? And his father turns to him and says: All that I have is yours. And – not just yours – all that I have is his too.
Learning to trust that God’s generosity extends to me and to you and to him and to her and to them day after day with blessings sufficient for each — day after day — it’s a process… one that didn’t come easily for the Israelites — because that’s definitely not how it worked under Pharaoh. The wilderness was their classroom and the people of God learned together.
Imagine throwing back the tent flap that first manna morning and seeing the ground covered with what is it? That’s your bread! Go out and collect just what you need, says Moses – and for those who need more specific instructions – that means an omer for each one of you. What’s an omer you ask? 1/10 of an ephah.
So what do you imagine they do? They’re hangry – hungry and angry. So do they go out and calmly collect an omer for each person in their tent? On day one of this new program?
No – some collect more and some collect less – and all the while they’re looking at each other while they gather – some fearfully collecting small handfuls while others greedily shove armfuls of the stuff into their satchels.
They’re used to Pharaoh… used to fighting and hoarding and distrusting their neighbor and doing what they have to do to feed their families and take care of their own.
And the weaker among them hang back in the shadows picking up leftovers. The slower and more feeble ones– accustomed to being overlooked and left behind – not expecting to get their fair share.
But this is God’s economy now. And at the end of the day there is a great leveling and he who gathered much had no excess and he who gathered little had no deficiency. They each had what was right – they each had enough.
I don’t know how that happened. Maybe it was supernatural… maybe their amounts were miraculously adjusted. Or maybe they began to realize they were part of a community and as they looked around at one another they saw the impact of their choices – that their over estimations left another in want – and while waiting in line to be measured, they willingly and humbly turned toward their neighbor with less and offered out of their abundance. Maybe there was a realization that they all faced the same wilderness and they all needed the same help and they all relied upon the same God. And they learned to share – that each may have enough.
By the way, An omer is nearly 9 cups per person of manna a day. That’s actually quite substantial. Compare that to the recipes listed for the annual Unicef “live below the poverty line” campaign where they challenge people to live for 5 days like the 1.2 Billion people in the poorest parts of the world who live on $1.50 per day.
Stir fried brown rice with 4 cups of rice, onion, cabbage and a leek is $1.10 and serves 2. A two egg omelet with spinach is $.86 and pancakes made with a cup of self-rising flour is $.46 per serving.
9 cups of manna per person – with a quail too – sounds like a feast.
Admittedly, it’s a lot easier to see how one person’s choices affect another in a close community like the Israelites – much harder in a global economy. In 2014 Oxfam, the leading anti-poverty charity reported that the world’s 85 richest people own as much as the 3.5 billion poorest people in the world. And in 2017, they reported that 8 men own the same wealth as 3.6 billion people – half the world.
Their report, released in January, entitled: ‘An economy for the 99 percent’, shows that the gap between rich and poor is far greater than had been feared.
It details how big business and the super-rich are fuelling the inequality crisis by dodging taxes, driving down wages and using their power to influence politics. The report shows how broken economies are funneling wealth to a rich elite at the expense of the poorest in society, the majority of whom are women. The richest are accumulating wealth at such an astonishing rate, that the world could see its first trillionaire in just 25 years. To put this figure in perspective – you would need to spend $1 million every day for 2738 years to spend $1 trillion.
When is enough, enough already?
A few years ago a Jewish group in Boston prepared for the celebration of Passover by announcing an online Dayenu challenge: What does Dayenu mean today? they asked – What is enough for us?
Three well-known Jewish voices weighed in and dozens more posted their thoughts on Facebook:
– A deeply satisfying sufficiency… —wrote Jeremy Benstein, Co-Founder and Executive Director of the Heschel Center for Sustainability in Israel —–not the maximum possible consumption for an ongoing high standard of living, but the minimum required for a life of dignity, security and joy, available to all…
– Enoughness can be contrasted with restlessness, a woman posted on Facebook,To be restless is to never be satisfied, to always strive for more… We need a restless part of our personalities, of our communities, of our economies. But relentless restlessness is damaging.
-Another wrote: It is enough already. We cannot continue to buy, and revel in the freedom of our choices, when it is built on others’ slavery.
-still another wrote: I… have moments that feel overflowing and more than enough…It can be with people…seeing or being seen; or within nature…of being enamored by their beauty, aliveness, intricacy, and otherness.
-and —Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin, Founder and Director of the Baltimore Jewish Environmental Network wrote a parable:
“Once, a wealthy Jew from America came to visit a 19th-century Polish rabbi renowned for his modesty, ethics and wisdom. The American was astonished to see the famed rabbi sitting in a room with nothing but a bed, a chair, a desk and books.
“Dear Rabbi,” the American asked, “where are all your things?”
“Where are all yours?” the rabbi replied.
“Mine? I am just a visitor.”
“So am I,” replied the rabbi.
What would it mean to live with a deep sense of enough?
How would it shape our neighborliness?
How would it free us to live more generously? more open-handedly and open-heartedly?
How would it change our sense of participation in God’s generosity?
All that I have is yours, says the Lord our God, and yours and yours and yours…
What does that mean for us? If we dare to believe that’s really true, how then shall we live? Da-da-ye-nu, da-ye-nu da-ye-nu!
10/01/17 World Communion Sunday
Scripture: Exodus 2:23-25; 3:1-15; 4:10-17
Sermon: Who am I?
God’s dreams are always so much bigger than anything we can conceive of. And when we are invited into them, it’s thrilling, and humbling and terrifying all at the same time.
Three weeks ago we started making our way through the Old Testament – lifting up stories of God and God’s people. We began at the beginning, when God created the world and all that is within it and declared it good – tov – purposeful, beneficial, sustainable, fair, honorable – tov – God said– very good. God is a creative God who creates toward tov –and invites his people – you and I – to do the same.
The next week we met Abraham, Father Abraham, as he walked up the mountain with his son Isaac, ready and willing to sacrifice him as a show of his obedience. But God isn’t a God of binding, rather of loosing – of letting go – of freedom. God provided a ram for the sacrifice and Isaac was set free.
Last week we met Jacob on the run after tricking his father and stealing his brother’s blessing. Jacob learned and we did too, that God is a God of relationship. An
I am with you God, even when, maybe especially when, we’re running and hiding, doubtful and lost.
Today, in the Moses story, we see all of these things and something else: God is a God of big and seemingly impossible dreams.
A favorite story and the song:
To dream the impossible dream… to fight the unbeatable foe… to bear with unbearable sorrow… to run where the brave dare not go… This is the God who met Moses in a bush – a bush on fire, yet refusing to burn.
Gorgeous amazing things come into our lives when we are paying attention, says Anne Lamott.
Leaning in for a closer look, Moses heard his name. Leaning in further, he heard the call:
To fight for the right, without question or pause… to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause… impossible, unbearable, unreachable, unimaginable –Yes.
This is a God who heard the cry of a people oppressed– beaten down –in a world created tov; this God sees and knows their suffering and will not stand for it.
In the words of the great theologian Karl Barth: God’s word always sides with counter movements against injustice.
You – Moses – you go tell Pharaoh, head of the greatest empire in the world, to stop the oppression, end the slavery and exploitation and let my people go.
Me? Who am I? says Moses, as if he didn’t know. We, the readers of Exodus, we know his unique qualifications:
Moses — born an Israelite – born to a Hebrew woman — set free – by faithful Hebrew midwives – in a basket down the river. The very ones enslaved by the Egyptians are the ones who saved him – they are his blood, his people.
But Moses, drawn out of the river by Pharaoh’s daughter grew up Egyptian, raised in privilege – in the household of the Pharaoh himself. So he knew both worlds – both sides of this story. He’d seen first hand the beating and abuse and his sympathies were with the oppressed. And God knew that.
Moses had a passion for justice and a heart for the underdog. Once he killed a man – an Egyptian taskmaster – when he saw him beating a Hebrew slave. Another time, he defended women from shepherds who harassed them. And God saw that.
Who am I? Moses asks and we know, and more importantly, God knows, his whole life has been leading to this moment – for such a time as this.
How does he not know? Ah, but Egypt is not even on his radar – he’d made a home in those Midianite hills. He had a family, a job — he was comfortable, he was settled. This was not his dream, it was God’s dream.
Me?? Who am I?
I didn’t even know this church existed when Andy and I fell in love with a house just outside town. Four years ago, First Presbyterian Church in Tecumseh was not on my radar. I was pastor to another church and while I was open to a new call, I was not looking here.
Gorgeous amazing things come into our lives when we are paying attention…
And here it was: a church on fire yet refusing to burn.
Here’s a part of my story you don’t know:
My sisters were in town when I got the call nearly four years ago inviting me to be your pastor. I hung up the phone and with great excitement, shared the news and shared my answer: Yes!
Do they have any debt? my sister asked.
What kind of mortgage do they have?
What’s their overall budget?
Do they have an endowment?
How many people are on the rolls?
How many children are there?
What kind of support staff do you have?
One after another they fired question after question at me that I didn’t know the answers to and I hadn’t asked. And I felt that creeping dread – you know what I mean.
Oh well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, they said.
I have a college degree in business and a graduate degree in theology – I’d worked in the corporate world for 11 years and in the church for almost 10 – I knew those questions. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask them.
That night I lay awake wondering what on earth I was getting myself into. And through the silence came another question:
Under what circumstances would you have said no? And I didn’t have an answer to that either. Then into the silence came the gift of presence; into the darkness a reminder of relationship: I will be with you.
And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that God would figure it out – had been figuring it out– because, after all, it was God’s church. I just happened to be incredibly blessed and humbled to be invited into it.
Over the last four years I’ve met person after person who said yes to this amazing dream … this risky, illogical, impractical, impossible dream … person after person, uniquely and specifically called to this place at this time … doctors, counselors, artists, engineers, teachers, chaplains, farmers, administrators, musicians, business owners, carpenters and systematic thinkers… seeking community, a place to quench spiritual hunger, a way to share gifts, to be a part of something bigger than self… looking for purpose and connection and meaningful contribution.
God is building and shaping this resurrection church – out of the raw materials of our lives and our faith and our experiences:
-God is shaping and forming a body of Christ that really does believe everyone – every one has a place and a face, a story and a voice…
-shaping and forming a group of people who trusts that it is God’s desire to have a church in this town that welcomes all people to follow Christ together,
-building and forming a church that is willing to throw open its doors with generous hospitality and provide gracious space to people in recovery, to grieving parents who’ve lost their children, to homeschooling families, to an organic food coop, to artists exiled from their creative space…
-God is shaping and forming a creation-care church teaching and practicing environmental stewardship and sustainability – working together toward tov…
-building and shaping disciples of Christ courageous enough to not only host difficult conversations but partner with organizations in this town to tirelessly work for freedom from addictions, freedom from domestic violence, freedom from hunger and poverty, freedom from bullying, freedom from prejudice, freedom from silence…
Even when it seems, maybe especially when it seems impossible, hopeless, so incredibly overwhelming and unbearable – that is precisely where God’s heart is and God’s dream for shalom is – that all will be well.
God’s dreams are always so much bigger than anything we can conceive of. And when we are invited into them, it’s thrilling, and humbling and terrifying all at the same time. But where else would we ever want to be?
Who am I?
That’s really not the most important question.
Who is God? That’s the real question.
On this World Communion Sunday, we remember that we are part of a global enterprise with agents of reconciliation, forgiveness, justice, freedom, peace, love and grace – sent into all kinds of places to be steadfast, courageous, determined and faithful to the one called I am.
And the world will be better for this…so the song goes, That one man, scorned and covered with scars…Still strove with his last ounce of courage… to dream, to fight, to bear, to run, to right, to love…
And with mad and relentless hope, in the name of Jesus the Christ, we do too.
Scripture: Genesis 27:1-4, 15-23, 28:10-17
Sermon: Shadows and Stairways
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach
with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during
the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one
set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most,
you have not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
“The times when you have
seen only one set of footprints,
is when I carried you.”
Mary Stevenson was a teenager when she wrote this poem, but she already knew heartache: losing her mother at 6, growing up outside Philadelphia in the depression, entering an abusive relationship at 16 that she later escaped with her infant son…
Footprints in the Sand was the inspiration for a life review exercise I led several years ago. Using a sketch of a stone path printed on cardstock and a set of footprint stickers, I told the story of my life – the high points being when I felt I was squarely on the path and the low points when I’d wandered.
The grit of the story came out of those wandering times. Like the single footprint periods in the poem, they were the times, when looking back— I could most clearly see God’s hand at work. They marked crisis points… turning points… when the trajectory of my life changed direction or orientation.
Maybe there are times in your life that you can look back to and clearly remember: it was there that my life changed.
That’s how it was for Jacob. At the end of his life, as he drew his son and grandsons close, he told them about the time God blessed him. It was there that his life changed.
Jacob is one of the patriarchs of the Jewish faith and one of our spiritual ancestors as well. His name together with his father’s Isaac and his grandfather’s Abraham, are referenced alongside the name of God – throughout the Bible – to signify that God is a God of relationships. To Moses, God said: Thus you shall say to the Israelites: The God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob has sent me to you.
Talking with religious leaders about resurrection, Jesus said: Have you not read what God said to you? I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. He is God not of the dead, but of the living.
As Peter preached to the Jews in the Temple he said: The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob, the God of our ancestors has glorified his servant Jesus.
God blessed each one: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and made a covenant, a promise with each one: God would be their God and they would be his people – and all of their children after them.
This is the story of Jacob’s blessing.
Actually, Jacob was twice blessed in this story – first by his father Isaac. That blessing was intended for his brother Esau, but through underhanded treachery, orchestrated by his mother, Jacob stole it. You can read all the sordid details in Genesis– of the favoritism and dysfunctional family dynamics at play since the twins were born—but for our purposes today, let it suffice to say Jacob did a very bad thing that hurt is father deeply and angered his brother majorly and he’d be a dead man, save for the further machinations of his mom to secure him a job in Haran working for her brother. Haran was over 550 miles away from Jacob’s home in Beersheba.
Every time you leave home, another road takes you into a world you were never in, begins the poem by John O’Donohue called For the Traveler. A journey can become a sacred thing, it continues, Make sure, before you go, to take the time to bless your going forth, to free your heart of ballast so that the compass of your soul might direct you toward the territories of spirit where you will discover more of your hidden life, and the urgencies that deserve to claim you.
Indeed Jacob’s journey would become a sacred thing, a territory of spirit, a discovery of his hidden life and an urgent appointment with his destiny — but not because he took the time to do anything but get the heck out of Dodge as soon as he could.
Cloaked no longer by his brother’s hunting jacket, but by the clinging shadows of his own shame, he is on the run – from a past life that is no longer available to him to a future life he cannot yet see. Jacob is, in the words of Franciscan friar Richard Rohr:
…betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown. There alone is (his) old world left behind, while (he) is not yet sure of the new existence. That’s a good space where genuine newness can begin, says Rohr. Get there often and stay as long as you can by whatever means possible… This is the sacred space where the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed. … liminal space… the threshold… it’s God’s waiting room.
And this is where the story gets most interesting. Jacob is not waiting for God… not looking for God. He is on no vision quest, says the Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor, he has simply pushed his luck too far and has left town in a hurry. He is between times and places, in a limbo of his own making.
He’s on the run. Self-preservation is what Jacob is after. When he stopped for the night he was somewhere… anywhere… nowhere… everywhere… wherever. He took a stone from that wasteland – that no place between worlds – put it under his head and fell asleep. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but to keep putting miles between his murderous brother and himself, his disappointed father and himself, his anxious mother and himself… himself and himself. Have you ever been there? Running… hiding… broken… lost… ashamed… wandering… wondering… desperate to get away from yourself or to find yourself or to reinvent yourself? Are you there now?
Here’s the good news of this story: there… even there… especially there… even though he wasn’t waiting for God, God was there waiting for him.
Jacob dreamed of a stairway to heaven.
Robert Plant remembers writing these lyrics in a flash of inspiration. I was holding a pencil and paper, and for some reason I was in a very bad mood. Then all of a sudden my hand was writing out the words, ‘There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold/And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.’ I just sat there and looked at the words and then I almost leapt out of my seat.
Robert Plant has been asked many times to interpret the lyrics of that most played rock song of all time – Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin. He says: Depending upon what day it is, I still interpret the song a different way. The only thing he’ll say for sure is that the beginning of the song is about a woman who accumulates a lot of money, only to find out the hard way that her life has no meaning and her money will not get her into heaven.
But with additional lyrics like: sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven… my spirit is crying for leaving… yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s still time to change the road you’re on… it could be about Jacob or about us when our shadows are taller than our soul.
In his dream, a stairway… a ramp… a ladder… a bridge… an image beckoned: lift your eyes… lift your heart… lift your face… and the blessing that followed…
the real blessing… was spoken from the God of his father and his grandfather: a blessing of fruitfulness, a blessing of legacy, a blessing of abundance, of family, of fortune, of future, of forgiveness…
In his book: Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, Richard Rohr says: Every time God forgives us, God is saying that God’s own rules do not matter as much as the relationship God wants to create with us.
That was the invitation to Jacob in the dream – an invitation to relationship: I am with you. I will watch over you everywhere you go. And I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.
We are the clumsy stewards of our own souls, Rohr says, and we are charged to awaken: Awaken to the promise and blessing that stretches out before us… awaken to the opportunity to begin anew… awaken to the urgent claim upon our lives.
Jacob awoke from his sleep. And he knew God was there. And then he knew God was there. And he was afraid. He’d been found and found out. God saw him, God knew everything, everything – and still God blessed him. That is the amazing good news of God’s grace for Jacob… for each of us. What’s left is to forgive ourselves. That’s the work of soul stewardship.
Jacob could have remained in the shadows. He could have shook off the dream as nonsense. He could have missed the entire sacredness of the encounter and failed to reorient his inner life toward the God who invited him into relationship. Instead, he awoke from his sleep, took the stone beneath his head and set it up as a pillar.
He poured oil on it as a sign of peace, of friendship and of obligation, and then, he made his vow: the Lord shall be my God. And that was the first step up the stairway toward a changed life.
Earlier I quoted a poem by John O’Donohue, an Irish poet, priest and Celtic philosopher. It’s from his book: To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings. From that same book, I give you this blessing entitled: To Come Home to Yourself:
May all that is unforgiven in you,
May your fears yield
Their deepest tranquilities.
May all that is unlived in you,
Blossom into a future,
Graced with love.
Scripture: Genesis 21:1-3; 22:1-14
Sermon: A Costly Offering
In Jewish tradition, this story is called the Akedah, the binding – taking its name from the ninth verse: (Abraham) bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. It is part of the annual set of readings associated with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which this year, begins Wednesday September 20th at sundown.
Rosh Hashanah calls forth an annual life review… a consideration of choices and decisions made and repentance for that which caused harm. Day one’s readings from the Torah include Genesis 21 – the birth of Isaac, whose name literally means “he will laugh”. And day two’s readings include Genesis 22, “the binding” – far from a laughing matter.
In his article entitled: Why I don’t read the binding of Isaac on Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi Robert Barr of the Cincinnati congregation of Beth Adam, writes of his personal journey with this text.
I have struggled over the years to make sense of this story, he writes, for me, it has ended. I am no longer willing to stand up here and read a story that I was embarrassed to read to our children. I will not read a story that tells of a father willing to murder and I will not claim that this is a man we should emulate – calling Abraham the father of our people. That will not be part of my annual Rosh Hashanah traditions any more.
In an age when terrorism is often grounded in religious fundamentalism – grounded in claims of what God wants – I can no longer read this story, Rabbi Barr continues,
I do not want this story to represent me or my understanding of Judaism. I do not ever want to give anyone the opportunity to say that the story of Abraham (the father of the Jews) justifies their actions to do something unjustifiable. Other congregations may or may not decide to follow suit. Even if I end up being a lone voice, I am speaking out against this text that presents a world view that we find abhorrent.
Indeed it is a dark text – deeply disturbing. As one interpreter observed, the drama and the tension lies in the ellipses – unasked questions… unspoken words… how awkward the silence… how awful the heartbreak between a father and his beloved son… where and who is God in this?
The Akedah… the binding of a father faced with an impossible choice, and of a son tied down against his will; an innocent child, a silent lamb, whose fate is predetermined by the father in whom his life is entrusted… the binding of a people of faith to a story that calls forth perpetual struggle and has led to twisted and untenable theologies.
The story, as it is written, never requires Abraham to actually sacrifice Isaac, only to be willing. But when in the course of history, Jewish people endured great suffering and persecution at the hands of the Romans and there was no ram… and fathers and mothers and sons and daughters were killed because they refused to renounce their faith, this text took on a different meaning.
The Akedah became a hymn of heroic martyrdom—evolving from willingness to the valor of sacrifice. If Abraham was held in high esteem for his mere readiness to sacrifice his son, how much more honor is reserved for the one whose cost is greater? This story became the ultimate example of self-sacrifice in obedience to God’s will.
Young Israeli men in the Six-day war of 1967, shed the passive image of Isaac and became active Isaacs– ready and willing to take on the mantle of Akedah and die for their God and their country. It was the highest honor in Israeli nationalism.
A post-war collection of interviews records a father who said: We do knowingly bring our boys up to volunteer for combat units… These are moments when a man is given greater insight into Isaac’s sacrifice.
We see this in other cultures too – this connection between God, Nationalism and sacrifice. Posters of Palestinian children who have died fighting for freedom line the streets of the West Bank – lifted up by their parents and communities with honor.
Since the 1970’s other Jewish attitudes on this text have emerged. Military service in the Israeli Defense Force is mandatory at age 18. But some young people have laid a refusnik claim on this text – they’ve become Isaacs who rise up with a passionate resistance –they aren’t passively and unquestioningly serving a cause they don’t believe in, they are fighting back. They’re calling on their fathers and the wider culture to unbind them and set them free. Identifying with a repentant Abraham, fathers, like Rami Elhanan from the Parent Circle Families Forum – our guest last year– pleaded with his son not to enlist in the military. He encouraged him to resist and give his life to a higher ideal of justice and peacemaking, but it was to no avail; societal peer pressures and service benefits were too great. His son chose to bind himself.
Even the arts have sought to redeem Akedah. Some Israeli authors and playwrights write of a yearning to be free from this binding – this national myth of heroism and untimely death – a call to unbind sons and daughters from the ways in which the nation and culture have taken on the role of Abraham.
What about the unbinding? Why isn’t the unbinding the prevailing theme of this story?
That, after all, is the great exhale of the story, when the knife is put down and the cords are loosened and Isaac is set free- because God has provided a way out.
God is consistently a God of the way out: the Ex-Odus.
A ram appears in the thicket: Let Isaac go.
Dry land appears to part the sea: Let my people go.
A highway appears in the desert: Let my people go home from exile.
Jesus continues this freedom refrain from his first sermon in Nazareth: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, he read from the unrolled scroll. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and to let the oppressed go free.
When he healed a woman in the synagogue who had been crippled for 18 years, Jesus said:
Ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage… on the Sabbath day… especially on the Sabbath day?
When he healed a man who the townspeople had left naked and chained to tombs, he broke the chains and restored him to his right mind. He set him free and gave him his life back.
And when Jesus called to Lazarus, his friend who had been dead in the tomb for four days, saying: Lazarus, come out! When the dead man came out, his hands and feet were bound with strips of cloth and his face was wrapped in a cloth like a mummy and Jesus said: Unbind him. Let him go.
Like the prophets before him, Jesus carried the mantle of freedom: freedom from violent ideologies and cultural myths, freedom from religious doctrines that betray the heart of the gospel; freedom from oppressive and enslaving institutions and bullying people and dehumanizing jobs, freedom from chains of abuse and neglect, apathy and cynicism. Freedom from all that stands in the way of a full and abundant life.
Throughout the whole of the Scriptures there is a drumbeat of freedom:
Thus says the Lord: Let my people go. Why? So that they may be free to worship me.
In story after story, God’s people are set free to pursue a life of worship… a life devoted to the love of God and love of neighbor.
You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free, wrote the apostle Paul to the Galatians, but do not use your freedom to indulge, rather serve one another humbly and with love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: Love your neighbor as yourself.
Years ago I led a small group on vocation. Vocation isn’t the same as job or even career. Vocation comes from the Latin word vocare, which means “to call”. So our vocation is our calling. Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner reminds us that calling assumes a caller – and for people of Christian faith, the caller is God – and our calling involves all aspects of our life.
Buechner says: “There are all different kinds of voices calling you to all different kinds of work, and the problem is to find out which is the voice of God rather than of Society, say, or the Superego, or Self-Interest”
“By and large, he says, a good rule for finding out is this: the kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you need most to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. … The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet”.
I began the small group by asking: What did you want to be when you grew up?
Of the dozen or so participants in the group, only one actually became what he dreamed to become as a child. And that was a police officer. Everyone else abandoned their childhood hopes somewhere along the way and when asked why, the answers included: my parents didn’t support it… I couldn’t make enough money… there weren’t enough jobs… it wasn’t practical- which was mostly about job opportunity and earning potential… I didn’t think I could do it… and I wasn’t good enough…
The next week we built vocational genograms – like family trees that identified influences on the life choices we’d made: family members who’d encouraged or discouraged our life directions, comments from employers or coaches, mentors or friends along the way that shaped our understanding of our potential. We were getting at the weight of expectation… the akedah… the binding.
Then we asked: What would it look like to be set free… free to live our lives more authentically, more openly, more vulnerably – risking and trusting that the one who has called us has equipped us. What would it feel like if the lines between work and worship were erased and what we do fully reflects who we are before God?
There is a deep and costly call upon our lives as God’s people; it’s a call to offer nothing short of our whole lives: our passions, our interests, our gifts, our joy, our strength, our minds and our hearts – freely – with our own will, to God – the one who gives us life and breath – to offer all that we are, each day with gratitude.
In that, we are bound. Not to death, but to a life fully lived.
Let’s come back to the story – the story of Abraham and Isaac and God and the ram – the story of binding and loosing. I don’t come to the same conclusion as Rabbi Barr, although I agree with his logic.
We will continue to read and wrestle with these hard texts… we will explore their historic and communal use and abuse… we’ll call them out and if need be, free them from their neat and tidy packaging… to see the humanity and the divinity in them… to hold them under the lens of what we’ve come to know about God and people and responsible relationships… We won’t ever resolve them, but we may in some way hope to redeem them by the grace we know in Jesus Christ.
Scripture: Genesis 1:1—2:4a
Sermon: It’s All Good
Have you met Judy? She works in the church office on Tuesdays. She’s had a full and lengthy career as a church office manager. Re: church organization, she’s seen it all and done it all. We whisked her off the brink of retirement, asking that she only give us one day a week.
Her official title is Office Administrative Assistant, but really she’s the Chief Order Officer. I worked with Judy at the church I served in Ann Arbor. Sometime after I left, she moved to Asheville NC to be with her daughter and her family. After they moved to California, Judy moved back to Saline to be near her son. I heard she was moving back right about the time Kailah said she was leaving. The timing was perfect.
Judy hates when things are disorderly. Inefficient processes keep her up at night. When she can’t find information, she’s beside herself.
We’ve come a long way in the church office over the last four years, but let’s just say we’re still fine tuning. We called in the big guns when we called in Judy.
Have you met Matt? He works in the office on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. He’s a graphics designer, but more than that, he’s a systematic thinker. Matt’s about the big picture, the flow – and productivity. He’s about simplification and routine. Recently, he’s redesigned the bulletin and the weekly online newsletter to streamline the information and make it easier and more impactful to read. Matt problem solves with Judy – they’re awesome together.
Stop by the office some Tuesday and they’ll show you the chart on the wall of all the loose ends they’re working to tie down. They make a good team and together they’re implementing good practices to make us a good church. And by good, I mean sound, sustainable, manageable – adaptable yet grounded.
Hebrew scholars say that’s the nuance behind the word tov – translated good. It appears seven times in the first chapter of Genesis: God saw that it was good (tov).
Useful, purposeful, appropriate, beneficial, serviceable, fair, honorable… these are synonyms for the Hebrew word tov.
In the beginning when God began creating, the earth was a formless void — a vast wasteland – waiting to be given shape and form — order. At the end of each day’s work, with each new piece of creation, God checked the box – good! Light, water, vegetation, sea creatures, birds, animals, humans – all good – meaning all endowed with purpose, all sufficient, sustainable, just, complete… whole.
It was all good in the beginning – all very tov.
Last week we visited our daughter Courtney in Costa Rica. She’s working in the Osa Peninsula which is off the Southern Pacific. National Geographic calls Osa the most biologically intense place on earth. It’s still relatively untouched and literally at the end of the road.
Turquoise waves crash against the secluded Carate beach. Vegetation is dense and lush, whales play in the surf and scarlet macaws dance in pairs from tree to tree. A coati sits poolside alongside prehistoric looking Jesus Christ lizards – named for their ability to run on their hind legs across the surface of water… and the other-worldly sound of howler monkeys echoes through the forest. Sunrises and sunsets are majestic and sea turtles nest in the moonlight.
We stayed at an eco-lodge in an open air cabana high up in the forest called the Monkey House – just over 100 steps up from the beach. The whole front wall was open to the forest – with only a rail across it. The shower had two open walls. It was stunning and breathtaking and as long as you don’t mind a bat flying through the bathroom in the middle of the night or a grasshopper the size of a cell phone on your towel, it’s all good.
The rising sun splashed across our room around 5:30am and the setting sun twelve hours later. With no TV and limited electricity, we synchronized ourselves to the natural world. Because it’s so remote, we ate what was locally available.
What a great place to reflect on Genesis chapter 1. We felt integrated into the community of God’s creation. It felt right and good and whole– tov.
Then on Thursday we flew home from San Jose to Detroit, through Fort Lauderdale. A woman sat next to me on the flight to Fort Lauderdale.
Do you live in South Florida? she asked me. No, Michigan. We’re catching a connecting flight out tonight.
Good for you. You’re lucky, she said.
She lives in Fort Lauderdale and she was going home. She was terrified – like apocalyptically terrified. For about 45 minutes she talked incessantly about what she feared was coming – utter devastation – she’d lose everything – probably, even her life, she feared.
Why was she going back? Her whole family was in South Florida including her 80 year old parents. She figured she’d have 48 hours to check in and make plans. This will be like nothing we’ve ever seen, she said.
Later that night we sat on the runway in Fort Lauderdale for an hour and a half – Miami airport was already closed and traffic was being rerouted, flights were added – 24 hours later and Ft. Lauderdale airport would be closed. The airport terminal screens told the story – every other line said canceled or delayed.
As a nation, we’re still reeling from Hurricane Harvey, devastating Houston with its 52 inches of rain, 185,000 plus homes damaged or destroyed, 364,000 people seeking FEMA assistance, 200,000 people without power and $125 billion in overall losses. And now this.
But let’s not forget, in the middle somewhere was an 8.1 magnitude earthquake in Mexico that claimed nearly 70 lives.
Over and over again we come back to Genesis 1:2 – over and over again we’re back to the formless void – the chaos – the wasteland – and over and over again God’s spirit hovers over the darkness and speaks light and hope and renewal. And disaster recovery teams go and the Red Cross and FEMA and emergency response and rebuilding begins. That’s good. But is that necessarily tov?
Earlier I said there would be an overarching theme of stewardship throughout this preaching series – and today, we consider our stewardship, our responsibility to tov – biblical goodness – wholeness, sustainability, purposefulness, sufficiency, fairness.
Already we’ve heard conversations about resource allocation as it relates to hurricane relief – how much money will be needed to rebuild? Who will get access to assistance? Will citizenship matter? What will happen to the nearly 500,000 undocumented immigrants in Southern Florida? Where will people rebuild what was lost? Will they relocate? How will they be received? What will be the impact to local economies? What about our non-human partners in creation – who will be their voice in these decisions? What will be truly sustainable?
As I listened to the woman on the plane, I was struck by how little I could empathize with her plight, having lived in Michigan most of my life. We’ll get severe snow storms and a rare tornado, but we have ample warning about those and we know how to prepare. Our houses are built to survive things like this. She was truly terrified. Most of us here only see images of hurricanes and earthquakes on tv. It’s not our life. And we won’t be consulted re: rebuilding decisions.
What can we do? We can pray. And we can partner with organizations offering hands-on support – like Presbyterian Disaster Assistance.
Presbyterian Disaster Assistance is sending response teams into areas affected by hurricane Harvey and Irma– working with local churches. We can financially support their efforts through online giving – you can find links to this on our church Facebook page.
We can also partner locally with Deborah Creque a Britton woman who is organizing a collection of needed items for Hurricane Harvey relief. On September 11, she’s setting up at the corner of Logan and Evans from 10am-7pm and she’ll be driving a trailer full of items to Houston from Britton and Tecumseh- things like baby food, personal hygiene products, cleaning supplies, baby wipes, pet food and paper products.
Perhaps most importantly, we can develop our own ethic of tov – like Judy and Matt in our church office – considering how to best collaborate and improve efficiency and sharing of resources – in our own lives and workplaces — making personal decisions for a more sustainable and productive future.
An ethic or lifestyle of tov means thoughtfully committing ourselves and our decisions to what is useful, beneficial and supportable for common well being… being mindful of the impact of our choices on the whole community… considering and utilizing what everyone brings to the table — collaborating with humans and nature.
Stewardship of tov, biblical goodness, wholeness, holiness, is responsibility to and for and with one another that all may be well — living simply, purposefully, positively and hospitably.
In the beginning it was good. It was very good. But from here on out, it’s a story of paradise lost and a God who is constantly breathing new life and order into chaos, constantly creating and recreating toward tov and inviting his people to do the same.
Last year around this time, I shared an image of a communion table set in a devastated street. As we come together to share in the Lord’s Supper today, may we imagine the streets of Houston and Florida and the Caribbean islands that have been and are being hit and hit hard by hurricanes. Let us pray for our brothers and sisters – for manna in the wilderness – hands and feet of neighbors and angels – loving with a heart of Christ through this dark day and into light.
09/03/17 Guest Preacher: Debra Davies
Scripture: Ephesians 4:1-6
Sermon: One Baptism
Let’s go down to the river and pray, studying about that good old way and who shall wear the starry crown, Good Lord show me the way…
We all sang that song together as we made our way on that September morning almost nine years ago from the pavilion down to the edge of the lake.
A few weeks earlier, after worship one Sunday, he stopped me in the hall: I’d like to be baptized, he said, And I want to go completely under – like in a lake.
He’d been a church attender for some time but in his words, he was going through the motions… he hadn’t really stepped in… hadn’t been serious about following Jesus until recently. He said he wanted and needed to turn his life around – to turn from the ways he’d been living and turn toward Jesus. Going fully under water would mark this change… he wanted to die to his former life and rise anew in Christ.
And he was so excited. And I was too. In fact, it felt like all the angels in heaven were excited for this man’s newfound faith and commitment. But there were details to work out…
For starters, he’d already been baptized as a child, and in the Presbyterian church, we don’t re-baptize. When we baptize we’re celebrating what God is doing in the life of an individual and God’s promises stick the first time – they don’t need to be repeated or renewed. Even when somebody joins our church from another Christian tradition, we accept their baptism: One body, one faith, one baptism.
What this man really wanted to do was renew his promises – to reaffirm his commitment to a life baptized in Christ. So we planned a service of reaffirmation of his baptismal vows at a nearby metro park and we invited members of the faith family to come too. Baptism isn’t a private affair in the Presbyterian Church. We live out our faith together in community: One body, one faith, one baptism…
In the words of the late Presbyterian pastor, William Sloan Coffin: A church is a home for love, a home for brothers and sisters to dwell in unity, to rest and be healed, to let go their defenses and be free–free from worries, free from tensions, free to laugh, free to cry. This was a homecoming for this child of God; brothers and sisters needed to be there to welcome him home.
It was pouring rain when I awoke that Saturday morning, the morning of the reaffirmation. No one called to see if it was still on. I pulled into the parking lot of the metro park wondering if anyone would show– I wasn’t even sure he and his wife would. One pair of headlights, then two, three, four… at least a couple dozen came. We gathered in the pavilion and began to sing:
Let’s go down to the river to pray. We huddled under our umbrellas, and we made our way to a public restroom with a covered porch. From there, it was just a short walk to the water’s edge. Sufficiently sheltered from the rain, I asked the man to tell his story.
For some time he’d struggled with addictions, anger and inconsistent employment. His marriage was in trouble and he was lost. He decided to join his wife on a church mission trip.
Live a life worthy of the calling you have received… the Ephesians text of this morning was the text of that mission trip. He thought about his life as our team reflected together on the Scriptures throughout the week: be humble… be gentle… be patient… bear with one another in love… After that mission trip, he began to read his Bible and attend church more regularly. He joined the choir and over time, God’s grace and God’s people changed his heart.
It was still raining – pretty hard in fact. And I invited the witnesses who had gathered to sing: Amazing Grace… As the man and I made our way down to the water, I turned to the others and invited them to step out from under the roof… step into the rain… Remember your baptism as he reaffirms his.
Afterwards, we gathered again under the pavilion and shared in the Lord’s Supper together. It was still raining. And it was beautiful. And it was holy. We passed the peace with each other and hugged and wept tears of joy.
And one of the women, one of the witnesses, who had seen it all, had been a part of it all, whispered in my ear when she hugged me – I need to talk with you about something, she said.
She came into my office just a few days later with tears in her eyes. Is it true? she asked. Someone told her that one of the church staff members was gay. Is it true? she asked. Did you know? she asked.
That’s what she wanted to talk with me about – while we were passing the peace after we’d shared the Lord’s Supper together… after we’d witnessed God so mightily at work in another brother’s life and in our gathered family… This had been troubling her for days. I wondered whether she’d completely missed the holiness of Saturday morning.
My heart broke for her and for my colleague and for things I didn’t even know at the time would unfold, for that was only the beginning of what would be a very long and very hard season of broken friendships, broken trust, broken fellowship and broken church.
Live a life worthy of the calling you have received… For that woman, my sister in Christ, living a life worthy of her calling meant purifying the church – starting with him.
For that staff member, my brother in Christ, living a life worthy of his calling meant honoring his Lord and his Creator by living an honest and authentic life and reaching out to her with love and tenderness and grace.
For me as pastor to both of them and the rest of the flock, living a life worthy of my calling meant seeking unity – making every effort to keep together in peace that which God had called together – with humility… with gentleness… with patience –– trying to listen, trying to foster hospitable space that would be dignifying and honoring to all – cultivating a home of love and teaching the family of faith to say and mean “welcome home” to each and every one of God’s children.
A few weeks later, frustrated and angry, the woman left that church and she took several members with her. Little did I know when we closed our service at the metro park that Saturday morning by joining hands and singing Blest Be the Tie that Binds, it was, ironically, a foreshadowing of strife. The rain falling on us was baptismal but a storm was brewing, even then.
That was nine years ago, but we heard similar painful testimonies from brothers and sisters in Christ who attended our Courageous Conversation in June. There was a young man who was asked to step down from his leadership position at the church he’d served for years when he shared that he was gay. Another woman attends a church where she feels loved and accepted because she’s grown up there, but she doesn’t believe her partner would be welcome if they wanted to worship together. A mother said she’d long ago decided she didn’t have the energy to be a part of a church that wouldn’t fully welcome her lesbian daughter.
One body, one Spirit, one faith, one hope, one baptism – a high and urgent calling and a broken-hearted confession.
I urge you, Paul wrote… I appeal to you… I ask you from my heart… I beg you: live a life worthy of the calling…
Although this text speaks to us as individual disciples, it’s actually directed to the church as a whole – it’s a plural you- like y’all —Paul was urging the Ephesian church to live into their high calling together – to be a new community in Christ – one body where every member tends to the health and welfare of every other member so that no-one suffers, and the world may know the abundant grace of God.
This church knows more than most about the heartache of division and the yearning for a strong and vibrant future with hope –about dying and rising as a family of faith. We have a story to tell one another and the wider community.
We know what exile feels like and we know what home feels like and we have chosen home – that no one need feel lost, alone, outcast – but that all may know the deep and abiding love of Christ. Our mission statement says it:
We are a loving community of faith
following Jesus Christ,
where everyone has a place and a face,
a story and a voice.
Our minds, hearts and hands are engaged,
as we humbly serve
our neighbors near and far.
Come and See
Unity in the church of Jesus Christ doesn’t mean uniformity. We are diverse but we are to be of one mind– the mind of Christ: a mind of humility, a mind of gentleness, a mind of patience, a mind of joy, a mind of justice, a mind of peace – bearing with one another in love- that all might find welcome and belonging and home here and live the baptized life in Christ together.
Come and see, we say. Come and see. Let’s remain seated and sing Blest Be the Tie That Binds #306 praying that it may be so in us and through us and among us.
Scripture: Romans 6:1-11
Sermon: In Christ, We Rise
There’s an ancient story from the Far East – a baptism story – that goes like this:
Once upon a time three men who had been friends for a long time sought wisdom, power and righteousness. They studied and prayed together, looked for teachers, traveled far, and listened as they journeyed. Always they sought the tiger, the symbol and the doorway to wisdom and truth. One day they were on a road, going their way and discussing all that they had experienced so far and how far they still had to go. Suddenly, they saw a tiger.
The tiger’s eyes opened wide.
One of the men spoke: “Tiger, we would like to enter and learn the ways of wisdom.”
The tiger looked at each in turn and said: “Just how far in would you like to go?”
The first smiled and said: “Thank you, this is close enough for me.”
The second answered: “Not too far, but far enough so I can say that I’ve been there.”
The third man said nothing, but he approached the tiger, who opened its mouth wide. The man put his head inside, and at that moment the tiger roared.
The other two men turned and ran back to town and safety. The third man was never seen again, though soon after there appeared one who was wise, truthful, compassionate, and just. Some say he looked vaguely familiar, but no one knew where he came from.
How, you might ask, is that a baptism story?
Putting one’s head inside a tiger’s mouth – just as it roars – sounds terrifying, life-threatening – a far cry from the warm themes of family and welcome and belonging and God’s love – far from the tender-hearted revelation of grace and joy we experienced as we received Liliana this morning and Jack and Nora last week into our hearts. And indeed it is.
When the Jesus movement first began, people joined it by being baptized. Adults signified their desire to change their lives by physically going under water and re-emerging a new person. They buried under the water their old life of sin and came up forgiven, clean. They’d put on a new white robe – the garment of Christ, meaning they’d put on the character, purpose… the life of Christ.
As time passed, the church developed a process of discipleship and conversion. It took anywhere from 1-3 years and people learned the way of Jesus from teachers and mentors. Then during the Easter vigil, the students who were prepared and ready, experienced their own Passover. They entered the waters of baptism and shared in a mystical union with the crucifixion of Jesus as they died to their former self, and with his resurrection as they rose again from the water a new creation. Paul’s writings – like the one from Romans we read today – bear witness to that ritual. As does this text from Colossians 3:
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ… Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.
The newly baptized were welcomed into a community of faith – where they lived out this new life together – bearing witness to a wider world. Baptism wasn’t about God’s grace being imparted upon someone, it was about God’s grace being revealed in someone. The very act of dying and rising – of a second chance at life the way it was created to be – that was God’s grace.
The idea that Christians would go on sinning so that grace would be multiplied was absurd to Paul. When you were baptized, you buried that old life of sin. You’re now free to live a new one in Christ!
But Paul himself knows it’s not a one and done deal – this baptized life is a process – of many, many dying and risings. We confess every week – remembering our failures and faults and reminding each other that we have been forgiven and that we are free – not in order to keep living as if there is no change, but because wholesale change is a process – and we are life-long learners. And the good news – the great news is—God is not done with us yet.
I went on a retreat last Sunday evening with 4 other women in ministry. The facilitator sent an email to us the Friday before announcing the theme: “The Role of Anger in Doing Justice.” I didn’t love the theme that Friday…didn’t feel any particular connection to it… But by Sunday night, after the happenings in Charlottesville the day before—it was providential — we all needed to process our anger.
Rid yourselves of all such things: anger, rage, malice, slander, filthy language… Paul said. But we were angry – enraged even – and it felt right to be. We were looking into the mouth of the tiger and it was roaring and roaring and roaring.
It was like everyone and everything had come a bit unhinged.
Pastor and author Brian McLaren went to Charlottesville at the request of other local clergy – to stand with them in opposition to the “Unite the Right” rally. He wrote a blog about what he saw and heard and then what he read on the websites and Facebook pages of the groups that organized the rally.
He called it a deeply disturbing experience: the unabashed racism, the seething hatred, the chest-thumping hubris, the anti-Semitism, the misogyny, the shameless desire to harm their opponents, the gushing love for Trump, Putin, and Stalin, of all people … He said he’s 61 years old and before that night he’d never seen a Nazi flag proudly waved in this country. Now he’s seen many. That makes me angry.
And then there was doxxing – also known as naming and shaming. People took photos of the marchers and determined their names, places of employment and colleges they attend. Then they flooded their social media and petitioned their employers to fire them and their schools to expel them.
One University of Arkansas Assistant Professor was a dead ringer for one of the Alt-Right rally attendees, and although he wasn’t even in Charlottesville and does not support their cause, his social media was flooded with accusations of racism, countless people he’d never even met demanded his job and his home address was posted online. Fearing for their safety, he and his wife were staying with a colleague. I’ve dedicated my life to helping all people, trying to improve health care and train the next generation of scientists, he said. Doxxing – cyber harassing — makes me angry too.
Facebook feuds rose up like a poison ivy rash after Invisible City. Friends turned on each other and became unfriends. One person described it as a pot of boiling water that needed to be turned down, but instead was left to bubble over.
And on my retreat – which wasn’t exactly a retreat but more like a plunging into the mouth of the tiger, we talked about anger. We listened as we each revealed our own anger – it’s source and motivation and how we express it. Then we turned to the gospels and studied Jesus’ anger together. What made him mad and why? And what did he do and say?
There is a lot to be angry about. Some things are justifiable and faithful – things that Jesus would be angry about — but there’s also anger that belongs far under water, buried with the old self. In Christ, we rise, and so, we asked: What would Jesus do? How would he respond? How will we?
I’m still working on this, but here’s what I have so far:
Jesus did not personalize anger. He didn’t hold grudges or deflect blame. Jesus didn’t get offended or take offense against a brother or sister. In fact, he equated being angry with a brother or sister to murder. He called for reconciliation and peacemaking. He was so serious about this in fact that he said before you give a gift to God, if you think of someone who has something against you, go make it right first, then give your gift to God.
Jesus became angry about religious systems that prioritized rules over relationships. It was his desire that all God’s children be free to worship God and to know God’s love for them. He spoke out against barriers and burdens. He condemned economic oppression. He gave everyone: young and old, rich and poor, sick and well, male and female his compassion, his attention and his time. Let the children come to me… bring the blindman to me… let the hungry and the thirsty come to me, he said.
Jesus called the last first, and the least greatest. In parable after parable, teaching after teaching, he leveled the playing field. He was a strong critic of power exploitation and manipulation of the weak. He condemned assumed superiority and privilege. He bestowed honor on those held by society in low esteem. He ushered in a new beloved community where brothers and sisters treat one another with dignity and peace. He stood for civility and against malice.
Jesus held shepherds accountable for their sheep. His was a servant style of leadership. He expected leaders to put their people’s needs before their own – to care for and nurture and lead their people into greater peace, greater life, greater health. He was often moved deeply and grieved when he saw crowds of lost and wandering people. His words were sharp toward those he considered “blind guides” and hypocrites. Leaders are accountable for their words and actions.
Jesus called for self-reflection and honest confession. What about them? What about him? they’d ask, and he would always turn the examination inward. What about you?
Across many cultures, the tiger is a symbol of power, passion, cruelty, wrath, strength, destruction and violence. Jesus entered the mouth of the tiger and it roared and roared and roared as he faced slander and betrayal, he was mocked and beaten and scorned and spit on and laughed at… mobs of people shouted in anger against him – calling for his brutal death… he was nailed to a cross to die between two criminals – the Prince of Peace, Savior of the World – publicly and profoundly humiliated. And from that cross Jesus said: Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Our old self was crucified with him, said Paul. And by God’s grace, we are united in a resurrection like his — in Christ, we rise. May we live in him. May we love in him. May we find courage in him and conviction in him. May we speak with his voice and forgive with his heart. That all may know we are citizens of another kingdom – a new and beloved community in his name.
Guest: Toledo Campus Ministry
Scripture: 1 Corinthians 11:17-34
Sermon: The Body of Christ
It was the last class on the Lord’s Supper in History of Christian Worship. I was in seminary and it was time for Show and Tell.
In earlier classes, we’d studied the history of the Lord’s Supper – beginning with the gospels and the apostle Paul. We read ancient articles and explored Jewish roots. We traced the development of the practice through the early centuries. For this final class, each of us brought what we used in our churches in the present day to celebrate communion. One by one we stood before the class, demonstrating how we do it.
I brought two silver trays – one filled with tiny cups of grape juice and the other covered with tiny cubes of bread. After the minister prays over these trays, I said, the elders take them out to the congregation and pass them through the pews. First the bread and then the cup. People in the pews eat the bread when they receive it, symbolizing their individual relationship with Christ and they hold the cup to drink it together at the end symbolizing their unity – communion.
A Baptist classmate brought all-in-one plastic communion cups — also known as Fellowship Cups.
Here’s how they work, according to one on-line distributor: The Fellowship Cup is a ready to serve, prefilled communion cup; that contains 100% grape juice and an unleavened wafer under the top seal. The second seal reveals the juice. The cup fits into standard communion cup trays and no refrigeration is needed. Cups are guaranteed fresh if used by the stamped date on the box. The “one pass” serving method allows for extra time with less trays to pass.
Everyone takes one and eats/drinks as the tray goes by, he said.
A Unitarian Universalist classmate brought a Tupperware container of croissants and Dixie cups filled with white grapejuice. She said they didn’t often celebrate the Lord’s Supper, but when they did, people of all faiths came together and sat in a circle for unity. They brought prayers and poems from their different traditions about peace and after reading them, they passed the croissants and juice. She said it was a very informal thing – and people talked and laughed through it – as you would if you had gathered together with friends for breakfast.
Someone from a New Church Development said people came forward at her church, taking a piece of bread and dipping it in a common cup. She said they used to say: This is the blood of Christ for the cup, but they’d changed that after a parishioner ran out of the sanctuary in tears one Sunday. The language, the woman said later, triggered a past trauma for her. Unless the church could see their way to use different language, she would not be able to participate. From then on, they used phrases like: cup of grace, cup of forgiveness, cup of life.
Everyone listened respectfully to each other and we clapped after each presentation. But we had questions rolling around in our heads and hearts – with such different practices, are there right ways and wrong ways to celebrate the Lord’s Supper? Is there a slippery slope on cultural accommodation – can we make too many changes and lose the heart of our sacramental life? How much do words matter? Can the grapejuice be white?
After everybody had presented, our professor, a Catholic nun, offered some concluding comments. She acknowledged the differences in our practices, as well as the similarities. She pointed out the connections between our present practices and our ancient roots.
And then, Sister Angela turned to the woman whose church removed the blood language and challenged that decision. Did anyone try to work with that parishioner to redeem or heal her hurt by helping her to see the blood of Christ as blessing? Did anyone try to gently reframe the words for her, our professor asked, – not change the words but allow the words to change her?
No, said the classmate. It was easy for us to accommodate her – to choose different words – to clarify our language and help her feel welcome. She was traumatized. Making a safe home for her became our priority over making her conform to our practice.
Words matter. And Sister Angela had a red line… a blood red line. The sacred liturgy was the sacred liturgy: This is the body and blood of Christ. But a hospitable spirit matters too, and this church chose relationship over dogma – and in so doing, they expressed the heart of Jesus by making a way for that woman to find home among them.
Then Sister Angela turned to the Unitarian Universalist – the one with the croissants and Dixie cups of white grapejuice – where the people came from different faiths and spoke and prayed about peace and unity and she said, Yours was just weird.
Not weird, the student said in defense, just different.
No, weird, our worship professor said. And then she continued: It’s perfectly fine to have a meal like the one you described, but it is not the Lord’s Supper. The Lord’s Supper is reserved as a sacred meal in remembrance of Jesus. Some of the people around your circle don’t even know who Jesus is, let alone consider him Lord.
I’m sure that student walked out of class that day offended – just as I have no doubt some in the church of Corinth were offended when the letter from the apostle Paul arrived, was unrolled and read before the assembly. When you come together, it’s not the Lord’s Supper.
What makes the Lord’s Supper The Lord’s Supper? Are there non-negotiables – essentials – that if removed or changed make the practice unworthy of the One it honors? That depends who you ask. Different Christian traditions have different red lines on such things as: what constitutes bread and who is welcome to the table and at what age or level of understanding.
The very thing that unites us also divides us: what and who is the Body of Christ? It’s the heart – the essence – the substance of the Lord’s Supper.
All who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves, wrote the Apostle Paul. To discern in the Greek is literally to judge between things – to distinguish or evaluate right from wrong, truth from hypocrisy, honor from dishonor.
The words we say and the things we do as we practice the Lord’s Supper matter. They communicate meaning — what we believe about God and humanity.
It’s a show and tell – every time we come – showing and telling the character of God: abundance, open-hearted welcome, joy, love, sacrifice – as we remember Jesus together. We repeat his words and we reenact his motions to reveal his heart:
This is my body for you: the body of Christ: broken and shared.
In the words of Eugene Peterson’s Message translation: If you give no thought (or worse, don’t care) about the broken body of the Master when you eat and drink, you’re running the risk of serious consequences.
When Jesus took the bread and broke it into pieces and said: This is my body – he revealed the heart of God in the deep reality of brokenness.
The late Catholic priest Henri Nouwen said: Instinctively we know that the joy of life comes from the ways in which we live together and that the pain of life comes from the many ways we fail to do that well.
In his own life and in ours, Jesus knows the deep pain of a broken heart: broken relationships, broken dreams, broken promises, broken political systems, broken trust, broken families, and broken churches.
When he stands holding out the broken pieces of bread saying: this is my body – he’s also pointing to us – acknowledging our pain and our frustration and anger and hurt from all that’s broken in our lives and our world; we are the broken body of Christ – divided in so many ways.
And holding out the pieces, he also points beyond the brokenness to grace, blessing, strength, and courage to face it, confess it, be with each other in it, pray with each other, stay with each other, make space for each other, encourage strength to stand in it and work together toward a new day… new community… new life.
The bread is broken as his heart is broken for all that is wrong in the world and the bread is shared that all may be nourished and strengthened and blessed.
He gives his life to and for us and we, as his body likewise are to give ourselves to each other.
Our real gift is not so much what we can do, but who we are, says Nouwen, The real question is not what can we offer each other, but who can we be for each other. The greatest gift I have to offer is my own joy of living, my own inner peace, my own silence and solitude, my own sense of well-being. Likewise, my own struggles, my own doubts and fears, my own real sense of limitation and quest for meaning and purpose…
Our real gift is being fully human with each other, honest and humble and open and present to and for each other… reminding each other to step boldly into life with a yes and:
Yes I am broken and my heart is broken and the body of humanity is broken and yes I am and we are beloved –not forsaken – not abandoned – not forgotten.
God has made a tremendous investment in the world by entering it in Jesus – not to condemn it, but to relentlessly hope for it and to love it well.
Every time we come to the table and receive his broken body and his life poured out for us, we re-member him – we become his broken body made more whole… we become his life for the world.
Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner said: On this planet at least, the church is the only body that for the time being Christ has, which is to say that you and I are the only bodies Christ has. He has no hands to reach out to people except our hands, no feet to go to them with except for our feet, no other eyes to see them with, no other faces to show them his love.
Come again to the table – the Lord’s Table: Come to the table of grace. Come to the table of peace. Come to the table of love. Come to the table of hope. Come to the table of joy.
The table is set for you and for me. Come with gratitude. Come with humility. Come with an awareness of yourself as a part of a broken body being made whole. Come in the fullness of who you are as a human being to meet the fullness of God’s welcome and delight.
Scripture: Luke 14:1-24
Sermon: Saving Seats
Last spring, Genevieve Shaw Brown was on vacation with her husband at the Four Seasons, Nevis, a 5-star resort in the Caribbean. It was a lovely vacation at a lovely resort. Except for this one problem:
Among the beach chairs the hotel had set up, there were two that were clearly prime seating. They were front row, set apart slightly from the others and under one of the few trees growing out of the sand.
Everyday, Brown and her husband wanted to sit in those seats. And no one else was sitting there. So why couldn’t they sit there? Because despite the fact that every morning they arrived at the beach no later than 9 a.m., someone else had already put their belongings – towels, sunblock, and a book – on the chairs and claimed them.
But no one ever arrived to actually sit in the seats, at least, not in the hours the Browns were there. Watching.
With every day that passed and every day that Genevieve couldn’t sit in those chairs, she grew more irritated. And then finally, one day, she had had it. She moved the mystery chair hogger’s belongings and plopped herself down. Not five minutes later, a woman came walking over from the pool – adjacent to the beach – and said to her:
“Excuse me, those are my seats.”
“Oh, are you going to sit here now?” Brown asked.
“No,” the chair hogger said. “We go to the pool during the day. I like to sit here and read at dusk.”
It was 11 a.m. Day after day, she saved those prime seats and they remained empty, waiting for her to use them whenever she wanted to – like she was the only guest at the whole resort.
The late beloved preacher Fred Craddock tells a story about the first church he ever pastored in the eastern Tennessee hills. It was a beautiful little white frame church building, 112 years old.
Oak Ridge was the production site established for the Manhattan project – to build the atomic bomb. When work began on the project, Oak Ridge became a city overnight. Every hill and every valley and every shady grove had RV’s and trucks. People came in from everywhere and pitched tents and lived in wagons. Hard hats from east and west and north and south with their families and children lived temporarily in trailer parks while they worked.
The church, with its beautifully decorated chimneys, kerosene lamps around the walls and hand-hewn pews from a giant poplar tree, was not far from Oak Ridge.
After church one Sunday, Rev. Craddock called the church leaders together and said: Now we need to launch a calling campaign and an invitational campaign in all those trailer parks to invite those people to church.
Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think they’d fit in here, one of the leaders said. They’re just here temporarily, just construction people. They’ll be leaving soon.
Well, we ought to invite them, make them feel at home, Rev. Craddock said. And the argument continued until it was tabled for a vote the following Sunday. After worship that next week, one of the leaders stood and said: I move that in order to be a member of this church, you must own property in the county. Second, said another. And the vote passed.
Rev. Craddock voted against it, but they reminded him he was just a kid preacher and he didn’t have a vote.
And the empty seats along the hand-hewn pews remained empty, saved for other people like them.
Inherent in both stories is a presumption of privilege, ownership, claim – self-interest. It’s in our gospel reading too. Watching the Pharisees and religious leaders vie for the best seats at the dinner party, Jesus must have wondered why isn’t there a seat saved for the man with dropsy? or for so many of the others he’d met and touched? If they weren’t welcome to the tables of their spiritual teachers, how would they ever believe they had a seat at God’s table?
Theirs was a culture of quid pro quo, this for that… favor for favor… not so different from ours. And there were then, and there are now, many many people who can’t play according to those rules. Their life circumstances preclude them from consideration.
In Jesus’ day, it was the poor, the disabled, the tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers – those deemed unclean by reputation, vocation or condition.
Similarly, in our day, if people don’t have the things society deems valuable: a job, a house, a car, physical strength and health, intelligence… if they’re not attractive, can’t comfortably hold a conversation, have easily triggered emotions, can’t speak English, don’t know how to read… If they are deemed to bring nothing to the table, they’re not invited to the table.
But that’s not how it works when God throws the party and that’s not how it should work when God’s people do either. When you throw a dinner, Jesus says to his host, model God’s way. Model God’s way.
When God is the host of the dinner, empty chairs do not stay empty. Seats don’t remain reserved for those who do not show up. I like the way Alice, the online advice blogger responded when the question was posed to her: Seat saving: Okay or no way? She says:
Let’s establish the number one rule for proper seat saving: every butt must be in the building. In other words, it’s fine to guard someone’s seat while they step out for a sec, but stealing seats away from people who want to sit to give to someone who isn’t in the building (or park, plane or what have you) is a faux pas.
God as host of the dinner, wants people who want to be there – who are committed to God’s kingdom. For every one of the originally invited guests who have a flimsy excuse as to why they can’t make it, God knows there are people who really want to be there – heart, mind and soul.
We don’t need to bring anything to the table but ourselves – a willing and hungry heart, seeking to draw close to God. And when we come, we’ll find a seat of honor saved for us; when we come, we will be saved.
The prophet Isaiah describes the banquet of God’s kingdom like this:
On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines,
of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines
And he will destroy on this mountain
the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
the sheet that is spread over all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces,
and the disgrace of his people he will take away from
all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken.
It will be said on that day,
Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him,
so that he might save us.
This is the Lord for whom we have waited;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.
All peoples, all nations, all the earth, all faces – there can be no doubt in this text, God’s grace is for all… all who come to the table.
When God is host of the dinner, it’s about eating together.
The host doesn’t call the servants together to wrap up the banquet food in individual doggie-bags to take out to the people in the streets and lanes. They too need to come to the banquet – to sit side by side with one another – to be equals.
Jesus is not calling on Christians to provide for the needs of the poor and the disabled; he says to invite them to dinner, says Fred Craddock. The host and the guests sit at table together. The clear sign of acceptance, or recognizing others as one’s equals, of cementing fellowship, is breaking bread together. In the Christian community no one is a “project.”
Years ago, on the last night of a church mission trip to Detroit, we threw a picnic in a park. We invited all of the people we’d worked with through the week – partners from the different organizations we served. We bought fresh produce and tossed a giant salad. We bought tons of meats, cheeses and bread for sandwiches and we bought pastries from Eastern Market.
We spread out blankets and waited. Some of our partners came – -they trickled in – but it was obvious we had lots more food. So we sent team members out into the streets, around the block to invite people to come. Anyone who walked by, we invited to dinner.
People began to come.
They filled plates and looked around for somewhere to sit by themselves – some even headed toward the park exit with their plates. Please, come sit here – I’ve saved a seat just for you, we said.
And they sat with us and with each other on blankets and on park benches. And we began to talk together – artists and gardeners, tradesmen and single moms with children, homeless teens and teachers, social work interns and a retired couple – neighbors who didn’t know they were neighbors and strangers finding common ground. More and more people came. We kept on serving.
A young man ran up with a loaf of bread to contribute. He saw were running low.
We gathered at the end of the meal for the Lord’s supper. Holding hands, we offered prayers around the circle – not our guest list, but God’s guest list – and we gave thanks for each other and for God’s grace.
When God is the host of the dinner, people are needed to go out and invite, compellingly.
That was Rev. Fred Craddock’s idea that he posed to the little white church near Oak Ridge: we need to launch a calling campaign and an invitational campaign in all those trailer parks to invite those people to church. And they voted not to.
Years later, Fred and his wife Nettie returned to that area to find that church. The roads had changed, they’d built an interstate highway. They had a hard time finding it, but they finally did. He found the state road, the country road and the little gravel road, and there, among the pines was the building, shining white.
It was different. The parking lot was full—motorcycles and trucks and cars packed in. And out front a sign: Barbecue, all you can eat.
It’s a restaurant now. They went inside.
The hand-hewn pews were against the wall. There were electric lights instead of kerosene lamps along the walls and the organ was pushed into a corner. The place was filled with aluminum and plastic tables and people sitting together eating bbq pork and chicken and ribs – all kinds of people.
He said to his wife: Nettie—it’s a good thing this is not still a church, otherwise these people couldn’t be in here.
Go out into the roads and lanes and compel people to come so that my house will be filled. The story ends with that charge – to the servants and to you and me.
And the late beloved preacher and pastor Fred Craddock asks the question: Do you suppose Jesus was serious about opening church halls and homes in this way?
Scripture: Psalm 23 and Mark 6: 30-44
The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place. But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. 34 When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
So Jesus began teaching them many things.
By this time it was late in the day, so his disciples came to him. “This is a remote place,” they said, “and it’s already very late. Send the people away so that they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”
But he answered, “You give them something to eat.” They said to him, “That would take more than half a year’s wages! Are we to go and spend that much on bread and give it to them to eat?”
“How many loaves do you have?” he asked. “Go and see.” When they found out, they said, “Five—and two fish.” Then Jesus directed them to have all the people sit down in groups on the green grass.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
So they sat down in groups of hundreds and fifties. 41 Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Then Jesus gave the bread to his disciples to distribute to the people. He also divided the two fish among them all. They all ate and were satisfied,
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces of bread and fish. The number of the men who had eaten was five thousand.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Sermon: A Table Spread
Mother Teresa knew about it. That’s why she strongly encouraged all of her nuns to take a full year off every 4-5 years.
My pastor knew about it. That’s why, as I began my first call in ministry he said: Always take the rest of the day off after a funeral.
Hospice care workers know about it. That’s why when they train new people they say: if you get too sad, come talk with one of us.
Jesus knew about it too. That’s why after the disciples returned from an intense time of healing the sick and casting out demons, Jesus said to them:
Come away to a quiet place and rest.
The it is compassion fatigue. It is an occupational hazard for anyone in a care-giving vocation: nurses, doctors, therapists, social workers, police-officers, family members caring for someone who is chronically ill, Christians…
For, in the words of Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen: The expectation that we can be immersed in suffering and loss and not be touched by it is as unrealistic as expecting to be able to walk through water without getting wet.
Compassion Fatigue has been described as the “cost of caring” and its symptoms include:
- reduced ability to feel sympathy and empathy
- anger and easily triggered irritability
- dread of seeing certain people
- sleep loss
- loss of self worth and effectiveness
- increased pessimism toward self, the world and faith
It doesn’t happen overnight, but over time, for empathic care-givers, too much exposure to suffering can lead to compassion fatigue. It’s happened to me and lots of people I know.
Jesus sent the disciples 2×2 door to door with authority to cast out demons in his name and they did. They immersed themselves in the lives of the sick and suffering and healed many. And some people refused to welcome them so they shook the dirt from those houses off their sandals and they moved on – although that’s not as easy as it sounds. All of this was hard work – fulfilling but emotionally draining work. There’s a cost to caring – it can wipe us out. They gathered around Jesus to tell him all about it and he said:
Come away to a quiet place and rest. Yes – that’s exactly what’s needed: retreat, refresh, relax, regroup, rest.
Those disciples couldn’t have gotten in the boat fast enough. Ah what they must have imagined waited for them on the other shore: peace, quiet, solitude… not 5000 people. This sanctuary holds about 250. Multiply that by 20. Goodbye retreat.
I guess they shouldn’t have been surprised. Jesus drew masses of people everywhere he went. Once the crowds were so dense, friends couldn’t get to the door of the house where Jesus was, so they cut through the roof to lower a paralyzed man before Jesus to be healed. Another time he got in a boat and pushed off from shore so the pressing crowd wouldn’t crush him.
Yet another time he preached from a boat because the mass of people was so dense on the shoreline. Throngs even followed him as he walked down the street. So many people coming and going, they didn’t even have a chance to eat.
In a time like this, though, when there’s expectation and deep hunger for rest and quiet and a moment of sanity shared only with close friends… the last thing they wanted to see was yet another intrusive crowd, right?. Compassion fatigue. But not so for Jesus.
Like sheep without a shepherd, they were to him.
He was filled with compassion for them. His eyes scanned the faces: lost, struggling, desperate, afraid, lonely, disregarded, angry, weary, vulnerable… hungry for new life.
His purpose was clear and before him: I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. It’s never just another crowd of needy people to Jesus. Every single one is a beloved child of God. And he pulls out creative and imaginative ways to let them know. That day, he taught and he taught and he taught – for hours – as if his life and theirs lives depended on it.
Meanwhile, the disciples stood on the sidelines. They noticed the setting sun and their growling stomachs and the lack of available roadside markets and made the oh so very practical suggestion of wrapping it up so the people could get on their way before stores close. And so that maybe they could have that long-awaited rest.
You give them something to eat, Jesus said.
Tell me how you think this idea sounds to the disciples.
Jesus has been teaching about the Kingdom of God and now, he wants them to practice it. He’ll spread a table, right then and right there, in the wilderness, so that everyone can eat together. The idea couldn’t be more perfect and more nuts. One thing we can say about it – it was memorable. This is the only miracle story of Jesus that appears in all four gospels.
It’s not the story we ordinarily tell when we share the Lord’s Supper together. But it’s definitely about sharing and it’s without question the Lord’s Supper – Jesus is the host of this meal just as he’s the host of the Passover meal on the night of his arrest. In fact, he does all the same motions – he takes the bread, blesses and breaks it and gives it.
This is a teaching story. A show and tell — rather a tell and show. God’s grace described and now revealed. Pulling his disciples – his principle learners – from the sidelines, Jesus calls them to action.
They are the ones who will pass on the tradition to people like you and me. They’re learning by doing — every step. Maybe at the end of the day, this is exactly the refreshment they needed.
Step 1: Share what you have.
Take nothing for your journey, except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in your belt. Wear sandals, but don’t even put on two tunics.
Those were the instructions Jesus gave his disciples when he sent them on their recent journey. Take no bread. No money. They were forced to rely completely on the kindness and generous hospitality of strangers.
Most of the people they visited were poor. The sick and the demon possessed occupied the lowest rung on the social ladder. Feeding the disciples in addition to their own family was a hardship – a sacrificial offering. Yet so many gave what they had with gratitude and joy.
I’m reminded of families in Mexico for whom we built cement block houses on mission trips. Families saved for a year in order to buy meat to cook for us on the work site. One father was so proud to make mole for us – to see the delight on our faces as we tasted his delicious sauce – it took a whole day to make it; a whole year to save for it. They were so grateful to God for sending us. Their offering was generous and sacrificial.
The table in the wilderness is spread with a sacrificial offering. All that they had –given…shared. Later when Jesus said: This is my body – all that I have– freely given for you. Do this in remembrance of me, they remembered. Indeed, this was a mark of the earliest Christian communities — resources pooled for the welfare of all.
From a Christian teaching document dated to the 1st century, these words: Share everything with your brother and sister. Do not say ‘it is private property.’ If you share what is everlasting, you should be that much more willing to share things which do not last.
The gifts of God for the people of God.
Step 2: organize the people in groups and lead them to sit down on the green grass.
We Presbyterians are fond of saying we do things decently and in order. Here, it seems Jesus agrees. A spontaneous banquet is about to begin, but let’s put a bit of order to the chaos.
Jesus asks the disciples to become the shepherds: lead the flocks to green pastures and make them sit down. Put their anxious minds at ease. Lead them to trust. Lead them to rest.
This is an exercise in faith for the disciples. They have to sell the message that all will be well. Even though they don’t know how that will unfold. And they have to be convincing. They’re leading the people to trust that what Jesus says, what he teaches, is real. This is what new community looks like: strangers become neighbors and all being fed.
Even as they organize the crowd this is materializing before them: It’s not a mass of people anymore; each one has a face and eyes… Individuals are becoming visible. Families, people from different villages… old and young… Each one becomes noticeable –and they begin to notice each other – who else is here?
Step 3: Give the food to the people.
Now it’s really happening. The disciples will see to it that every single person is served. Everyone – equally. Patience. There will be enough. They’ll get lost in this – and found in this.
It’s what happens when bread is broken and shared one to the next to the next. They’ll see the dignity and the belovedness in every person – every person. No one missed. No one less than. No one more than. No hierarchies. No privilege. No favoritism. Bread for the journey for each one – whatever that journey is – whatever the need – not just bread, the bread of life.
Blessed are those who hunger – they will be filled.
The is the body of Christ broken and given for you and you and you…
This is holy for the giver and for the one who receives – sacrament – God’s grace revealed.
I think of my good friend – a Presbyterian elder – whose daughter died when she was 8 months pregnant — leaving two young sons, her beloved husband and her parents (my friends) behind. She was on her way to their house to celebrate the birthday of her youngest son. And she became ill. And the doctors worked on her all night long and they lost her and the baby.
And the whole church grieved at her funeral as her youngest son wailed from the front row — keening for his mom. Afterwards, my friend hugged me and whispered in my ear – my faith is empty.
And the very next Sunday, there she was in worship – at the front of the church – holding the bread for the Lord’s Supper – saying to each person who came to her to receive: this is the body of Christ – broken for you. And we all understood that in a way we never had before. We wept with her as we received the bread of life from her hands.
Step 4: Gather the leftovers.
Not only did every one eat – but everyone ate until they were filled and there were baskets of scraps leftover. Abundant mercy. Abundant love. Abundant life. That’s the Kingdom of God. That’s what we long for and work toward and live into. And the disciples – those who started the day fatigued by compassion, ended the day with an obvious over-the-top tangible illustration of God’s amazing grace for them – for all 5012 of them.
Everybody went home after the miracle of the feeding on the hillside along the shore of the Sea of Galilee – after glimpsing the Kingdom of God in their midst – after being a part of it. And going home meant going home to a broken society. But they had seen a different way.
All is not right with the world and we know it because we live it every day — and sometimes it wears us down.
But there’s a table spread in the wilderness — we know it as the Lord’s Supper. And every time we come to his table, we’re touched again by his healing grace — overflowing blessing in brokenness– and we hear again his words: Do this in remembrance of me and we do.
Scripture: John 1:14-18New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)
14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
15 (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’”)
16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. 17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.
Sermon: Grace Revealed
I went to see my mom this week. Many of you have been praying for her and for my dad for some time now. My mom’s on a journey of loss. For years her memory and her physical strength have been slowly fading away.
You all are so kind to ask from time to time: How’s your mom? She’s tiny and frail – a whisper of her former self. She doesn’t say much anymore – I find myself cherishing every word.
On Friday, I went to see her. She was in the dining room finishing lunch and she looked up – and when she saw me her face burst open with immediate recognition — she smiled and her eyes sparkled and she waved: “Hi sweetie!” She said. “Hi momma!” I said as I gave her a little hug. “It’s good to see you!” we said to each other and I left her to finish her strawberry ice cream.
Dessert is about the only thing she eats – and she eats it with relish. Dad said the hospice nurse said dessert taste buds are the last to go. And that well may be true, but I reminded him – she has always eaten like this – pick at the things that are good for you and lick the plate clean on dessert.
Her face revealed pure joy when she saw me – like a baby spontaneously breaks into that glorious smile when he or she sees a known face.
If we could see God’s face – if our eyes met God’s eyes across the room – I believe that’s what we would see – every single one of us would see – God looking back at us with joy and delight and love – not with skepticism or disappointment… not with concern or frustration… not seeing failures or faults or darkness – but cutting right through it all — seeing the beloved child within us – known so well… communicating with a look, a brightness of eyes, a wide smile – a presence, a love, a hope that never quits.
That’s what grace looks like.
God loves to look at us, wrote Kathleen Norris in her book Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, and God loves it when we will look back at him. Even when we try to run away from our troubles, God will bless us, even when we feel most alone, unsure if we’ll survive the night. God will find a way to let us know that he is with us in this place, wherever we are, however far we think we’ve run, and Norris says:
Maybe that’s one reason we worship—to respond to grace. We praise God not to celebrate our own faith, but to give thanks for the faith God has in us. To let ourselves look at God, and let God look back at us. And to laugh and to sing and to be delighted because God has called us his own.
The Word of God became flesh and lived among us – or in Eugene Peterson’s Bible translation called The Message: The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood. Moved right in among us and stayed.
Jesus took the abstract notion of God and made it concrete with hands and feet, a beating heart and a face. Through his life and his choices, his words and his actions, Jesus made God known.
Today we’re kicking off a new sermon series on the sacraments. In our Presbyterian Reformed tradition, there are only 2: The Lord’s Supper and Baptism. As our entrée into the series, let’s explore together this idea of being made known.
It’s more than an introduction. Last week I introduced Brett as our new Director of Music. At that point, you could put a face to a name, but you didn’t know Brett.
On Friday night, we had a meet and greet with Brett and the choir members and spouses. Sandy had 20 pieces of information about Brett that she arranged as a true/false quiz. After the quiz, we knew a few things about Brett – like that he plays euchre and not football, that he collects antique pocket watches and his favorite color is blue, he doesn’t play golf but he does play the drums, etc. But even those of us who were there can’t really say we know Brett.
How is it that someone or something is made known?
From the Greek, the literal translation is to lead out by showing. Do you remember that thing we used to do in elementary school called Show and Tell? We’d bring something from home – a pet or souvenirs from a vacation or some cherished treasure and we’d tell about it. For many of us, this was our first experience at public speaking. But it always involved showing something and teaching about it.
When we did this, we revealed something about ourselves.
Adults do this too. At the women’s retreat, women brought an item of clothing that was meaningful to them and they stood in front of the group, showed it and told about it. There were scarves and sweaters, hats and dresses and jewelry – and stories about college, memories of parents and grandparents, and career stories remembered through a uniform… sweatshirts from vacations, comfort clothing that embraced someone through a difficult time and bracelets representing friendships. We were making ourselves known to each other – one story and one article of clothing at a time. These stories came from the inside out – like treasures from the heart you wouldn’t know unless they were revealed.
More than an introduction, it was like an unfolding – a peeling back of layers – opening to a deeper understanding. And we who listened were moved. That’s part of it too – when something or someone is being made known, there’s an implied audience who will be changed in the process.
No one has ever seen God, the gospel writer John wrote, the Only Son who is close to the Father’s heart, has made him known.
When Jesus healed the sick, befriended the stranger, taught the crowds, and cried over lost cities– God’s character was made known. When Jesus challenged his disciples, rebuked those who abused power, welcomed the sinners and outcasts, and prayed for the winds to be still– God’s purposes were made known. When Jesus forgave those who knew not what they did, fed the hungry, restored strength to the weak and sight to the blind, God’s heart was made known.
And to all who receive this knowledge – there is grace upon grace upon grace.
Pope John Paul II said: Christ is the Sacrament of the invisible God – a sacrament that indicates presence. God is with us.
God will find a way to let us know that he is with us in this place – whatever and wherever this place is.
In the 5th century, St. Augustine defined sacraments as the outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace. God’s character made known… Grace Revealed.
Every time we come to the table of the Lord’s Supper and every time we gather around the baptismal font, it’s a show and tell of God’s heart – ordinary bread and juice become extraordinary and holy just as ordinary people are reminded of their belovedness. Fresh, life giving water becomes a holy blessing as a new child is welcomed into God’s family… and as each one of us remembers we are God’s children too.
Every time we come to the table of the Lord’s Supper and every time we gather around the baptismal font, it’s also a show and tell of our own hearts. We are made known to ourselves and we are made known to each other. The table and the font are the great equalizers.
All of us alike are deeply in need of God’s grace. We are some combination of lost seeking a way home, lonely yearning to belong, broken needing to be made whole, sick crying out for a healing touch, grieving longing for comfort, burdened and desperate for freedom, hungry, hopeful, angry, weary and worn.
When we hear the invitation to come to the table, we stand up, we walk into the aisle and we move forward – one of many – walking side by side. We are the beggars lying at the gate waiting for scraps from the rich man’s table… we are the crippled and lame from the back streets and alleys unexpectedly given a seat of honor at the banquet… we are the prodigal sons and daughters welcomed home with a kiss and a fatted calf… we are Pharisees and tax collectors and peasants and farmers… we are fishermen and merchants, lepers and servants and rulers.
And there is God’s face in Christ Jesus – with bright eyes of joy – seeing past it all and delighted to see each one of us – to welcome each one of us to his table – to feed us bread for the journeys of our lives – to remind us of the promise of forgiveness – to lift us into a different vision of ourselves and our brothers and sisters – to show us a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven… grace revealed.
And when a new child is lifted up and sprinkled with the waters of baptism and marked with the cross of Christ… when that child’s name is said aloud and we hear the words once again that he or she is known and loved and marked as God’s own forever…
In that moment we silence the voices that seek to define us and we listen only to the one who calls us by name and who looks upon us with pure joy and great expectation – whose eyes are filled with love and hope. And grace is revealed.
Maybe that’s a reason we worship, Kathleen Norris said, to respond to God’s grace… to give thanks for the faith God has in us.
Isn’t that the stunning miracle in it all – that God still has faith in us – relentless hope in us — to be made known to us and for us to make him known – through our words, our actions and our prayers.
To lead out by showing – God’s character through the fruit of our lives and hearts.
You should have seen my mom eat that strawberry ice cream – like it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. She stopped short of licking the bowl.
It reminds me of our daughter Courtney when she was a preschooler and she’d take communion. In that church we used little plastic cups for the juice and she’d always drink the juice and then stick her tongue in there to get every last drop.
O taste and see the Lord is good.
That the world may know.
Scripture: Psalm 104:1-9
Sermon: Anthems of the Almighty: Wind and Fire Preach On!
It was September and the year was 2000. Our children were back to school – Courtney was off to kindergarten. The house was quiet. I had just started a new Bible Study at church called Disciple. It was week 2 of 34 and I was still mostly on track with my daily reading. I took my notebook, Bible, and coffee out to the back patio. I took a hymnal with me too, because that week, each day’s reading also had a hymn for us to sing.
Every chapter of Disciple starts with a paragraph called Our Human Condition — ponderings out of common human experience – wonderings that the study asserts most of us humans have as we walk the earth.
I wonder who made me and my world, week 2 began, If there is a Creator what is this Creator like? Why was I made? Geologists point to rocks that are billions of years old. Astronomers speak of stars that are millions of light years away. In a universe so big, surely, I am a speck of dust.
Sitting there alone on the patio on that gorgeous September day, I looked and listened to the life all around me: trees, flowers, birds, bugs, sky, clouds, rays of sunshine… Did you really create all this? I wondered aloud in prayer.
My children were going to a private Christian school at the time that taught biblical creation as a 7 24-hour day undertaking and that the earth was only a few thousand years old.
A note from Alex’s teacher came home the year before when he was in 2nd grade: Dear Mrs. King– Alex said you don’t believe humans and dinosaurs walked the earth at the same time, it said.
We were waiting in line for the dinosaur ride at Disney’s Animal Kingdom when he asked– Mommy, did dinosaurs live at the same time as humans?
No, I said. Dinosaurs lived a long, long time before humans.
Why did they die? he asked.
I’m not really sure, I said, maybe there was a shortage of food or a sickness or fire or change in the earth… those were the days when you couldn’t whip out your smart phone and get instant answers…
Why would God create them and then let them die? my sweet little 8 year old son asked. Even Siri couldn’t have helped me with that one.
I don’t know what I said next. I remember his question. I don’t remember the answer. Maybe I said I don’t know. Or maybe I said something like things happen to make room for new things, Or maybe I said nothing at all and was mercifully rescued by the attendant guiding us onto the ride.
The ride was terrifying and traumatic for our younger child. She screamed all the way through it and that became the great distraction for the next hour… which is probably why I didn’t even remember having the conversation with Alex until the letter from the teacher came home:
Dear Mrs. King, Alex said you don’t believe humans and dinosaurs walked the earth at the same time. May I remind you that we teach the Bible as the literal Word of God here. And are you aware that there is fossil evidence of a human footprint next to a dinosaur footprint?
I do believe in a Creator God, I answered back, although believing that the seven days are literally seven 24-hour days is not integral to my understanding or my faith. I stand with with the Psalmist who says: A day is like a thousand years in your sight O Lord.
Alex’s teacher didn’t write back.
I wanted my children to grow up with a healthy appreciation for both science and faith – not feeling the need to choose one over the other – but to hold them both together– to see God at work in and through science – and to certainly not feel that one threatens the other.
For centuries, theologians have talked about faith seeking understanding.
I believe in order that I may understand, was 4th century Augustine’s language – we believe, but we restlessly seek deeper understandings… we want to know more about what we believe, what we can hope for, what we ought to love because we believe.
Anselm, a Benedictine monk of the 11th century agreed –with a twist— we wonder, not so that we may obtain faith, but so that we may be gladdened by our ponderings: faith seeks understanding and understanding produces joy. I pray, O God, to know thee, to love thee, that I may rejoice in thee, said Anselm.
Others came at it differently: 11th century French theologian Peter Abelard said: Doubt leads to enquiry and enquiry to truth. And in the 13th century Thomas Aquinas said: Wonder leads to enquiry and enquiry to understanding.
Did you really create all this? I whispered into that September morning. Was I asking out of faith? Out of doubt? Out of wonder? I don’t know which. But the question hung in the air as I picked up the hymnal and went back to my study:
This is my Father’s world,
and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me ring,
the music of the spheres.
And I stopped for a moment because the wind picked up right then and set the chimes in motion directly above my head. What perfect timing, I thought, as I looked up at the chimes and as I looked up, I saw for the very first time the label on the underside of this chime: Music of the Spheres, it said.
It turns out that’s the name of the windchime company based in Austin Texas. Its founder Larry Roark’s vision combined his spirituality and love of music: World peace – one backyard at a time.
In my backyard that day, maybe it wasn’t world peace, but it was my peace. It was a moment – but not just any moment – it was a precisely timed moment that spoke directly to me.
This is my Father’s world;
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas,
his hand the wonders wrought.
And then—I picked up the Bible and read the assignment: Psalm 104 – and when I got to the words: you make the winds your messengers a chill went through me. Windchimes only move with the wind. And in that moment, God pulled it all together to get my attention – the music, the scripture, the chimes and the breath of the wind.
How stunning is it, that the very same God who created the universe can also care for us so precisely and intimately – to craft mini-blessings designed just for each one of us – made to order and tuned to our hearts?
Over the last few weeks we’ve explored together the voices of praise in this cosmic choir that sings constantly all around us: Anthems of the Almighty, I called the series, and our text has been the psalms.
No one suggests that the psalms are a science textbook, or that they should be read literally. They’re poetry, metaphor, imagery. They are prayers and songs – they point to a God of beauty and emotion… of wonder and power… of silence and resounding voice. In them we find a whole range of human expression and divine response. Through them we are given permission to approach God with our tears and our anger, our thanksgiving and our confusion, our joy and our despair, our faith and our doubt. Out of them comes a great cloud of witnesses steadfastly proclaiming the glory of the one whose hand is in all and through all: the birds and seas, fields and trees, mountains and skies, earth, wind and fire.
A story is told of the hermit Antony, who lived in Egypt in the 3-4th centuries. When he was asked what he would do if one day he could no longer read scripture, Antony said: My book, sir philosopher, is the nature of created things, and it is always on hand when I wish to read it.
We children of the Reformation are very Word centered in our faith practices – specifically Bible centered. If you walk into a historic cathedral of the Protestant Reformation, you’re likely to see a high stately pulpit towering over the pews. No doubt some amazing sermons have been preached from those platforms – with high soaring rhetoric and passion and purpose. But what of the preaching of the wind and of the fire? They need no props, no microphones, no extensive schooling to speak boldly of the majesty of God.
Legend has it that St. Patrick, frustrated by the paganism of his Celtic countrymen watched as they prepared for their annual spring festival of fire. The ceremony began with the lighting of the High King’s fire from which all of the villagers took fire for their own hearths. On a neighboring hill, Patrick lit a different fire — an Easter fire – a fire to proclaim the resurrection of Christ: new life and light into the darkness.
The High King sent 9 chariots to douse Patrick’s fire. They were unable to prevail and the fire burned on — resolutely preaching for all who could see and hear: the light shines in the darkness and the darkness shall not overcome it.
Even today in the Roman Catholic tradition, the annual Easter vigil begins with the lighting of the fire. And in every one of our worship services, front and center is our Christ candle, burning in steadfast remembrance: the Light of the World… our High King.
I wonder who made me and my world, the Disciple lesson of week 2 of 34 begins, If there is a Creator what is this Creator like? Why was I made?
And at the very end of that lesson, under the heading: If you want to know more—these words: Take a walk outdoors. Be aware of the sky, the trees, the water. Take time to watch and listen and feel. Try to see something you’ve never seen before. From time to time, say, “Thank you God.”
I love what Aerospace engineer and winner of the Medal of Science in 1975, Werner von Braun once said: “For my confirmation, I didn’t get a watch and my first pair of long pants, like most Lutheran boys. I got a telescope. My mother thought it would make the best gift.”
His mother was right. Werner von Braun never stopped asking questions, never stopped exploring the beauty of the created world, never closed his mind to new discoveries– and God never stopped reaching out to him.
Born in 1912, Werner was raised Lutheran but he did not participate. He showed no interest in church or the Bible. His friends called him: a merry heathen. But after being a scientist in the German Nazi regime, arrested and surrendered to the Americans, in 1946, von Braun went to church.
One day in Fort Bliss a neighbor called and asked if I would like to go to church with him. I accepted, because I wanted to see if the American church was just a country club as I’d been led to expect. Instead, I found a small, white frame building… in the hot Texas sun on a browned-grass lot… Together, these people make a live, vibrant community. This was the first time I really understood that religion was not a cathedral inherited from the past, or a quick prayer at the last minute. To be effective, a religion has to be backed up by discipline and effort.
Later in life, he joined an Episcopal congregation, and became increasingly active in his faith. He publicly spoke and wrote about the complementarity of science and religion and his belief in God. He said, Through science man strives to learn more of the mysteries of creation. Through religion he seeks to know the Creator. He also said: The farther we probe into space, the greater my faith.
Faith seeking understanding. Understanding seeking faith.
We pray, O God, to know thee, to love thee, that we may rejoice in thee. May it be so for you and for me and for all of us– Children of God in Christ.
Scripture: Psalm 98
Sermon: Sing a New Song: Stories from Invisible City 2017
Scripture: Psalm 96
Sermon: Anthems of the Almighty: Earth’s Extravaganza
All God’s creatures got a place in the choir
Some sing low and some sing higher,
Some sing out loud on a telephone wire,
Some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they’ve got now.
Sing that with me –
We’re talking about God’s cosmic choir: all creation joins in the song. And not just the usual suspects – not just those we hear – who sing so loudly they can wake us up out of a deep sleep– sometimes before 5am– and they can keep us up long after the sun sets: songbirds and crickets, bullfrogs and barking dogs, cats and owls, ducks and honeybees, coyotes and hummingbirds… all of creation means all of creation – from the heavens to the earth to the seas, the deserts, fields, even the trees – the ones poet and farmer Wendell Berry calls Apostles of the Living Light:
Patient as stars, they build in air
Tier after tier a timbered choir,
Stout beams upholding weightless grace
Of song, a blessing on this place.
Have you ever felt blessed by a tree? I know it sounds kind of crazy. A couple of weeks ago I was walking the labyrinth that Andy built last summer in the middle of a pine grove at our house. The previous owner bought these pines for a buck or two apiece from the county years ago and now they’re towering and stately at 25-30’ tall and they completely encircle this prayer walk. As I rounded the outer-most path I came under a pine with drooping branches like arms outstretched – like we do when we commission – we raise a right hand of blessing. And I had a profound sense of being blessed – right there in that place – by this tree – this apostle of the living light – blessing me.
There it stood, strong and tall and silent – and yet it spoke with its very being – a majestic voice – singing an anthem of the almighty – a doxology – a benediction.
Every day there’s a concert going on all around us – what Eugene Peterson of the Message translation calls an Extravaganza.
He spells it out this way in Psalm 96:
Get out the message—God Rules!
Let’s hear it from Sky,
With Earth joining in,
And a huge round of applause from Sea.
Let Wilderness turn cartwheels,
Animals, come dance,
Put every tree of the forest in the choir
An extravaganza before God as he comes,
That word’s a bit overused in our culture these days: from expos to flea markets to blow-out clearance sales to birthday parties to multi-day summer music festivals…
Buy your ticket now for the 2017 North America Extravaganza July 13-17. What is it?? Why, it’s the biggest health convention in the world in St. Louis, MO.
We have a cultural thirst for the dramatic.
Originally it was a theatrical word: a performance with spectacular flair, that was lavish, extraordinary, or outrageously over the top was an extravaganza – like a cabaret, or musical revue – think vaudeville, Cirque du Soleil – an epic event.
I love that Eugene Peterson chose that word – extravaganza- to describe the way all creation praises God – from the heavens to the earth to the seas, deserts, and forests – everything and everybody pulling out all stops.
Didn’t we see it on display last week with the spectacular double rainbow across a vivid sky. The photo on the cover of the bulletin was taken that afternoon. We took some too – but no photos captured the depth and beauty of the sky – the bright colors in the rainbow – the extraordinary show happening before our very eyes. And did you see the heat lightning last week? Awesome.
In just a few days we’ll start seeing and hearing fireworks – humankind’s effort to splash color across the sky. There will be dramatic firework shows all across this land – extensive and expensive technological displays. Yet night after night fields turn into fairy gardens as tiny lightning bugs do what they were created to do and nothing could be more beautiful and peaceful.
Let’s go marveling, I said last week, borrowing a phrase from the late great Fred Craddock, a beloved pastor from the Disciples of Christ in rural Tennessee. Marveling, Craddock said, is what folks used to do when they’d take walks on Sunday afternoon looking for things to marvel at.
That’s what I had in mind when I invited you to a photo scavenger hunt in preparation for this sermon series on the Psalms – celebrating earth’s extravaganza.
Take your camera or smart phone and go marvel at the many ways creation praises God – right before our very eyes. They’re doing what they were designed to do and it is so stunningly beautiful it takes our breath away. The photos you turned in – many of which we used in worship today – were magnificent – and still they pale in comparison to the actual sights you saw.
What is the purpose of a psalm like this one – 96? Our ancient ancestors of the faith sang it in worship like we did today. This is a congregational song – a hymn – that everybody sang together – everybody – not just the worship leader or the choir or the praise band – or a small ensemble of singers – everybody.
Why have everybody sing together?
It helps us remember. Yesterday several of us sang hymns at Senior Living facilities in town as a part of the Invisible City: Cambrian, Tecumseh Place, and Fieldstone. Even the residents who were experiencing memory loss could sing along with several of the well-known hymns: In the Garden, This Little Light of Mine, I Love to Tell the Story, What a Friend We Have in Jesus…
Oral traditions in particular depend upon storytelling and a common and accurate version of the story. When it is set to music and sung over and over again, the people remember.
Singing together bears witness to the wider community. People came into the facility yesterday where we were singing and they heard us. Some lingered a bit and listened before they went on their way. Declare God’s glory. Say among the nations: The Lord is King! Let them hear you sing it and proclaim it – so that they might hear and believe it too. Get out the message – God rules!
Singing together a psalm like this one reminds us we are part of the whole creation singing praises to God. It’s not just humans who praise God or who have a close relationship with their creator. Knowing this, believing this, shapes how we participate as stewards and nurturers of the whole earth. It makes it much more difficult to exploit that with which you’ve come to understand and to experience a deeper connection, that which you have come to love, that by which you have been blessed.
According to the Urban Dictionary, an extravaganza is anything fun that usually involves something you haven’t done before with the most fun friends you know. Maybe it’s time to rethink who our most fun friends are, and to widen the circle to include our non-human partners from whom we have so much to learn… with whom we have so much marveling to do… and of whom we have so much to stand back and behold.
Sing a new song to the Lord. A new song implies there was an old song. But this isn’t simply a biblical justification to abandon our old favorites. It’s a recognition that in the very act of singing praise to God we become new. And when we become new, the inner change in us makes our song new.
One who believes her calling is to write new songs steeped in the Psalms for congregations to sing today is Darlene Zschech of Australia.
The Lord is sending new songs for us to sing. They are prophetic songs. They are songs of praise. They are songs of unity and songs of intimacy. They are rising among us, restoring peace and righteousness. They are songs of grace and forgiveness, songs of mercy and compassion, songs of strength and justice, and songs of power and might.
She wrote “Shout to the Lord” in 1993, echoing phrases from Psalms 47, 92 and 96. It begins softly as an intimate prayer and swells to a shout of praise as we join the whole earth in song. Let’s begin sitting and rise for the refrain.
Scripture: Psalm 19:1-6
Sermon: Anthems of the Almighty: God’s Glory on Tour
Early this morning we took our daughter Courtney to the airport. About the time she boarded her plane to Houston, the first leg of her journey, a team of volunteers on a beach in the Osa Peninsula in Southern Costa Rica were wrapping up their shift. Tomorrow night at 10pm (Costa Rican time) Courtney will be leading them, in what will be her first of many night watches. The dark beach will be her classroom and she will be a teacher – of locals and volunteers, Eco tourists and biology students.
She won’t be the only teacher on the beach – the older and wiser teachers are the sea turtles themselves – some may be 50 years old. These majestic creatures date back over 100 million years. She and the others will greet them as they return from their epic migratory journeys – some travelling as many as 1000 miles in the open ocean – and while the beach she’s patrolling is new to Courtney, it won’t be new to the returning sea turtles. This is their home. They come back to the very beach where they were born to lay their eggs.
Still other, greater teachers grace that classroom: the sun, the moon and the stars. They have no words, yet day after day, night after night they beckon. If, after breaking free from their shells, the turtle hatchlings venture near the surface of the sand during the day, the warmth of the sun tells them to wait. It’s too dangerous. Unable to hide from its heat, they’ll die on their way to the ocean. But as they break through into the cool night air, the lights of the moon and stars reflected off the ocean guide them to safety.
God’s glory is on tour in the skies,
God-craft on exhibit across the horizon.
Madame Day holds classes every morning,
Professor Night lectures each evening.
That’s how Eugene Peterson, author of the Message translation of the Bible begins Psalm 19. The world is God’s classroom. Teachers are everywhere, says poet and farmer Wendell Berry, what is wanted, is a learner.
And these teachers are so eager to teach! Day after day they pour forth speech – literally in the Hebrew they’re bursting – bubbling over – there is so much to tell!
“The universe is before our eyes like a beautiful book in which all creatures … are as letters to make us ponder the invisible things of God,” says the Belgic Confession.
Or as John Calvin puts it: “whithersoever you turn your eyes, there is not an atom of the world in which you cannot behold some brilliant sparks at least of God’s glory.”
` God’s glory on tour – a world-wide tour.
Glory is to God as style is to an artist, writes Presbyterian pastor Frederick Buechner. To behold God’s glory, to sense God’s style, is the closest you can get to God this side of paradise, just as to read King Lear is the closest you can get to Shakespeare. Glory is the outward manifestation of God’s hand in his handiwork.
What can we learn about the character, the heart, the style, of God… what of his hand is on display in his handiwork?
I said to the almond tree, “Speak to me of God,” wrote the author Nikos Kazantzakis, and the almond tree blossomed.
What would we learn of God if we said to the sunset or the rising swollen orange moon… the brilliant flashes of heat lightning or the clear starry night: Speak to me of God?
What language do stars speak? asks Silvia Purdie, Presbyterian pastor from New Zealand:
Words of vast emptiness and infinite distance,
words of brilliant light and constant explosion,
whirling words, ancient words, alien words.
Language and words never do justice to God’s glory. That’s why we turn to poetry, imagery, metaphor, and music. We’re reaching… reaching to find some way to describe the indescribable.
The teachers of creation don’t use words. Yet even the deaf can hear their voice. They teach us to listen with our hearts… to feel their lessons.
We have a trail that runs the outer perimeter of our back woods. There’s an uphill rise to it at about the halfway point and if I time my walk right in the morning, the sun greets me at the top of that hill. My heart fills with joy as the light bursts through the trees and splashes over me. If I stop and close my eyes and turn my face toward the sun, I can feel its warmth. Speak to me of God, I say, and if I’m still and if I’m patient, I can feel the response. No words – but a gentle steady filling of my soul.
Not all of the lessons God teaches through creation are of joy and life and peace. Sometimes they’re warnings and cautionary tales spoken in the silence – cries for attention and repentance – that all is not right and well.
This September will be the 55th anniversary of Rachel Carson’s book Silent Spring. Her words bore a prophetic witness to creation’s protest over the irresponsible use of pesticides and its harmful consequences:
“There was once a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live in harmony with its surroundings…the book began, a pastoral Eden of hardwood forests and bountiful wildlife…Then a strange blight crept over the area and everything began to change…Everywhere was a shadow of death… It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh…Even the streams were now lifeless…No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new life in this stricken world. The people had done it themselves…”
Rachel Carson’s work was groundbreaking and people listened. It ignited a courageous conversation that led to the formation of the Environmental Protection Agency eight years later.
I’m thankful for the work of biologists like Carson, countless others and now our daughter Courtney who lean in attentively to listen to creation’s cry that all is not well. They enter the classroom and add their voices to those of their primal teachers. They remind us all of our responsibility for the nurture and care of the planet and all its inhabitants. They point out the impact of our choices – both positive and negative. And they encourage us to participate more fully as compassionate partners and advocates.
We not only have a front row seat for God’s glory on tour, we are invited to sing along. We’re not merely watchers on the sideline. The breathtaking beauty all around us is for our enjoyment, but not simply for our enjoyment, it is also for our care. Teachers are everywhere, what is needed are learners.
Up and down the Florida coast shopkeepers now stock LED lights that are tagged “turtle safe.” Why? Because Floridians are learning. With shoreline development, false teachers began to emerge on the dark beaches. As turtle hatchlings break through the sandy surface into the cool of the night and look for the voice of the moon and stars to call them to the safety of the ocean, there are other voices. They become confused and distracted by the ambient lighting of nearby hotels and condominium complexes. They listen to the wrong voices – follow the wrong lights, and move off course onto highways and parking lots.
This is a huge problem, but Floridians are learning about the plight of the ancient creatures who share their home and of their responsibilities to them. They’re buying different lightbulbs, modifying their use of electricity and in so doing, they’re supporting the life of these children of the sea.
I confess there are times I feel like those wayward baby turtles.
I could wake up every morning and take a walk up that back trail in the woods and greet the sun, but most mornings I pour myself a cup of coffee and turn my attention to the light of my computer screen.
Late at night I could walk the labyrinth we’ve built in the center of a peaceful pine grove – barefoot with only the moon to guide me. But most nights I pour myself a glass of wine and turn my attention to the light of the television.
I could get lost in the beauty of the stars – we’re out in the country and they are amazing. But I’ve downloaded a star-map on my iphone to explain to me what I’m seeing. I yield to the voices of false teachers when the truth is abundant before me.
Come back with me to the classroom and sit at the feet of God’s teachers who remind us day after day and night after night of God’s style: of steadfast love and tenderness, of strength and hope, of commitment to justice and of promises kept. Let us take our places in the cosmic choir and sing with all of creation: Great is Thy Faithfulness… morning by morning NEW mercies I see…
Late in his life, long after he wrote the lyrics to that magnificent hymn: Great is Thy Faithfulness, Thomas Obediah Chisholm retired to a Methodist Home in Ocean Park, New Jersey. He was frequently seen walking by the ocean. Throughout his life Chisholm battled health and employment issues, but he remained grounded in the verse from the third chapter of Lamentations: “His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness.”
And in his final years, the sun poured forth that lesson as it ran its course across the sky rising and setting upon the ocean day after day as Thomas Chisholm joined the song. Let’s stand and sing together hymn #39, Great is Thy Faithfulness.
06/11/17 – guest preacher
Pentecost: Service of Reflections and Songs
For the full text of the reflections, click here:
Scripture: Galatians 3:1-9, 23-29
Sermon: All God’s Children
Last weekend we had a mini family reunion to celebrate Andy’s great-aunt Dawn’s 100th birthday. In years past, Dawn hosted the family reunions at her beach house up in Au Gres. Summer after summer we’d gather – the first weekend of August: my husband’s 4 brothers and their families, and his mom and dad and his dad’s sister and her kids and their kids – and we’d all bring food and swim and boat and play lawn games and swat black flies and watch golf and nap and bring out the food again…
A few years ago Dawn’s house burned. She totally redid it and we had one more party there, and then she put it on the market and moved to a senior living facility. It’s been a few years since our last reunion – and it wasn’t the same meeting in the back room of a coffee shop, but it was family.
They say families are like fudge… mostly sweet with a few nuts…
I was a child when I went to my first family reunion. It was held in honor of my grandmother’s great aunt Mary Lancaster’s 80th birthday. Most of my grandmother’s family was from a little town in Tennessee called Theta – in Maury County. Maury was my grandmother’s oldest brother’s name… whether he was named for the county or the county was named for him, I don’t reckon I know. There were 11 children in my grandmother’s family: 10 boys and 1 girl – Grady Neil, they named my grandmother – not even a girl’s name.
Theta is about 15 miles Southeast of Franklin, and apart from being mentioned in a line of a song by a Knoxville, Tennessee band called “The Dirty Guv’nah’s”, there’s not much to it. And they’re obviously not from there, because they pronounce it Thayta in the song. I remember a general store, a long dirt road, outhouses and a whole lot of Lancasters.
My mother was “Grady’s girl” – and I was “Ruby-Joyce’s girl” – everybody was known by their connection to the family: those were Raymond’s boys and Leonard’s grandbabies and that girl over there? she’s Jimmy’s – you know the champion Buckdancer Jimmy – takes after his daddy, that one does.
My grandmother left Theta as soon as she could. As a teenager, she ran away from home because her alcoholic daddy married another woman younger than she was. She ran off to Nashville and got a job as a telephone operator. When she married my grandfather, a successful businessman from Ohio, she vowed she would never take him to meet her family and she never did.
But she took my mom and she took me. And although we were from the north and we didn’t talk like them or dress like them or smell like them, we were Grady’s, and that made us Lancasters. We were family too. And it felt good to belong to a family that big and that warm-hearted and that kind.
The fight in the Galatian churches was about family – who were and who were not legitimate children. One wing of the family came by way of Judaism and the other by way of Roman paganism. Both sides were baptized into a new family in Jesus, but, one side argued, that was not enough.
Believing in Jesus and being baptized in him was just the beginning according to some of the Jewish converts. Certain of our practices and our laws need to be your practices and your laws for God to fully accept you as family. There was confusion and dissention – and pressure to conform. And Paul, in his letter to them said no. There is no one more than and no one less than any other in the family of Christ. Regardless of how you came in, you are, all of you, fully family in Jesus – all of you children of God – full heirs of all God’s promises.
Last week, we talked about the variety of Christian denominations represented in this family of faith: Presbyterians and Lutherans, Baptists and Catholics, Methodists and Congregationalists, Pentecostals and Jehovah’s Witnesses – and none of the above.
Throughout the evolution of Christianity, there’s been fighting about which branch of the family is better, more faithful, truer to what the Bible says… closer to what God intends.
What version of the Bible do you read? Anything other than King James isn’t right, some say.
Have you prayed the sinner’s prayer? What was the condition of your heart when you prayed it?
Can you speak in tongues?
You don’t dance or play cards do you?
Are you tithing?
How many days a week are you reading your Bible?
How many Sundays a month do you go to church?
When was the last time you went to confession?
What are you doing on the Sabbath?
Were you baptized as a believer? No? Then it doesn’t count.
And on it goes. Christians looking down their noses at other Christians, counting them not good enough – not righteous enough – Who has bewitched you? Paul says – who made you think some are more than and some are less than? Did Christ not die for us all? Are we not, all of us in Christ, equally and fully God’s children?
I’ve been asked if I believe denominations were part of God’s design.
Drive through the streets of Detroit and you’ll see a storefront church on almost every corner and several along the block. There are at least 20 churches in our small town of Tecumseh, while Jesus himself prays that we may be one.
And yet, if it weren’t for the Pentecostals, would we have as full an appreciation of the Holy Spirit?
And if it weren’t for the Methodists, would we have such commitment to small groups and home Bible studies?
And if it weren’t for the Presbyterians would we have checks and balances in leadership – not only in our churches but also in our government?
And if not for the Baptists, would we have known the life-changing power of a personal relationship with Jesus?
I’m blessed to have met and spent time with brothers and sisters from a wide variety of Christian traditions. I am where I am in my own religious practice and spirituality because of the rich diversity of teachings imparted to me along the way: my Presbyterian Sunday School teachers, the Baptist camp I attended as an adolescent, my Catholic in-laws, Episcopalian seminary classmates, a Lutheran best friend… So whether or not denominations were actually in God’s design, God has certainly used them to reveal the vast diversity and multi-dimensional character of the divine. And God has used them to help me grow in my walk with Christ.
What about you? Who has gifted you along the way with understandings and practices and insights that have deepened your faith? Who has taught you? What teachings have you incorporated into your spirituality and what have you left behind?
In your bulletin is a template for a Spiritual Genogram.
It’s like a family tree, but each circle or square represents a person or group in your life who has imparted something upon you – positive or negative – in the development of your religious life. Go back as far as you remember – grandparents, parents, aunts or uncles, teachers, coaches, pastors, mentors, co-workers – anybody who has contributed in any way to your spiritual beliefs, go on this tree. It all matters. It is all raw material – and God wastes none of it in the formation of his children.
This Memorial Day weekend, I encourage you to remember all of the people who, by God’s grace, have shaped you into who you are today as a child of God. Maybe as you do this, someone will emerge that you want to thank with a Legacy gift – a name on the wall to help you and and to help all of us remember – a gift to the church to continue fruitful faith.
Go far and wide with your spiritual genogram – to mission trips and youth leaders – people you’ve met outside this country… Have you worshipped with African or Middle-Eastern or Latino or Asian Christian brothers and sisters? How has their song and dance and dress and prayer and practice expanded your heart?
I am thankful to my non-American Christian brothers and sisters for opening their hearts to me: in Bethlehem and in Jerusalem, in Mexico and in Costa Rica – and I’m thankful to John Bell in Scotland for compiling global worship songs so we might get a glimpse of how people sing prayers around the world.
One of the most exciting things about a family reunion is meeting relatives you didn’t know you had. If you have never worshipped with non-American Christians before I highly encourage you to find a way to experience their gifts.
Quaker Richard Foster wrote: “If we are a people rich in social relationships, we are rich indeed. Whenever we develop significant friendships with those who are not like us culturally, we become broader, wiser persons.”
My friend Rani Abdulmasih was raised in Jerusalem and is pastor of the Mother of our Savior Lutheran Church in Dearborn. Some of you have visited his church with me and met Rani. His is the only Arabic/English bi-lingual Christian Protestant church in Dearborn. His congregation members come from all over the Arabic world and his sanctuary reflects the diversity of their practices and their unity in Christ.
The front of their sanctuary is a triangular wall of purple glass with a cross that rises to the peak. Across the center of it, is a gold stained glass crown that spans from edge to edge. The communion table sits on the floor – centered under the crown.
All around it are reminders of worship practices in different Arabic countries: stations of the cross and candles and potted plants and small statues; there’s incense and paintings of the sacred heart of Jesus and Mary – one that even changes from Jesus to Mary to Jesus depending upon where you stand – and a variety of Arabic musical instruments adorn the walls – and it’s breathtakingly eclectic and beautiful.
We are one in Christ, Rani’s congregation says, week after week with the way they worship together.
Our family in Christ is big and warm hearted and diverse and global. We’re in every country across the world. We speak every tongue, eat every kind of food and sing all different types of music.
But you know how it’s become popular to design tshirts for family reunions?
People write things like: Team Smith, A Lifetime Member or Proud to be a Johnson or I Can’t Keep Calm I’m a Williams or It’s a Theta Thing, Ask a Lancaster…
We, all of us as Christians, clothe ourselves with Christ – no matter which land is our land. His is our tribe – no one group more than and no one group less than within it.
On this Memorial Day weekend, as we remember those who fought and died for their country and for freedom, may we remember all who live for their Savior, our Savior: for in him, in Christ, we are, all of us, God’s children and when one suffers we all suffer, and so we pray for safety and for freedom and for clean water and nutritious food and medicine and hope and grace and peace for all God’s children everywhere.
Scripture: Galatians 1:13-17; 2:11-21
Sermon: Trouble in Antioch
Churches are a mixed bag of people, aren’t they? At first glance, you might not see much diversity here, but it’s here – under the surface. For example – let’s talk about church background: Raise your hand if you were born and raised Presbyterian – or have been for the majority of your adult life… Raise your hand if you were raised Lutheran… Catholic… Baptist… Moravian… Episcopalian… Methodist… Raise your hand if you’re new to church – not brought up with Christianity… Something else?
There was diversity in religious and cultural background even in the earliest churches of Jesus Christ. The ones the apostle Paul and his missionary partner Barnabas started in the region of Galatia, for example – from the beginning—had members who were raised Jewish and others who were raised Pagan (Gentiles). Everybody at that time was religious – but the difference between Jews and Romans was huge.
Take this story that happened in Lystra, one of the Galatian cities. Paul healed a man who had been crippled since birth. He looked him in the eye, saw his faithfulness, and told him to stand up on his feet – and he did. When the crowds saw it, they went wild and shouted: The gods have come down in human form! They called Barnabas Zeus and Paul Hermes and priests from the temple of Zeus brought oxen and garlands to the gates to celebrate by offering sacrifices to the apostles.
When Paul and Barnabas heard about it they tore their clothes and rushed into the center of the crowd: Friends, friends – what are you doing?? We’re people just like you and we bring the good news of Jesus to you so that you turn away from these worthless things to the living God – the One who made all this: the heavens and the earth and the seas and all that is in them! Ah, but even so, the crowds were insistent upon sacrificing to them. It’s what they knew! It’s how they worshipped.
And what an offense to their Jewish brothers and sisters! Idolatry! Imagine the challenge before the apostles: trying to bring these two groups together, to respect one another and to establish a new way of living and being as one family following Jesus.
But by God’s grace, they did. Paul and Barnabas baptized people who wanted to join the Jesus movement. And when there was a critical mass of them in a given area, the apostles laid hands on a few and ordained them as elders to lead this new church –and then they moved on to the next town.
But life together in these new churches didn’t come easy. They were so different. There was pressure from those who had been Jews to be more Jewish and pressure from the other side to be more accommodating. Paul wrote about this – about a specific fight between the early church leaders — in his letter to the Galatians.
It happened in Antioch – the very city where they first called followers of the Way of Jesus Christians. The story is relevant to the Galatians and to us today. That’s why he wrote about it and that’s why we still talk about it. Let’s listen as Mary Beth reads excerpts from Paul’s letter to the churches in Galatia: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Galatians+1%3A13-17%2CGalatians+2%3A11-21&version=MSG
It’s why we have so many denominations and why churches have split throughout the ages: disagreements over what is essential in order to be faithful. Christian missionaries from the west have long struggled with this as they try to communicate the gospel of Jesus Christ in a way that can not only be heard and received but practiced in diverse cultures.
Remember Barbara Kingsolver’s book “The Poisonwood Bible” about a missionary family who settled in the Congo?
The Rev. Nathan Price – a preacher, a father… he was a man stubbornly committed to faith the way he practiced it. Rev. Price insisted on baptizing new believers in the river, despite the Congolese deep-seated fear of crocodiles and their steadfast determination to keep their children safe.
Rev. Price believed that God was testing him – that any compromise… any bend to accommodate was a test of his commitment and that God would be displeased if he failed. And so, he held firm, while the village chief loudly warned people to stay away from the church, insisting that the Reverend wanted to feed their children to the crocodiles.
So as long as Nathan Price kept the villagers at arm’s length, refusing to let them into his heart, standing fervently in defense of his beliefs, the very people he had come to serve would never hear the message of Jesus as good news.
Two years after he graduated from college in 1908, my grandfather’s first cousin Murray Thurston Titus sailed with his new wife Olive to be Christian missionaries to the Muslims in India. They were passionate and excited to introduce the Indian people to Jesus. Imagine their surprise when they landed and quickly learned that these people already knew Jesus. He is a prophet in the Qur’an, they said.
Murray and Olive quickly realized how little they knew about the language, the culture, and the religion of those they’d been sent to evangelize. Unlike Nathan Price, Murray began a life-long journey to learn to love his new neighbors. He poured himself into their language and literature, their music and art and poetry. He studied their religion and how it was practiced. He and others like him became known as scholar missionaries – devoted to the study of the people and land into which they were sent –to seek deeper understanding… to cultivate friendships and trust… to demonstrate the love of Jesus in practice.
In their opinion, other missionary approaches were argumentative and disrespectful. One of Murray’s colleagues, a Baptist minister named L. Bevan Jones asked: Can that method be right whereby we win the argument but lose the man, and that a man for whom Christ died?… is it not possible to approach the task in another spirit and in a different manner?
Here in this country, in the last twenty years, Littlefield Presbyterian Church in East Dearborn faced a similar challenge. It started as a church in the heart of a neighborhood, but over the years 75% of the homes nearest to the church transitioned from Christian to Muslim. The streets were teeming with children, yet none of them would come to their summer Vacation Bible School.
What does it mean for us to be disciples of Jesus in this time and in this place? The session prayed, and they listened. The next summer, instead of offering a traditional Vacation Bible School, they created Peace Camp and they invited the Muslim community to come together to learn peacemaking strategies and to build a neighborhood of peace. This summer will be their 19th year, and they offer ESL classes and organize a holiday halal food basket program. After 9-11, neighbors flocked to Littlefield Church where they found safe-haven and welcome.
The cultural and religious challenges of the Apostle Paul in the Greco-Roman world, of Nathan Price among the Congolese, of my cousin Murray with Indian Muslims, or even of the Littlefield Presbyterian Church in E. Dearborn are not the same as our challenges. We have our own:
When someone says: Can we sing our old favorite hymns? We can, but my old favorites and your old favorites and the old favorites of the man or woman down the pew may not be the same. There is a difference between Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Baptist and Lutheran “old favorites”. And some of us have no old favorites at all.
So knowing this, it’s a challenge to incorporate music in our worship in a way that’s diverse and accessible and meaningful and welcoming and free to carry the love of Jesus in song.
And what of our other church language? What about the words we use that are kind of like insider language for those who grew up in church, but sound like a foreign language to those who didn’t?
I’m on the planning team for a big celebration our Presbytery is planning for October 22. This October marks the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s nailing his 95 theses on the door of the Wittenberg Chapel.
I’m super excited. It’s gonna be great! That’s the event the sparked the Reformation — it’s a big deal! We got together for our first brainstorming meeting and as we started throwing out ideas, David Montgomery, Chaplain and Director of the University of Toledo Campus Ministry said: I want my students to be fired up about this and they have no idea what we’re talking about. It’s not that I don’t think the Reformation is relevant – it is, but our challenge is to figure out how it’s relevant to people who don’t know about it and are not inclined to care about something that happened 500 years ago that’s largely defined with words like: Justification, sanctification, and predestination.
When our newest candidate for the ministry in our presbytery was examined last week for ordination, and she was asked by one of my colleagues to further define her understanding of substitutionary atonement, I sat back in my pew. We need new language — language that speaks to the heart as well as the head.
I went to the mic and asked her a different question. Open your heart to us, I said, and tell us what compels you to follow Jesus.
Why Jesus? What is it about him that matters to us at a heart level? Why are we here? Why, when there are lots of other community and civic organizations out there – why join a church?
At the center of the church is Jesus. That was Paul’s point. He’d spent his life trying to be faithful by rigidly following Jewish law – and that led him down the road of persecuting the church of Jesus Christ –fighting the very God he most passionately wanted to honor. He calls himself the chief among sinners and Jesus forgave even him – and more than that, gave him a new calling – to spread that good news that no amount of law-following makes us right with God – in fact, it can take us way off course. It always has to come back to Jesus.
When we say yes to following Jesus, when we are baptized in him, we take him on – we take on his mind and his heart and his actions and his way of seeing people – his way of seeing us. As Jesus is about forgiveness, so too, we are to be about forgiveness. As Jesus is about love, so too are we to be about love. As Jesus is about welcoming the stranger, so too are we to be about welcoming the stranger.
As Jesus is about condemning violence and hatred and deceit and abuse and ego, so too are we.
As we come to grips with the depth of his love for each one of us… that when he said “Father forgive them for they know not what they do,” he was talking about me and you… that when he said: “Let the little children and the blind beggar and the crippled woman and wandering son and the demon possessed man come to me,” he was talking about me and he was talking about you…
And when he said of the dead man Lazarus, unbind him and set him free, he was talking about me and he was talking about you.
Orleanna Price watched as her husband Rev. Nathan Price became more and more strident in his stand against the village chief in the Congo. My steadfast husband tore his hair in private. I held him in my arms at night and saw parts of his soul turn to ash. Then I saw him reborn with a stone in place of his heart.
That’s the cautionary tale of the Poisonwood Bible and of the fight in Antioch — of drawing a rigid line and pressuring others to stand behind it. The law leads to death according to Paul; Jesus is the way to freedom and to life.
Ecclesia Reformata, Semper Reformanda! The ancient words – the rally cry of the Reformation: Church reformed, always being re-formed, according to the Word of God.
It means we are alive… we are open… we are always being changed – by the Spirit of God, even as the world changes around us… to find new language, to sing new songs, to incorporate fresh expressions of a timeless gospel of grace – that all may know… that all may know.
05/14/17- Mother’s Day
Scripture: Acts 15:1-14
They hover over their children, ready to swoop in to protect them from making mistakes or even decisions. They call college professors, admissions staff and workplace bosses to negotiate grades, graduate school placements and even salaries for their children. They call parents of their children’s friends to fix relationship crises. They leave work to drive back to school to pick up their student’s forgotten textbook so the homework can be completed on time. They’ll stay up all night putting the finishing touches on a project – assigned to their child. Who are they? Helicopter parents.
My mom was not a helicopter parent. She was involved in my life but as a champion not a surrogate. She was our Girl Scout troop cookie mom but she refused to sell a single box for me – instead she encouraged me to make my own neighborhood marketing plan and she cheered me on as I knocked on all the doors and made all the phone calls. Then she handed me the scissors and the newspaper and celebrated with me as I cut out the front page article announcing my record breaking sales – for my scrap book – which held my life story in clippings, programs and playbills. Later when I became a corporate sales executive and the Branch Manager of the third highest performing branch in the country, she was still celebrating with me.
My mom intervened on my behalf at school – once—but not just on my behalf. When my middle school gym teacher issued letter grades based on a curve, my mom went to the administration. Gidget Suci was in my class that year, and she was tall and fast. It was in her genes – her dad was arguably the best athlete ever to come from Genesee County. Bob Suci earned 15 of 16 possible letters during his time at Grand Blanc High School: football, basketball, baseball and track. His athletic career, which included four seasons in the American Football League is still remembered in a display case at the high school. And his daughter Gidget not only set our class curve, but all the middle school records too.
I was short and slow and gym was my only B that year. But this wasn’t just about me. This was a justice issue for my mom. Gym classes should be pass/fail based on effort not results, she argued. People’s bodies were built differently – and some (like me) could give their all and they would never be a Gidget Suci. She lost the argument, but I loved her for trying.
And then, years later when one of the ladies of her Bible Study was going on and on about how women shouldn’t be ministers, my mom leaned forward and said loud enough for all of the Southern Baptist women to hear: Careful what you say, my daughter’s a minister. And you remember the story of the wide mouth frog?
My mom was not a helicopter parent, but she was an advocate. And boy was she great to have in my corner.
The Gentiles in the early church needed good people in their corner too, advocating for their inclusion in the church of Jesus Christ.
When this movement known as the Way began, every one of it’s earliest followers was Jewish. As was Jesus. But as his followers began sharing the gospel they met harsh resistance from their fellow Jews. They were imprisoned and beaten – even stoned to death. Doors slammed shut, as they were driven out of the synagogues. And that’s where the movement may have stalled altogether had it not been for a surprising and welcome response from the Gentile – or non-Jewish community… an eagerness to learn… a passion for the good news of Jesus and his kingdom of God.
As Peter and Paul and Barnabas moved throughout the Greek speaking world, baptizing these new believers, they were thrilled to see God at work – in the same ways they had experienced.
But there was trouble. Some of the Jewish believers felt confused and angry… what about the age-old traditions? What about their rules and practices? Why shouldn’t they apply to these new people if they were going to be included in the faith family? What about the dietary laws and the ancient festivals? And what about circumcision? Surely they’d all need to get circumcised! Imagine Paul and Barnabas going back to the new Christians in Antioch and suggesting that idea to all the adult males! That, they felt, was an unnecessary burden and needless pain. They’d already witnessed God at work in these people – why wasn’t that enough??
Tradition vs. cultural adaptation: the church of Jesus Christ in every age faces this dilemma.
Times change and people do too. Is God free to welcome into the family anyone and everyone God chooses? Or do doctrines and rules set forth in the earliest church define the boundaries for ever into the future? Traditionalists feel the ground ever slipping under their feet, the rules ever changing and it’s scary! Is nothing sacred? Are there no limits? Does anything go?
Our text today has some answers for us on the way the earliest church dealt with this tension. Let’s take a look:
“God knows the heart,” Peter says. And “God is not discriminating between their hearts and our hearts”. Who, then are we to question God?
I heard a similar argument to this expressed by a man in the spring of 2011. I was part of the Detroit Presbytery then and we were meeting in the First Presbyterian Church in Plymouth to vote on whether or not to allow openly gay men and women to be ordained as ministers, elders and deacons. The moderator called people to the mic to speak for and against the motion – alternating every other person. An older gentleman approached the mic.
“I’m speaking for the motion to allow the ordination of gay men and women,” he said. “I came to the meeting tonight against this motion, but before the meeting began, I slipped away into the chapel and prayed. And in my prayer, I imagined myself standing before God who posed this question to me: ‘Why did you stand in the way of this person who I called into ministry?’ And I don’t want to answer that question. If God has called this person into ministry and he or she is gay, who am I to stand in the way? I will not stand in the way of God’s call.”
We knew this was a controversial motion and at the beginning of the meeting, the moderator prayed for open hearts willing to listen to God’s voice. When I heard that man speak, I thought to myself, that’s what an open heart looks like – a heart willing to change – not by intellectual or scientific argument, but by God’s voice.
Paul and Barnabas advocated for the non-Jewish Gentile believers in a different way. They testified to the way God worked through them among the Gentiles. Were not our hearts burning within us? said the travelers on the road to Emmaus when they realized they had been with Jesus. There’s a way in which our hearts testify to the truth of God at work. You’ve felt it – right? Every night we come back to the church after working during Invisible City – we share these stories of God at work through us and among us. People talk about feeling alive and purposeful – and that this is how we know we’re doing what God would want us to do. We find ourselves in these deeply meaningful conversations… we’re seeing people for the first time…
Imagine if someone came into our church and said: “You have to go back to all of those Invisible City people and tell them they have to come to church on Sunday in order for God to love them as much as God loves us.” And we would say: “No! God loves them already as much as God loves us.” We can feel it in our hearts as we minister among them. Why would we ask them to do anything more in order to be loved by God? They already are! And our mission is to help them feel it and know it. We watch as they realize it through us – they know that if we see them, God sees them – and that’s more than enough.
And finally James is an advocate for the Gentiles in yet another way. James appeals to the Jewish believers in their own language. He quotes the prophets. Sometimes it takes someone deep on the inside to convince the other insiders to see differently. James has authority, but the prophets have even more authority with this traditional bunch and he leans on that argument to seal the deal.
All of these advocates are needed in Jerusalem to lead the church in a new direction with everyone in support: the ones who remind that it’s God at work yesterday, today and tomorrow, the ones who testify to the movement of the Spirit and the ones who bring us back to the ancient texts to find a way into the future.
The Gentiles weren’t at the meeting in Jerusalem. They needed advocates to speak for them – in a whole variety of ways.
Today lots of places need advocates: voices who will speak for the voiceless.
Most hospitals have patient advocates. The University of Michigan hospital website says their patient advocates provide the following:
- medical information and emotional support for families and patients
- help with access to medical records
- help with delays in test results
- mediating hospital complaints
- navigating insurance questions
Patient advocates can help families make their way through the complicated world of healthcare when they don’t know the first thing about a new and scary diagnosis.
There are networks of people who provide advocacy for immigrants: legal information and support, language training, community assimilation.
Members of my family have worked with Prisoner Advocacy, a Quaker run organization in Ypsilanti that provides support to prisoners and their family members. They ensure basic rights to healthcare and food and safety are upheld, and they provide training in preparation for parole and resources to help them reenter the free world.
Share the Warmth advocates for the homeless population in our county – for adequate shelter and mental health treatment and help with substance abuse.
Friends of the Court provides advocates for children who are victims of abuse or neglect or abandonment.
Is advocacy ever harmful? That brings us back to helicopter parents. When advocates speak for people who can speak for themselves, advocacy can lead to disempowerment. When we as parents prevent our children from facing the consequences of their own life choices or from learning important problem solving skills or making decisions for their own futures, our advocacy gets in the way of their growth. When we as advocates believe we know more than the one we’re advocating for – or believe we know better – it’s time to step back and reassess.
The word advocate literally means one called to aid… an ally… a companion… a supporter… a cheerleader… a friend. My mom was an advocate. It was great to have her in my corner.
The last time I saw her, as I leaned toward her to say goodbye, I said “I love you mom.” And she said “I love you more.” In the midst of her dementia, my mom’s got a lot of programmed responses these days. “See you later, alligator,” for example, always gets “After while, crocodile”. “I love you more” is one of those programmed responses. But after a moment, she said “Mothers always love their children more.” And that wasn’t programmed. That was truth.
Scripture: Acts 8:26-39
Sermon: Get up and go!
If you’re Philip, it’s hard not to take what happened in Samaria personally.
(I’m talking about the story just before the story in today’s Scripture reading).
It started so well.
After Stephen’s stoning, persecution of Christians in Jerusalem became intense. Things got so bad there, they all left except for the apostles. Philip went down to Samaria. And what a great place for him to land! To his delight the crowds were eager to listen to Philip talk about Jesus. He ministered among them – healing people mind, body and spirit. The air was filled with excitement. They listened as Philip told them about God’s kingdom and they came to him to be baptized – they rushed to be part of this amazing Way of life.
It was a preacher’s dream: the people had light in their eyes and fire in their hearts – they were hungry for Bible study… telling their neighbors…filling the pews… it was joyful! It was fun!
And then there was Simon… icing on the cake. Simon was a magician, and before Philip came to town, he was the miracle-worker. He was charismatic – a real crowd pleaser and he could have been a tough rival for Philip, but even Simon’s interest was piqued by Philip’s message of Jesus. His eyes lit up too and he got on board the kingdom of God train. After Simon got baptized, he stuck to Philip like glue – becoming his #1 disciple – wherever Philip went, Simon had a front row seat – eager to see, eager to learn. The two of them were a dynamic duo.
Things couldn’t have been better.
Up in Jerusalem, the apostles heard about this and they sent Peter and John down to Samaria to check it out. When they arrived, Peter and John gathered the new church together and they began to pray. They laid hands on the believers and prayed for the Holy Spirit to fill this new church with power.
Nobody’s really sure what happened next, but something major happened. Maybe it was some kind of Pentecost moment – a rushing wind… spontaneous praise… maybe people began to sing or cry or laugh or dance… nobody knows – but Simon saw this. Simon saw that these two men from Jerusalem – when they prayed and when they laid hands on people — they had something more than Philip – more power shot forth from their fingertips — Simon wanted some of that.
He began to imagine what he could do with that kind of power and it felt amazing… limitless. As soon as he could, Simon took Peter and John aside and offered to slip them some cold, hard cash for some of their kind of power – and Peter was outraged – as if the Holy Spirit could be bought!
In front of everyone Peter called out Simon – exposing him for his fraud – his wicked heart: You have no part in this, Peter said. You have missed the whole point – You’d better pray and pray hard that God will forgive you.
Then Peter and John preached a final sermon, packed their bags and headed back to Jerusalem.
Where does that leave Philip? If you’re Philip, it’s hard not to take this personally – to feel upstaged, outranked, sidelined. He wasn’t one of the twelve disciples. He didn’t have their authority or credentials.
He was one of the seven who along with Stephen was commissioned to make sure the poor were served and the hungry were fed. The truth is, he’d gone way outside his job description. He was preaching and baptizing… but wasn’t that what was needed there in Samaria? Wasn’t that what God wanted him to do? The people responded so well – they were learning so much – why wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t he enough?
Why’d Peter and John have to come down anyway? Wasn’t everything going just fine? Simon was learning. True, he wasn’t there yet, but he was learning! With a little more time, he would have been fine… wouldn’t he? Or not? Had Philip been so caught up with the excitement and the growth that he’d actually missed some things — some critical signs that all was not well…
Had he gotten a little too close? Lost his objectivity? Should he have done things differently, called in help earlier? What did he think he was doing preaching the gospel and baptizing people? Who did he think he was?
Then the angel of the Lord said to Philip: Get up and go.
Then – right then in the middle of his confusion, his bruised ego, his feelings of inferiority and inadequacy – right after he’d been set back on his heels – then the word of the Lord came to Philip: Get up and go.
And we would totally understood if he said no. Right? No. Not right now. Not after what just happened. I’m obviously not good enough, not smart enough, not trained enough. Pick one of the disciples — they’re a better choice. You don’t want me to go. I can’t go. I’m not confident enough. Not now.
We have these chickens. Six hens and a guinea.
Through the winter, we kept them penned into a small run attached to their coop. This spring, Andy fenced off a part of the garden and opened up the gate at the end of the run. Now they can go through that gate and into a larger grassy pen and beyond that, there’s an open gate into a huge pen. The pigs used to be in that one and there’s a beautiful pile of compost with rotting vegetables and seeds and bugs – a paradise for a chicken.
But for days after Andy opened it up, the whole flock of them hung out just at the end of their little run, standing in the open gate. They refused to leave the security of the pen for the wide open life that lay right before them.
In his book Let Your Life Speak, Quaker Parker Palmer offers a twist on the old adage: When God closes a door, he opens a window: Palmer says:
Each time a door closes, the rest of the world opens up. All we need to do is stop pounding on the door that just closed, turn around—which puts the door behind us—and welcome the largeness of life that now lies open to our souls. If we are to live our lives fully and well, we must learn to… live in the creative tension between our limits and our potentials. We must honor our limitations in ways that do not distort our nature, and we must trust and use our gifts in ways that fulfill the potentials God gives us. We must take the no of the way that closes and find the guidance it has to offer—and take the yes of the way that opens and respond with the yes of our lives.
Get up and Go, the angel of the Lord said to Philip and he said yes:
Yes to an experience that started on a wilderness road…
Yes to an encounter with a person who couldn’t have been more different than Philip: different in culture, in social status, in wealth, in religion…
Yes to the risk of entering a stranger’s chariot… note: we do not condone this for children.
Yes to the opportunity to be an interpreter of the promises of Scripture — to point the way to Jesus.
Yes to the request for baptism – for a eunuch – expressly forbidden in the Jewish law… and yet Philip said yes, because there was water, there was a willing and eager heart and and there was a Spirit-filled moment.
This is a redemption story for Philip – an I’m not done with you yet, thus says the Lord story for Philip – an opportunity that is uniquely suited for Philip – a thanks be to God he said yes, story, but it’s not just about Philip. It’s also about the church in Samaria.
What would have happened if the call came for Philip to go to the Ethiopian and Peter and John hadn’t come down? Maybe Philip wouldn’t have gone because he thought he was indispensable to the church in Samaria. Or maybe he would have gone and left the church in the hands of Simon. Or maybe they both would have gone and the church they’d left wouldn’t have been strong enough to stand on its own.
Peter and John went down to Samaria because they were sent — by someone with much greater authority — One who was writing a much larger story. A story that’s also about an Ethiopian – who, as long as someone meets him on that road at that time to interpret that text to him and make use of that body of water, will go back to his people and become the patron saint of the Christian church miles and miles away.
This is how the gospel spreads: from one person to the next to the next. We are all interconnected. Each one of us is written into the lives of others.
The longer we sit licking our wounds over the last chapter that didn’t work out the way we would have written it, the less we’re free to be used for the next chapter that the Author of Life is writing about our lives, and the life of the very next person we’ll meet.
We are, all of us, players on a much bigger stage, characters in a much larger novel, instruments in a much grander orchestra, singers in a cosmic song. It’s all way bigger than we could ever see, know or imagine.
Listen with me to the words of this prayer written by Joyce Rupp:
God who sings through us, we thank you.
- For the talents and the abundance of gifts that are ours
- For the faith that stirs and grows in our hearts
- For the many people who have been your instruments of goodness in our lives
- For the moments when we have known the song of your presence in a special way
- For the times when your goodness has made music through us…
God of goodness, help us to trust in you.
- When fear rises up in us and we do not believe in our ability to be your instrument
- When the busyness and schedules of our lives press upon us and create questions about your song within us
- When we doubt your presence in the difficult aspects of our days
- When we lose sight of the truth that we are called to be instruments of goodness
- When emptiness, loneliness, and other struggles keep us from hearing your melody of love
God of love, sing your song through us.
- As we grow in believing in our goodness
- As we allow more and more of who we are to be influenced by your presence
- As the song of your love grows in us and the call to be your instrument becomes clearer to us
- As we struggle to know how and when to share our gifts and goodness with others
- As we go forth from here with the desire to be your instruments of love…
We don’t know where we’re needed at any given time, just that we are, just that we are. God needs us to listen when the Spirit says: Get up and go. And then to say: Yes.
Scripture: Acts 6:1-7:2, 44-60
Sermon: The Truth Hurts
A man in good standing, full of faith and full of the Holy Spirit, brimming with God’s grace and energy, Stephen was an excellent choice. When our nominating committee gets together in the next month or two to identify candidates for next year’s slate of Deacons – this is exactly the kind of person they’ll be looking for.
Our Book of Order says:
The ministry of deacon as set forth in Scripture is one of compassion, witness, and service, sharing in the redeeming love of Jesus Christ for the poor, the hungry, the sick, the lost, the friendless, the oppressed, those burdened by unjust policies or structures, or anyone in distress.
Seems like the job description’s expanded a bit since Stephen and that first class of deacons. We thought they were just looking for people to wait tables… organize a potluck… make the coffee… hmmm…
No, when the Holy Spirit is involved, you can be sure it’s always about so much more. It’s never been just about waiting tables.
Here’s how it goes: we sign up to work at a soup kitchen or a food pantry or host a community meal… we volunteer to spend the night or take a meal to the people at Share the Warmth homeless shelter… we take our gardening tools out for a day of mission work with a homeowner through Invisible City… we take on the administration of the Mercy Fund and begin having conversations with people in trouble:
– a man needs a gas voucher because he’s between jobs and the money’s tight and he had unexpected bills this month,
– a daughter needs help with her utility bill because her mother’s healthcare costs put them in financial crisis and there’s a threatened shutoff…
– a woman needs a safe place to stay with her children overnight because her husband is hurting her and the shelter is full…
We volunteer to do something that puts us on the front line alongside people who are desperately poor or addicted or struggling or lost… and we think we can just go home and check it off our Christian todo list?
Not on my watch, says the Holy Spirit, and the deeper questions begin to surface and work on our hearts and minds… our guts wrench for the suffering of the people we’ve met… because we’ve listened to their stories and they play over and over again in our thoughts and now we’re confronted with these hard questions… the why questions and the how questions… the root of the problem questions…
We wonder about the choices we’ve made as a society and our participation in them and then that gnawing truth grows inside us as the Holy Spirit fills us with a desperate need to speak the gospel of Jesus Christ in ways that challenge perpetual and systemic injustice and heal societal sickness.
So much more than waiting tables.
Archbishop Oscar Romero said: When the church hears the cry of the oppressed it cannot but denounce the social structures that give rise to and perpetuate the misery from which the cry arises.
In 1967, before a crowd gathered at the Riverside Church in New York City, Martin Luther King, Jr. put it a different way:
A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life’s roadside; but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar; it is not haphazard and superficial. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.
Jesus was never about superficial window dressing, he was about transformation… about freedom… about life… about turning the tables on injustice and deconstructing the systems of religious, political and societal power. And it was so threatening that those in positions of power crucified him to silence his voice.
But neither he nor his followers would be silenced. And that leads to trouble over and over again. They just can’t stop… followers of Jesus just won’t stop speaking the truth.
Last weekend Andy and I joined almost 1000 other people of faith for a conference in Washington DC. Presbyterians and Methodists, Lutherans and Baptists, Catholics and Pentecostals, United Church of Christ and Quakers came together to be reminded of the power of the Holy Spirit that fills us and the urgent need to speak and keep on speaking. The quote I just read from Martin Luther King, Jr. came from the speech he gave entitled Beyond Viet Nam: A Time to Break Silence. That speech was the theme of the conference.
A time comes when silence is betrayal, King said in the opening paragraph.
And I think about Stephen who kept on talking as his enemies grinded their teeth in rage against him… kept on talking as his accusers did their best to shout over him… kept on talking through the raining stones… he was compelled by the Holy Spirit who filled him with power to keep on bearing witness to truth.
Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me… not so – it was his words – his words of truth that so enraged the crowd that they took up stones to silence him. The truth hurts when it can’t be heard. And maybe it can’t be heard when it hurts too much.
King said a lot of hard things in this speech – truths that hurt to hear. He spoke boldly for peace. Some of his most ardent supporters critiqued his involvement in the Viet Nam conversation: Aren’t you a civil rights leader? they asked and they aimed to shut him out of any political conversation about the war. In response, King developed a convincing and faithful argument that racism, materialism and militarism are giant triplets – completely interconnected with one another.
A nation, he said, that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death. – This is not just.
In the conference, we listened to people describe elements of the upcoming budget and we discussed and evaluated it as a moral document, considering how it will impact the most vulnerable in our country and abroad.
We heard from international humanitarian organizations about what cuts to foreign aid will mean for emergency famine relief in South Sudan, Nigeria, Somalia and Yemen. Christian leaders from around the world spoke about the global impact of our military strategies on indigenous villagers. And we heard from inner city pastors concerned for the way domestic cuts will impact the lives of the poorest among us.
All of the speakers spoke to us with courage, desperation and hope – leaning into a closing phrase of King’s speech: We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now.
The last night of the conference we walked to the Pentagon for a prayer service on the lawn, standing where the Dorothy Day Catholic Workers of DC have stood every week since August of 1987 praying for peace.
Another quote from Archbishop Romero: Let us not tire of preaching love; it is the force that will overcome the world. Let us not tire of preaching love. Though we see that waves of violence succeed in drowning the fire of Christian love, love must win out; it is the only thing that can.
Stephen had the face of an angel and he prayed to God to forgive those who filled with anger, silenced his voice with their stones. The truth hurts.
Martin Luther King, Jr. and Oscar Romero are two of the 10 20th century Christian martyrs memorialized in stone above the Great West Door of Westminster Abbey – all of them beaten or stabbed or shot for speaking a truth that hurt too much to be heard.
But the gospel – the good news is in the footnotes. Over and over again, those who witnessed these awful deaths carried forth new seeds of faith that multiply by the Holy Spirit. One of the martyr statues belongs to a young African woman Manche Masemola. She was killed by her parents who believed she had become bewitched by Christian missionaries. 40 years later her mother converted to Christianity.
Lucian Tapiedi, an Anglican teacher in Papua New Guinea was axed to death when their village was raided by the Japanese. His murderer later converted to Christianity and built a church in his name. Another martyr depicted in stone, Wang Zhiming was a Chinese pastor executed in a stadium before 10,000 spectators during the Cultural Revolution. His suffering birthed a monumental growth in Christianity in Wuding – from 2800 Christians at the time of his arrest to 30,000 today.
And the witness who collected the coats during Stephen’s stoning was none other than Saul – who would be the Apostle Paul – the great Christian missionary of the New Testament.
When we are baptized or renew our baptismal promises when we join a church, we vow to renounce evil and turn to Christ. And we’re not the only ones making a promise. God also promises to fill us with the Holy Spirit and so equip us to follow the Way of Christ. There is no greater power and there is no greater call. The call of the baptized is for each and every one of us – not just Deacons, not just elders, not just pastors to speak truth – to renounce evil and to speak truth.
When pressed by the incessant gnawing of truth, the Holy Spirit is at work and when the Holy Spirit is at work, you gotta know it always means so much more.
Again in the words of King: the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak. A time comes when silence is betrayal.
And so, we pray: lead us, guide us grant us your strength and power and courage and grace.
04/16/17 – Easter Sunday
Scripture: Luke 24:1-12
Sermon: Nonsensical Tales of Silly Women
What if one of the women had a smartphone on her and she’d taken a selfie with the men in the lightning-white clothes – would that have made a difference?? Would the men have believed them then? What if they took a video of the empty tomb… if they captured an audio recording of the message? Would that have mattered to the eleven? All they had were their voices… all they offered was their word, their heart, their integrity and that was not enough.
Nonsense, they called it… futile, folly, fantasy… an empty, silly tale… λῆρος in the Greek… the root of our word delirious. Talk of glowing people who appeared out of thin air, a missing body – the dead alive again– This was crazy talk – emotionally charged, sleep deprived hysteria. Ludicrous ladies, nonsense.
My heart breaks for them to be dismissed like that.
But seriously? Would we have believed them? There were several factors working against them:
They hadn’t actually seen Jesus. They weren’t eyewitnesses; they were messengers, passing on what was told to them. In a court of law, that’s hearsay, and most of the time it’s thrown out. It can’t stand up to simple cross examination: who were these men? I don’t know. Where did they come from? I don’t know. Did you recognize them? Have you ever seen them? Did they even know Jesus? No… no… I DON’T KNOW. Can you describe anything about them besides that they were wearing light-bright clothes? No, our faces were to the ground.
Memory mattered. Remember how he told you… way back in Galilee… the messengers said. Apparently the men didn’t remember. But, that was a long time ago and a lot had happened since then. And when he said that particular thing – about being crucified– they didn’t want to hear that, and when you don’t want to hear something, sometimes you don’t actually listen very well. Plus, the thing about rising again on the third day—that didn’t make any sense — and they were still trying to figure out how he’d fed 5000 people with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. Jesus said a did a lot of confusing things – it was impossible to keep it all straight. The women, however, did remember and for them, that made the difference.
They weren’t in the inner circle. Even though they were among the few named women in the gospels, indicating their importance to the community, they remained outside the leadership. Never mind that they had traveled with the group since Galilee, that they were loyal and present always — even to the cross — and that they were the principal financiers of the whole mission. As women, they remained subordinate, never acknowledged as fully participating members of the team.
The message itself was hard to swallow. If there’s one thing we know it’s that the dead stay dead – regardless of how much we may want it to be otherwise. Jesus was beaten to a pulp before he was hung on the cross. They pierced his side and declared him dead, dead, totally dead. They placed him in a rock-hewn tomb and sealed it shut with a giant boulder. Nobody would have wanted to believe he was alive again more than the disciples, but it simply was too much of a stretch – it was unbelievable. And the two shining guys? Just icing on the top of the insanity.
But maybe the biggest factor working against the women? Hopelessness. It’s hard to believe in much of anything when hope is lost. Sometimes I try to imagine how these disciples felt after Jesus was crucified. I think about the times in my life when I’ve really believed in something and put my whole self into it and it fell apart – the bottom dropped out of it… and it was over. If we’ve lived long enough, we’ve had experiences that might come close to what they felt: the end of relationships, job loss, catastrophic accidents, community crisis… shock, frustration, grief, fear, confusion, anxiety, anger… deep profound loss. I learned the other day that the British have a word for this: gutted. The followers of Jesus were gutted. And when this is the case for a person or for a community, whatever energy remains is focused on moving forward – getting through it. Giving time or thought to some story that both defies all logic and reopens raw wounds?
The heart can’t take it. Even though that is exactly the story that’s needed.
So upon returning from the tomb, the women burst into the room with all the passion they could muster, and proclaimed a message with their whole heart and whole selves. And really it’s not all that surprising that no one believed them, despite the capital T truth of their message.
Such is the task before us – as preachers, teachers, disciples and followers of the Way of Jesus. We’ve been sent, as the women were to: pass on a message with no eye-witness testimony…remember what he said – 2000 years ago… which—it’s a good thing we have it in writing – although it wasn’t originally written in our language or our culture or even our day – so it’s even more confusing now than it was then – and they didn’t understand it then… And take this nonsensical tale to a world that needs it just as much as it did back then – because Lord knows these are anxious, confusing and fearful times—and hope is in short supply for so many.
What did he say? The son of man must be delivered into the hands of those who are ill-intentioned, they’ll crucify him and on the third day he’ll be raised up again.
What kind of sense does that make? Who writes a story where the hero willingly walks into a trap and loses everything, only to pop back up again? What’s the point of that?
Last Thursday night we gathered here and told the story again – remembering together all the gory details of his arrest and trial (such as it was) and how the soldiers and crowds mocked him and spit on him and jeered at him – over and over again adding insult to injury. And at about the lowest and worst point, Jesus said, from the cross, Father forgive them, for they know not what they do. How could he do that? After everything… And then he died and it was over and he was silent and they won. Only they didn’t win. See? That’s the thing!
It’s nonsense, and it’s genius. Jesus never played by the same rules as those who sought to destroy him. He stood with dignity and faced them down with courage and they ranted and raved and exposed themselves as the pure face of evil and corruption, violence and shame.
And the capital T truth of the empty tomb and the risen Lord is this, in the words of Desmond Tutu: Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is stronger than hate. Light is stronger than darkness. Life is stronger than death.
Last Sunday morning we came to church with the news that two Egyptian Coptic churches were bombed as parishioners gathered to celebrate Palm Sunday. 44 people were killed and 126 were injured. Reda Adly, Moderator of the Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Egypt, wrote: I declare our unity and solidarity with the Coptic Orthodox Church, in Egypt and the world.. I ask from my colleagues and pastors to once again carry the message and meaning of the cross, love and forgiveness. Hmmm…
Coptic Bishop Thomas said: When there is such a tragedy we always tell people not to be afraid of those who kill. (What??)Yes, they can take the body but what else can they do? They can’t take the eternal glory. Fear is invading the Western society. This is the purpose of terrorism. But the message of fear must be stopped. When you are not afraid, you are able to love, to forgive and to show strength. Forgiveness means that I don’t allow hatred and fear in my heart. We call for justice and we pray for the persecutors that they will understand and be enlightened by the truth of humanity. Don’t forget the story of the 21 young men in Libya: They were kidnapped, they were tortured and threatened in an attempt to change their faith. But what these men did was pray and lift their eyes all the higher. When you turn your eyes higher, things on earth appear smaller.
Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is stronger than hate. Light is stronger than darkness. Life is stronger than death.
Presbyterian Disaster Assistance recently took a delegation to Syria and Lebanon. They visited schools for refugee children.
Children have started to return to one of the schools they visited after two years of conflict in that city. At its low point, attendance had dropped to 300. Now it is up to 1300. But as the students returned, trust between neighbors – especially across religious and cultural lines was strained. So the church in that city started a multi-faith after school program to help rebuild relationships through basketball, soccer and community events. These projects give them hope and a sense of belonging.
One of the delegation members said: You see children running in the streets and people going to market, trying to regain some kind of normalcy in the midst of destruction, she said. Looking into their eyes, I felt compelled to make sure to look at them with a promise. Some of those eyes were so lost but they believed in a greater hope. I wake up with the memory of those eyes and faces.
Twelve hours after the delegation left Syria the chemical attack was waged in the city of Idlib. Two days later the United States launched missile strikes.
Martin Luther said once, “If I were God, I’d kick the world to pieces.” There are days and there are times when that may indeed seem the most sensible thing to do.
But Martin Luther wasn’t God. God is God, and God has a different idea. He enters the world, offers himself to the world again and again and by grace, keeps on blessing the world, making possible a kind of life which we all, in our deepest being, hunger for. The fact that God doesn’t do it the way we’d do it is probably what makes the most sense.
All those first women had were their voices… all they offered was their word, their heart, their integrity — and that was not enough. Oh, but it was enough – it was enough to get one person – Peter– to go and see for himself that their story was true.
Such is the task before us – men, women, children – all of us as followers of Christ – to lift our voices and tell this nonsensical tale of an empty tomb, a risen Lord, and a hope-infused way of life. A song sung throughout history and herstory with courage and faith:
Goodness is stronger than evil. Love is stronger than hate. Light is stronger than darkness. Life is stronger than death. Victory is ours, victory is ours through God who loves us.
04/09/17 – Palm Sunday
Scripture: Luke 19:29-44
Sermon: This is Our King
There was cheering and exaltation. People waved palm branches… and white horses snorted and marched. The chariot, flanked by the Roman guard, moved toward Jerusalem carrying its famous rider adorned in his gold-embroidered royal toga. The fifth Prefect of the Roman province of Judea, Pontius Pilate, made his way to Jerusalem from his palace on the coast of Caesarea. 200,000 Jewish pilgrims were headed to Jerusalem to celebrate the festival of Passover. And Pilate went with a full display of Roman political and economic power to keep the peace.
While there, he stayed in luxury at Herod’s palace and he checked in with the people who worked for him: the Temple authorities, the High Priest, the keepers of the treasury, and those who collected Judea’s taxes for Rome. They all, along with other members of the wealthy elite and ruling class welcomed Pontius Pilate to town with regal ceremony… recognizing his celebrity and his authority.
First century historian Philo described Pilate as vindictive with a furious temper, inflexible and relentless, cruel and corrupt with a habit of regularly insulting people. He was not well-liked, but he was powerful. So his parade was all you might imagine it to be: pretentious, impressive, majestic… fitting for a man of his position.
At about the same time, across town, there was another parade. This one honored a simple, humble teacher, preacher, healer riding a donkey. His was a different kind of crowd: peasants mostly, and day laborers, tenant farmers and shopkeepers… there were those he had healed – blind now seeing, lame now walking, deaf now hearing, demon possessed, now in their right mind.
Formerly social outcasts, they belonged now to a new kind of family. Ripping the coats off their backs, they lined the streets before him praising him for giving them hope and new life.
They called him blessed.
They called him king.
Unlike the man in the other parade, this man wasn’t heading into Jerusalem to keep the peace. For he knew deep in his gut, you can’t keep what you don’t have.
On the top of the Mount of Olives there is a tear-shaped church: Dominus Flevit, it’s called – Latin for The Lord Wept. Through the glorious window of the church and from its gardens there’s a breathtaking view of the old city of Jerusalem. It’s here that pilgrim groups, like ours in 2015, stop, reflect, pray and weep over the elusiveness of peace.
Ironically, the site wasn’t marked until the 12th century when the crusaders built a small chapel there to commemorate Christ’s broken heart as he looked over the holy city. A short time later, in September of 1187, a Sunni Muslim Sultan from Egypt known as Saladin set up camp on the Mount of Olives and laid siege on the crusader-held Jerusalem. They relentlessly pounded the ancient walls of the city with catapults and flaming arrows until they successfully broke through. The crusaders were unable to defend against the breach and eventually negotiated a surrender. After that, the small chapel, the place of Jesus’ tears, fell into ruin.
If you, even you, said Jesus, weeping as he looked over the ancient city, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes. The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side.
I imagine the crusaders wept along with Jesus reading this very Scripture, as did the gospel writer Luke’s readers in 85 AD, a mere 15 years after the Roman army, led by the future Emperor Titus surrounded the city of Jerusalem while thousands of Jewish pilgrims were gathered to celebrate the Passover. The Romans took the city by force from the Jewish Zealots who’d occupied it four years earlier. While Rome set up their ramparts, infighting arose among the defending zealots with one side murdering the other.
Destroying the Temple wasn’t Titus’ intention – Rome had grand plans for it – repurposing it into a temple for the Roman Emperor and a Roman pantheon — but it caught fire during the fighting and the flames spread quickly. Here’s how the historian Josephus described it:
As the legions charged in, neither persuasion nor threat could check their impetuosity: passion alone was in command. Crowded together around the entrances many were trampled by their friends, many fell among the still hot and smoking ruins of the colonnades and died as miserably as the defeated. As they neared the Sanctuary they pretended not even to hear Caesar’s commands and urged the men in front to throw in more firebrands. The partisans were no longer in a position to help; everywhere was slaughter and flight. Most of the victims were peaceful citizens, weak and unarmed, butchered wherever they were caught. Round the Altar the heaps of corpses grew higher and higher, while down the Sanctuary steps poured a river of blood and the bodies of those killed at the top slithered to the bottom.
If you, even you, said Jesus, weeping as he looked over the ancient city – nearly 40 years before this devastation – if you, even you had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.
The days will come upon you when your enemies will build an embankment against you and encircle you and hem you in on every side. They will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls. They will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.”
O Jerusalem, Jerusalem – besieged by the Assyrian, Babylonian, Roman, Persian, Ottoman, and British Empires and most recently bitterly embattled in Arab –Israeli wars…
Generations and generations have fought over you shed blood over you, wept rivers of tears over you. If only anyone knew what would bring peace – yet it remains to this day elusive… hidden from our eyes.
The days will come upon you… and they keep coming upon us…
His misfit, motley crowd heralded him king: The one who comes in the name of the Lord: Peace in heaven! they cried, Glory in the highest!
A little over thirty years earlier, shepherds heard words like this when they tended their flocks on the hillside outside Bethlehem… words like this, only slightly and importantly different:
Glory to God in the highest, the angels sang, and on earth peace…
On earth… peace.
God came to earth in flesh in the man from Nazareth, Jesus – not to keep peace, but to make peace… to teach peace… to live peace. And as he enters what will be his final week walking the earth with this mission, rightly lifted up as king by those in his parade, their praises melt into his heartbroken lament.
He is not weeping for himself – despite what he must know is coming. He weeps for all of creation – on a seemingly never-ending cycle of destruction, violence and domination.
Last week we looked on in horror and gut-wrenching sorrow at the images played over and over again of Syrian children struggling to breathe after being bombed with Sarin gas. Our president, believing the Syrian president had crossed a line with this form of attack, authorized an airstrike of 59 Tomahawk cruise missiles to the airbase believed to have launched the chemical weapons.
Within 24 hours, the Syrian government was back to rockets and barrel bombs – their more conventional weapons — that have led to a half-million deaths and 11 million refugees since the Syrian civil war began six years ago.
And we wait, holding our breath, wondering what will come next.
Nations who lauded our decision to strike are clamoring for more: it’s not enough, they say. Those opposed to it are doubling down on their own fleets, weapons and military might – fueled by a new resolve. Yesterday North Korea said a US missile strike on Syria “proves a million times over” that it was right to strengthen its nuclear program.
If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace, cried the one atop the donkey that day, 2000 years ago – the one those in his parade called king, the one who is our king.
There once was a man from the ruling class who went far away to get royal power for himself, Jesus told the crowd, as they neared Jerusalem – just before the parade began. He called together 10 of his slaves, Jesus said, and gave them some money to invest while he was gone. The citizens of his land hated this man – they didn’t want him to rule over them. They sent people after him to block his promotion. But they failed and he returned with royal power as their king. He called his slaves together to find out who multiplied their money while he was gone. He rewarded those who made the most with cities for them to govern. Then he called the last servant forward. “I was afraid of you,” the servant said. “You are a harsh man. You take what others have saved and you harvest what others have planted. Here is what you gave me. I wrapped it up and hid it. And now I give it back to you.” The king became angry and punished the slave. He took back the money and gave it to the one who made the most – as a reward. “To all who have, more will be given,” the king said. “to those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.” And then he called for all who didn’t want him to be king – all his enemies — and he had all of them killed.
This was the last story Jesus told before he entered Jerusalem. And he didn’t interpret it for the crowds. Because for his listeners, it was self evident. This is what kings of the world look like and act like: they broker power. They’re ruthless and shrewd in their business dealings and they maintain their authority by controlling the resources of others. They accumulate political, economic, religious, military and social capital and use it to their advantage, in order to stay on top.
But that is not God’s kingdom. And that is not the way of God’s king. When he goes into Jerusalem, he will not play by their rules. He will expose the fraud. He will speak truth to power. He will purify God’s house by revealing corruption in the Temple leadership. He will not take up swords or advocate for violence. He will stand in solidarity with the least of these – breaking down every barrier that stands in the way of freedom and justice and dignity for all.
There have always been two parades – always been two kinds of kings.
This is our King. This is his way. Today we raise palms in his parade. And today we weep with him – we weep with longing for peace. When the parade is over and the palms litter the empty street, when he wipes his tears away and walks forward with courage and resolve, when Jesus enters what he calls the den of thieves will we stay with him?
Prayers of the People:
Every year we remember and celebrate the palm parade. We re-enact the waving and the shouts and we imagine what it may have been like to join Jesus in the streets — descending from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem. And today, in addition to remembering the parade, we remember his tears as he paused and looked over the city. It isn’t just that hill and that city over which he cries. He must still weep today over every child, every parent, every brother, every sister who dies at the hand of another — with every casualty of war, every drop of blood shed, every act of terrorism, every time one person dominates another, stripping him or her of the dignity you have bestowed upon them.
We cry too over the violence of the nations and the ravages of the earth. How long, O Lord will it endure? We pray for our leaders: for President Trump and his national security advisors… for the leaders of the United Nations and our allies and partners — we pray for an urgent peace and a well intentioned and purposeful plan. We pray for accountability and for compassion. We pray for humanity and for life. And we pray for those who suffer — who live in war torn lands and whose lives are shrouded in fear… families who’ve been displaced from their homes… decimated communities… we pray for humanitarian aid — for ministries like One Great Hour of Sharing that bring resources to the far reaching corners of the globe — for education and community rebuilding, first aid, food and clean water. We pray for refugee resettlement — that families may be welcomed into neighborhoods and communities that provide safety, security and the opportunity for new life.
We pray for your church and your kingdom on earth: grant us the mind and heart of Christ our King, we pray: an attitude of selfless grace, open-hearted welcome, forgiveness and peace. Grant us the courage to speak truth and to listen with humility, to stand for justice and to hold on to one another with fervent love.
We pray for healing for our friends and families living in pain and uncertainty. May it be well we pray.
In these times and in every time we trust in you as we lift our voices together – calling upon the ways of your kingdom to be revealed: Our Father…
Scripture: Luke 18:31-19:10
Sermon: Seeing Clearly
Zacchaeus just stood there, a little stunned. He stammered apologetically, “Master, I give away half my income to the poor—and if I’m caught cheating, I pay four times the damages.”
Wait – stop. George- read that last line again. Hmmm. What are you reading out of? The Message? Because I have the New Revised Standard in front of me and it’s a bit different. Listen:
Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.”
I give and I pay vs. I will give and I will pay…
When you read it George, it’s like Zacchaeus is defending himself against the crowd’s false accusations… as if he’s saying: Who are you calling a sinner? You don’t know me! I give half of what I earn to the poor. If there’s ever an error in my books, I repay four times!
But when I read it, it’s like Zacchaeus climbs down the tree and falls on his knees before Jesus — a changed man. From this day forward, he will start living a new way. Beginning today, he’ll give to the poor and he will pay back those he has ripped off.
What do you have? Look it up in your pew Bible: Luke 19:8. Or, if you have a smart phone, look up a different translation – The Voice or King James or The Good News – what do you find? Different translations – different meanings–
So what is happening with Zacchaeus? Is he defending his character before his accusers? Is this an example of a good rich man? Or is he vowing before Jesus to change his ways – from this day on? Or is it a bit of both?
This is one of those curious instances where the original Greek is ambiguous. It is present tense, but it can either refer to a regular habit, or something that is happening at this very moment. It could be a proclamation: I am now giving… or an ongoing behavior: I always give… George– What does Jesus say in response?
9-10 Jesus said, “Today is salvation day in this home! Here he is: Zacchaeus, son of Abraham! For the Son of Man came to find and restore the lost.”
Salvation has come… that which was lost has been restored… what’s going on here? Please pray with me: Let us see ourselves in the characters of your story, we pray, O God. Let us open our hearts as they open theirs. Fill us with your grace as you speak your truth to us, AMEN
Nearing Jerusalem, Jesus came to Jericho – the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world – nearly 10,000 years old. Known as The City of Palms – it was – and is – an oasis in the desert.
A blind man outside the city gate wanted to see again. He must have seen before but that was now lost. Having once seen, the loss was all the more painful. He was a beggar. Desperately poor. He lived at the bottom rung of the social ladder – solely depending on the charity of others. His sight restored would be life restored… independence restored… community restored… a future restored.
Lord, let me see again, he cried, Have mercy. And Jesus said: yes.
Salvation has come… that which was lost has been restored.
Another man – inside the city gate – also wanted to see Jesus. He was rich– the chief tax collector for Rome in Jericho. Rome didn’t tax individuals, they taxed regions and they farmed out the management of their collections to the highest local bidder. The winner of the contract paid taxes to Rome up front, then they assessed the public.
It was a lucrative business. Whatever they collected beyond what they paid Rome they took as profit – or management fees. Rome didn’t care how they handled it as long as they got paid, so you can imagine there was rampant abuse, exploitation, extortion and all kinds of fraudulent behavior.
And the tax collectors also served as moneylenders. So if a farm in Jericho had a bad crop and had to take out a loan to pay its assessment, Zacchaeus and his band took care of their debt and charged high interest– then took ownership of the land if the fees weren’t paid on time. Tax collectors had a reputation for being ruthless, dishonest and heartless. They were hated and vilified.
So when Zacchaeus, chief among this despised group wanted to push his way to the front of the crowd to see Jesus, the crowd would have none of it. They were delighted to box him out and block his view. In every other part of their lives, he held the advantage, but not on the street.
For an honorable wealthy man, they would have been pleased to part the way, but absolutely not for him. In desperation Zacchaeus climbed a tree. Hidden by the branches, above the fray, he saw Jesus. And he saw his neighbors – maybe saw them for the first time.
He saw mothers carrying babies with older children in tow. He saw farm workers with weathered faces and blistered hands. He saw fathers and sons – carpenters and peasants, shepherds and shopkeepers… Zacchaeus saw all of them reaching toward Jesus with hope for a better life. And just maybe that was the moment he began wondering about his part in their struggle.
Zacchaeus lived comfortably beyond their day to day drama. His staff managed the dirty details of collections. They were simply numbers on a ledger to Zacchaeus, but now he could see their individual faces… the sag of their shoulders… the desperation in their gait. And he could see Jesus – looking at each one… touching each one… blessing each one…
I give away half of my income to the poor. But to what poor, to which poor, to these poor? How have I treated these men and women and children on the street below me? What have I done to them… for them? Did this man lose his farm or this woman close her shop so that I could cover my wife in fine jewelry? Are these farm workers thin and exhausted so I can buy better linens? Do these children have no sandals on their feet and wear clothing too small for their bodies because of me? What is my part in their struggle? If I’ve defrauded anyone… I will repay him or her four times over.
They’d been invisible to him – their individual life stories and heartaches. I think it’s at least possible that before he met Jesus, Zacchaeus was a charitable man – in that he regularly gave generously to the poor. But isn’t it also possible that his habitual charitable giving kept him from seeing and from realizing how lost he was?
And that day, when he climbed a tree to see Jesus, he saw something he didn’t expect to see – that he was part of a neighborhood that was not well.
The doctor had come to visit and despite what Zacchaeus told himself – that these people didn’t know him – didn’t know how much of his income he actually gave away — when they called him a sinner, Zacchaeus was beginning to realize that the crowd actually spoke the truth– he was a chief sinner – a carrier of the virus. And Jesus had come for him.
Church, we are the body of Christ – here and now. And it is our call, our purpose, and our responsibility to provide people the opportunity to give charitably – so that through our financial offerings Catherine Cobb can keep their shelter open for families suffering from domestic violence, children in Syrian refugee camps can continue to receive education in these war-torn days, Tecumseh Service Club can buy food pantry items for the hungry in our town, and families in acute crisis can receive the support they need to move through a rough patch. Financial gifts do a lot of good for a hurting world.
And it is also our call, our purpose, and our responsibility to dig deeper and ask harder questions in order to peel back the layers of our society and learn what’s inherently sick and broken and systemically unjust and to face our own complicity in it.
That’s why we host Courageous Conversations here at the church about the root causes of such things as domestic violence and homelessness, conflicts in the Middle-East, sex trafficking and mental illness, white privilege, crises in the environment and addiction. We open up and explore complex challenges in our society today in order to see more clearly, that in seeing and learning, we have the opportunity to repent and work together toward transformation in the name of Jesus who proclaimed a wholly different kind of kingdom where the hungry are fed, the lowly are lifted up, chains are broken and all that is unwell is made whole.
First take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly… Jesus said. For Zacchaeus, maybe that log was complacency… maybe it was comfort or security or greed… maybe it was his self-deception of goodness… maybe it was ignorance… Jesus, with kindness, love and mercy helped him remove it so he could see himself, his neighbor and his God more clearly.
Our prayer of invitation this morning is an invitation to confession on the way to the table of grace. It comes to us by way of the Iona community in Scotland. At the end of this prayer, you are invited to come to the center table where you will find small mirrors with a piece of wood on each one. Come slowly to the table in prayer, look into one of the mirrors and lift away the piece of wood so you can see your face clearly. Pocket the stick and remember it in prayer.
Let us pray:
Imagine entering a room,
with chairs round the wall and dim lighting,
You find a seat, and sit down,
and as you look around,
you discover that your vision is blurred.
You cannot see clearly the people who sit around you
and you cannot see clearly the table in the middle of the room
around which everyone is sitting.
And you are thinking “what’s wrong with my eyes?”
You hear the voices of those around you.
They are the voices of people who are telling each other the truth…
about their past hurts,
about their secret hopes,
about their faith and their doubts.
Some voices you recognize,
even though you can see no faces,
because each of these voices belongs to someone
whom you have judged and found wanting.
Other voices you can’t place.
They belong to someone you’ve never known;
someone whose life is very different than yours,
yet you sense is connected to you in some way.
You thought you knew people like them,
but you only knew part of their story.
And now you hear it all.
And as everyone speaks,
their voices summon up the emotions
which led you to make judgment:
your impatience with people who take a long time to say what they mean,
your jealousy of those who do what you wish you could do
or have what you wish you could have,
your distrust of those whose language is not yours,
your anger at those who hold opinions which you cannot agree with,
your fear of those whose generosity or thoughtfulness
shows up your own indifference.
And as you listen, as you are compelled to listen
to what is in their hearts, and realize what is in yours,
as you bow your head
and regret all the quick conclusions
and false presumptions,
someone sits down on the seat beside you.
Without warning the voice says, “can you see?”
And, shaking your head, you say, “no… No one… Nothing…”
And then the voice says, “you’ve got a log in your eye,
and until you get rid of that, you’ll never see yourself,
or your neighbor, or your God.”
And then this unnamed stranger walks toward the table
in the middle of the room, inviting you to follow…
And do something about the log in your eye.
Thanks be to you, O God, for this invitation.
Thanks be to you, O God, for your table of grace.
Thanks be to you, O God, for your forgiveness and love.
Scripture: Luke 16:19-31
Sermon: The Great Divide
Before we read the gospel story, let me draw your attention to the insert in your bulletin. You’ve been assigned a social/economic class. For the next few minutes, I’d like you to put aside who you really are and assume this role. This is who you are as you push closer in the crowd to hear the Rabbi Jesus.
A show of hands: who is who this morning:
2-5% Wealthy/Elite kings, aristocratic families, high priests,
10-20% Ruling Class: Landowners,Tax Collectors,Army Officers,Scribe 40-50% Merchant Class: Peasants,Tenant Farmers,Craftsmen,Shopkeepers
15-20% Household Slaves
15-20% Lower Working Class: Day Laborers,Farmhands,shepherds,apprentices
10-15% Destitute beggars
After hearing this story- What are your thoughts?
This is not a real story, but, like Jesus’ other stories, it reflects circumstances of real life. We’d expect to find members or representatives from every class of people present in the crowds who gathered around Jesus, listening. And unlike our modern world, the categories were pretty well fixed – people didn’t often move from one level to another – well, maybe down, but definitely not up the social ladder. People were mostly born into categories – through family businesses, land inheritance or religious pedigree. And they spent their energy holding onto what they had. Life was hard for all but the top 15%. It was especially hard on the beggars.
You didn’t have to be a beggar to know what they looked like, smelled like and felt like to be around in Jesus’ day. Lying in the street, outside the synagogue, just beyond the gates of the wealthy, they were all around with their rags and sores and pitiful pleading eyes.
One in every 10 people was a destitute beggar. Theirs was the lowest rung on the social ladder, but nearly 40% of the population was only one accident… one family death… one debilitating disease… one bad crop season away…
Passersby looked upon wretched beggars with some combination of pity, compassion, disgust and fear.
The beggar in this story had a name – Lazarus – in Hebrew it means: the one whom God helps. Maybe that was his given name – or maybe that was what people said when they walked past him – and every miserable creature like him: God help him.
On the other side of the gate where Lazarus was laid every day, lived a rich man. We don’t know his name, although over the centuries and particularly in medieval art he is referred to as Dives – that’s just “rich man” in Latin.
Day after day Dives and Lazarus were within a stone’s throw of each other, yet their worlds were light years apart. Dives and the others in his class had all the resources and power. They controlled the whole economy.
If they were honorable, they didn’t seek to acquire more than their station in life afforded, but there were a whole lot of dishonorable people who multiplied their wealth by the exploitation and oppression of others.
Lazarus and the others in his class had nothing – no ability to fend for themselves – they were completely beholden to the help and charity of others.
The rich regularly threw parties. They invited people of the ruling class to rub shoulders, make deals and taste a little luxury. Kind and charitable wealthy people asked their household servants to share dinner party leftovers with the hungry and the needy outside their door. Dishonorable hosts ordered them to give the scraps to the dogs.
Which wealthy people were honorable and which were tyrants wasn’t a secret. Everybody in the system was impacted by their character. Dishonorable ones used all the tools available to them to work the economy to their advantage: they squeezed the people who worked their lands and hired as few laborers as possible, nearly working them to death. They treated their household staff harshly and their business practices were ruthless. If you were special enough to be invited to one of their lavish parties, you were expected to attend and to publicly show your gratitude. They couldn’t be trusted and wouldn’t be ignored. They were feared but not well liked.
In first century Palestine, stations in life were fixed. People worked hard to hold on to what they had. The tone of each little kingdom was set by those at the top: charitable or manipulative… trusting or fearful… abundance or scarcity… More often than not, it was like hell in “The Chopsticks Story”:a culture where people fought for their own interests and most struggled to make ends meet.
The Chopsticks Story:
And on top of all this, everyone from every station in life believed God’s hand was behind everything – from blessings to suffering. Material blessings were signs of God’s favor and suffering, a sign of sin.
Look again at your roles. When Jesus begins to tell us this story, we know who the rich man is – maybe you work for him, or you sell him his purple cloth. Maybe you were just at his house the night before for a party. Maybe you farm some of his land. Maybe you are the rich man.
And we know Lazarus – we see him – every day we see him. And we walk pass him. It’s hard enough to put food on our tables let alone share scraps with him After all, but for the grace of God, we could surely be him. Maybe you are him. God help you.
When Jesus begins to talk about the deaths of the two men, we imagine the great divide between the elaborate funeral bier and parade for the rich man and the unmarked mound just outside of town for poor Lazarus… pitiful… sad.
Then everything turns on its head in the story as Lazarus is lifted to the bosom of Abraham and Dives is tormented in flames. How many of us actually like this twist? Like it a lot! This is what that cruel and merciless man who sat at the top of all of our lives, lording over us every chance he got deserves. And good for Lazarus! Redemption at last!
As the story goes on, we’re surprised to learn that the rich man actually knew Lazarus’ name. We weren’t sure he ever even saw him. But what audacity! Even while he burns, he demands respect. Abraham, send Lazarus to cool my tongue. There is no self-reflection — no humility — no acknowledgement of his neglect — no apology.
Abraham speaks of the great divide fixed between them, but the great divide of classes and category and privilege is fixed in the rich man’s mind and heart – even after death. He cannot conceive of any other way.
Having heard this story, how does each one of us as listeners walk away? Challenged by the possibility that God’s favor is not linked to material resource or to health or to societal status, but to compassion and to comfort… that God lifts up the lowly, reserving for the most disregarded a seat of honor – Abraham’s bosom?? Aren’t we encouraged by the thought – the hope that God sees even me?
And don’t we rejoice that God is finally a God of justice, that the ones who profited by the exploitation, abuse and dishonest treatment of others are exposed and punished? Ah, but don’t we also fall down on our knees praying for mercy as we reflect on our own complicity?
What will happen the next time we encounter a beggar on the street?
When next we’re told to craft a dishonest business deal on behalf of the rich man we work for, what will we do?
When one of our neighbors falls on bad times and we have the opportunity to provide a meal or a warm place to stay, will we look out for our own interests first, or will we think differently?
What will this mean for our sense of security? Our understanding of real value and place in the world?
We’ll return to our homes thinking about this won’t we? Remembering that God sees each one of us – sees beyond our station – to our hearts. The chasm may be fixed in the afterlife, but is it in the land of the living? Aren’t there ways to cross the great divide here and now – to meet one another, human to human?
Can we conceive of living differently? Of seeing one another apart from station or category or box or label?
What about today? What about you and me? What about the great divides of our day? How does this parable play today?
Scripture: Luke 15 (The Voice)
Sermon: A Good Excuse for a Party
After years of wartime misery, it was time to party and party well, and Esquire magazine produced a book to teach men how. Handbook for Hosts, it was called, and it hit the stands in 1949. It had recipes and parlor games and clothing advice and etiquette tips… The more you browse, one review said, the more great information you’ll find – all vintage 1950s, when the perfect host was king.
There was even a chapter entitled: 365 Excuses for a Party: Here’s your new line on parties and why to throw them. There’s an excuse for every day of the year and every one authentic.
Authentic meant that almost every day there was a celebration of an actual event in history.
It included anniversaries of things like: Paul Revere’s Ride, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, the opening of the NY World’s Fair, historical battles and amendments to the Constitution. It had the anniversary of Benjamin Franklin’s kite experiment and the Pony Express and the assembly of the parts of the Statue of Liberty … and there were birthdays of poets, actors, artists and other cultural icons.
These celebrations shaped a nation’s identity by teaching and reinforcing history. They were parties with purpose.
Today there’s a website called partyexcuses.com.
On it, you’ll also find a calendar of 365 days with thousands of excuses to party – sometimes up to 10 options in a given day. And oh how they’ve changed. Now the list is peppered with things like: national nap day and mint julep day…macaroon day and something on a stick day…smoke and mirrors day and “OK” day. There’s even a make up your own holiday day.
All of the official national holidays are there too, but with days for Melba toast, waffles, whisky, French bread, California strawberries, chocolate covered raisins and every other kind of food and drink you can think of, there’s clearly been an infiltration of marketing and product lobbying and a loss of unified identity.
Why do we celebrate? What do we celebrate? When do we celebrate? Not every party is planned – in fact, some of the best ones pop up out of unforeseen circumstances or spontaneous joy – like finding something lost.
All of us have lost things – we lose things all the time. According to US News and World Report, average Americans spend one year of their lives looking for misplaced items. Newsweek says we spend on average 55 minutes every day looking for things. Forbes says the typical executive wastes 150 hours a year searching for lost information – and on an annual salary of $50,000, that’s $3800 in lost productivity.
Purses, wallets, socks, reading glasses, debit cards, phones, remote controls, keys…
My dad’s been under a lot of stress lately with my mom’s move to memory care. Last week he lost his keys. He knew he drove home with them but like the woman with the lost coin, he had turned over his entire apartment – all three small rooms of it – no keys. He even called AAA to open his car and he looked everywhere in it – he locks it from the inside –no keys. He was beside himself thinking about all of the keys he’d have to replace: the car, his apartment, my mom’s room, the mailbox.
He had a spare set of keys – but he hid that somewhere special – and he couldn’t remember where.
The next day – desperate to find those keys – he thought of one final place to look. As he was coming in the day before, there was (in his words) an elderly couple coming in at the same time. My dad’s 89. They were heavily laden with bags. My dad jumped in to help and carried their things to their apartment for them. He knocked on their door. Did you happen to find my keys? He asked. The woman pointed to a pile of canes leaning against the wall. I don’t need a cane, thank you – but do you have my keys? She didn’t know. When they brought everything in, they put it all in a pile. But she went to look. Are these your keys? She asked as she returned.
In that moment, my dad couldn’t have been happier. But he did not begin knocking on every door on the hall and inviting his neighbors to a party to celebrate finding his keys.
Wouldn’t you call together your friends and neighbors? Wouldn’t you say, “Come over and celebrate with me, because I’ve found what I lost?” Jesus asked.
And we wouldn’t, would we? We all know – all too well the anxiety, stress, frustration of losing things and the absolute pure joy and relief in finding things – but we’ve already lost time in the looking and we’re likely running late, and it’s not so easy to gather up our friends and neighbors these days, and losing stuff is so common place we’d feel silly throwing a party over finding something.
But when Jesus told these stories – the truth is that in the first two stories, they absolutely would have thrown parties – without question.
Shepherds didn’t own flocks, they were hired to care for them. They were constantly counting sheep–because they knew a lost sheep was a dead sheep if not found and found quickly. Even with a flock as big as 100 sheep, a shepherd didn’t want to come back at night with only 99.
Every night the villagers gathered together to share stories about their day. One shepherd coming home late because he went to find a lost sheep was a story everybody understood and everybody celebrated.
Likewise, a woman who lost one of 10 coins – that’s a part of her dowry- a treasure to her. Cash in a peasant society was rare. And peasant women not only didn’t leave the house with their coins – they usually wore them as necklaces around their necks. If one coin went missing, she’d know it was in the house somewhere and she absolutely wouldn’t quit looking until she found it. And without question, the other women would rejoice with her when she found it – they all knew the value and the anxiety.
Jesus used these two stories as a setup. Of course there would be parties and of course everyone would be called and of course everyone would celebrate. So, if for a sheep and for a coin – how much more for a lost son, found.
Oh – but wait. Now it’s complicated. Now we’re talking about family dynamics and insult and wasteful choices and what is right and what is deserved and not deserved.
Now we’re talking about resentment and loyalty and betrayal and favoritism and anger and unreliability and broken trust and day after day dependability. This story is not so easy – not so given – not so sure.
By the time Jesus gets to the question at the end of this third story – the one the father asks the eldest son: Isn’t it right to join in the celebration and be happy?
The irony is – for many who heard Jesus tell that story – in their culture of honor and shame – in their religion of right and wrong—in their families where good children obeyed and respected parents – for many who heard Jesus tell that story then and hear it now, the celebration itself is anything but right and joining it is tough to swallow and being happy about it is out of the question.
That the story is called the Prodigal Son is interesting. In English, to be prodigal is to spend resources freely, recklessly, wastefully, abundantly. In the Latin, it means literally to drive away. Who is the prodigal one?
The son who took his inheritance early and traveled far away– the one who squandered it all – scattered it to the wind—the one who returned intending to spend his whole life working back what he had lost, only to be met by the abundant grace of his father?
Who is the prodigal one?
The father who threw his reputation to the wind and ran unashamedly down the lane to meet his son – the one he’d prayed for night after night after night — eyes straining as he looked down that road day after day after day? The father who recklessly laid his heart open again with freely given grace? Wouldn’t some call that prodigal? lavish welcome wasted on one who after all he’d done,
didn’t deserve it?
Who is the prodigal one?
The son who remained at a distance? The one who was always there – always working – always reliable and dependable – the older brother, who now faced with the return of his younger brother, is bitter, destroyed by resentment, jealousy, anger- dwelling in his self-isolating hurt and driving away his family with every backward step he takes?
Both sons are welcome– they always have been and always will be. Both are loved equally but differently; both reside deeply in the Father’s heart.
This story is what Jesus lived for and what Jesus died for: that every one lost would be found – that every one would join the feast where he, the real perfect host, is king.
As children of God, why do we celebrate? We celebrate because every one of us is a prodigal welcomed home. Whether we wandered far and never felt we deserved grace or never left and don’t understand grace. The father’s joy is not complete without all of us there. I love the last snowflake in Dr. Clark’s exhibit. It’s the post story hope and yearning that both brothers come together under the same roof- reconciled in the father’s love.
What do we celebrate? We celebrate unending, abundant grace – for me, for you, for every one.
When do we celebrate? 365 days a year – Who needs another excuse? This is the very best excuse for a party – What once was lost has now been found – what once was dead is alive again- it’s a cause for spontaneous and abundant joy — you can not get any more authentic than that.
Wouldn’t you call together your friends and neighbors and say: Come celebrate with me??
Isn’t it right – oh so right – to join in the celebration and be happy?
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost and now am found, was blind but now I see. Thanks be to God.
Scripture: Luke 13:1-9,31-35 (The Message)
Sermon: Too Busy to Bother with Foxes
Less than 20 years after the death of Jesus, Akiva ben Yosef was born. From humble roots, he grew to be one of the most beloved Rabbis in Jewish history. He was a sage and a storyteller. His faith and commitment to the Torah inspire many to this day. The Talmud includes this story about Rabbi Akiva:
After the bar Kokhba rebellion of 132AD, the evil empire of Rome decreed that Israel may not engage in the study and practice of Torah. Pappos ben Yehuda came and found Rabbi Akiva, who was convening assemblies in public and engaging in Torah study. Pappos said to him: Akiva, are you not afraid of the empire?
Rabbi Akiva answered him: I will relate a parable.
To what can this be compared?
It is like a fox walking along a riverbank when he sees fish gathering and fleeing from place to place.
The fox said to them: From what are you fleeing?
The fish said to the fox: We are fleeing from the nets that people cast upon us.
The fox said to them: Do you wish to come up onto dry land, and we will reside together just as my ancestors resided with your ancestors?
The fish said to him: You are the one of whom they say, he is the cleverest of animals? You are not clever; you are a fool.
If we are afraid in the water, our natural habitat which gives us life, then in a habitat that causes our death, all the more so.
The moral is: So too, we Jews, now that we sit and engage in Torah study, about which it is written: “For that is your life, and the length of your days” (Deuteronomy 30:20), we fear the empire to this extent; if we proceed to sit idle from its study, as its abandonment is the habitat that causes our death, all the more so will we fear the empire.
Too busy to bother with foxes… Rabbi Akiva was too busy studying and teaching God’s way to bother with the threat of the empire.
Jesus was too busy healing and breaking the chains of evil – doing meaningful, life-giving work – on his way to the real confrontation in Jerusalem – too busy, far too busy to bother with foxes.
Cultures around the world depict foxes as crafty, cunning, conniving characters. Tricksters, they tease and taunt, distract and deceive. What they lack in physical power, they make up in mind games.
There’s an old Spanish saying: the fox knows well with whom he plays tricks.
Not when it comes to Jesus. Foxes are aplenty in today’s strange and hard text – spinning their tales – nipping at Jesus’ heels. In the crowd, in politics, even in religion – they test him – but Jesus is a master – his face is set toward Jerusalem and he will not be moved.
There’s an old Welsh saying: A fox does not smell his own stench.
Some people came up…
and told Jesus about this heinous massacre of Galileans who, while they were worshipping in Jerusalem, were slain by Pontius Pilate. Their blood mixed with the blood of their sacrifices on the altar, they say. It’s awful! Sacrilege! A religious hate crime! And not true. Very likely, it never happened.
Pilate did some bad things and historians weren’t particularly kind to him, but there is no historical record of a massacre like this.
Fake news isn’t new. There are wars and rumors of wars – and that’s always been the case. It’s part of the strategy. Torturous fictional tales are interwoven with facts in order to heighten anxiety and stoke a fevered response.
Maybe this group of justice-seekers didn’t start the rumor, maybe they simply spread it – so sure it must be true – so filled with righteous anger and indignation against Pilate and Rome. They were convinced that if they told Jesus and his Galilean followers about this ungodly act of terror that he and all of them would join the zealots in armed revolution against Pilate… against Caesar…against Rome.
These foxes can’t smell their own stench.
But Jesus does, and turning his attention on them rather than on Pilate he calls them to examine their own hearts: Unless you turn to God, you too will die.
These days we can’t get on the internet or even use our phones without being interrupted with the next outrageous news story. And the ones we click on feed algorithms so that we’ll get more of what we like — and we become further and further entrenched in our attitudes until we can’t smell our own stench.
Middle-Eastern biblical scholar Kenneth Bailey cautions: Among those who struggle for justice develops this attitude: we are the angels and they are the devils. Blessed is the movement willing to listen to a courageous voice, quietly insisting: there are devils among us and there are angels among them – we must repent.
Catch us the foxes, the little foxes, that ruin the vineyards—for our vineyards are in blossom. – Song of Solomon 2:15
What’s going on here? the man asked the gardener in the parable Jesus told. Why no fruit on the tree?
We’ve let them in, these sneaky little foxes: fears about scarcity, anxieties about the future, political disagreements, differences among friends… Catch them – catch them all – we’ve got too much good and meaningful life to live together – too many among us deeply in need of healing – too much truth in need of being explored alongside each other – too much real community in need of being forged. We are too busy to bother with foxes that ruin relationships – leaving us barren… isolated… alone.
There’s an old Finnish saying: Foxes are caught with foxes.
Just then some Pharisees came up… to warn Jesus to run away from Herod. He wants to kill you, they said.
And that’s ironic, because they’re really the ones conspiring together to trap Jesus – to catch him breaking religious rules – to trick him with paradoxical questions. They have been from almost the very beginning.
They invite him to dinner, corner him in the market, challenge him in the synagogue… The Pharisees are the kings of mind games when it comes to Jesus.
They would like nothing better than for him to go back to where he came from – run away and take his defiant message of renewal with him.
The Pharisees never liked Herod much. He was Jewish-ish – but he regularly and unrepentantly sinned and sinned big. And Rome paid his paycheck, so under Herod’s rule, the Pharisees always felt their independent Jewish identity was at risk. When Caesar Augustus agreed to let him govern Galilee, it was like putting the fox in charge of the hen house. He was untrustworthy, vengeful, and petty. Universally disliked, he was, understandably paranoid. He governed like a fox – sly and manipulating.
So when the Pharisees came to Jesus to warn him about Herod, Jesus saw through it. You (foxes) tell that fox… I’m too busy to bother with any of you.
Jesus had set his face toward Jerusalem – not afraid of the empire… not afraid of the Temple leadership… not afraid of Herod… not afraid. He was focused… resolute… determined to be – day after day — about the work of the kingdom, trusting God.
To what can this time be compared?
It is like a fox walking along a riverbank when he sees fish gathering and fleeing from place to place. The fox said to us: From what are you fleeing?
The onslaught of 24/7 news – piece by piece, word by word, breath by breath… we are inundated in minutia – wikileaks and wiretaps, rumors and half-truths — net after net trying to catch us up – and pull our attention away from the work that is right before us – the relationships that are right before us – the life giving water in which we swim.
I’m not advocating that we stick our heads in the sand or that we abdicate from our responsibility to the body politic. I am advocating for repentance. For acknowledgement of the devils in our own camps and the angels in others.
I’m advocating for humility and investment in each other and our families and those who are unjustly suffering and in need of our compassion, support and healing. I’m advocating for truth telling, yes, and also for truth exploring – for asking more questions and listening for quiet reality in the midst of noisy hysteria.
I’m advocating for peace and for justice… for conviction and for gentleness… for love and for faith. And most of all, I’m advocating that we abide in Christ, the one who gives us life.
There’s a 2nd century Jewish proverb:
Meet each man with friendly greeting; be the tail among lions rather than the head among foxes. It is far better to follow someone truly great than lead something negative and crooked.
Now is the time for focused following. We follow the One who walked with courage toward Jerusalem – the city that kills its prophets.
The day came when they seized Rabbi Akiva and incarcerated him in prison, and they seized Pappos ben Yehuda and incarcerated him alongside him. Rabbi Akiva said to him: Pappos, who brought you here? Pappos replied: Happy are you, Rabbi Akiva, for you were arrested on the charge of engaging in Torah study. Woe unto Pappos who was seized on the charge of engaging in idle matters.
When they took Rabbi Akiva out to be executed, it was time for the recitation of Shema (Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One). And they were raking his flesh with iron combs, and he was reciting Shema, thereby accepting upon himself the yoke of Heaven. His students said to him: Our teacher, even now, as you suffer, you recite Shema? He said to them: All my days I have been troubled by the verse: With all your soul, meaning: Even if God takes your soul. I said to myself: When will the opportunity be afforded me to fulfill this verse? Now that it has been afforded me, shall I not fulfill it?
He prolonged his uttering of the word: One, until his soul left his body as he uttered his final word: One. A voice descended from heaven and said: Happy are you, Rabbi Akiva, that your soul left your body as you uttered: One.
Be still and know. Be still and know.
Scripture: Luke 10:25-37
Sermon: The Cost of Walking Away
Israeli author Ayelet Gundar-Goshen was 20 and backpacking in India when she met an Israeli man who would become the protagonist of her book Waking Lions. He was just out of the military and on what should have been the adventure of his young life, but there was something wrong with him. He seemed frozen – often lingering in the guesthouse, laying in the hammock and staring into the sky.
One night he confessed. While riding his motorcycle, he’d hit a local Indian man and fled the scene.
When he told me this, Ayelet said, I thought– there’s no way he wouldn’t have stopped if he’d hit me – an Israeli woman, the same age as him.
She wrote Waking Lions ten years later – about Eitan, a wealthy Israeli neurosurgeon, who one night, simply to relieve stress, drove into the desert. Janis Joplin was on the radio – and he cranked it up. The road was his. How fast could his luxury SUV go? The race was exhilarating – exactly what he needed — and the moon was brilliant – in fact he was admiring the perfect fullness of it in his rearview mirror when he hit the man.
Out of the car, he saw him lying motionless in the road, an African migrant. As a doctor, he knew the head injury was fatal. Standing in the moonlight in that moment, Eitan, whose name in Hebrew means steady, was anything but.
No one knows I’m here. I cannot save his life. I can save my own.
He went back to his car and he drove away. And from that moment on Eitan’s life unraveled. Matters got substantially worse for him the next morning when the dead man’s widow knocked on his door to hand him the wallet he left behind at the scene of the accident.
NPR calls the book: a smart and disturbing exploration of the high price of walking away.
Luke 10:25-37New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)
A lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” The Lawyer answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And Jesus said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”
But wanting to justify himself, the Lawyer asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and (walked away), leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he (walked away), passing by on the other side.
So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, also walked away, passing by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii,[b] gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Jesus asked: Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The Lawyer said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
This, too, is a smart and disturbing story about the cost of walking away.
By chance, the first man on the scene is a priest — on his way down from Jerusalem, having completed his Temple duties. He saw the man, but without clothes and unable to speak, the priest couldn’t tell his ethnicity or his religion. Nor could he know his moral condition. And these things mattered to the priest. He understood very well his responsibilities for his flock – for the devout Israelite people – but who was this unmarked man?
What if he was a thief or bandit himself and this was an act of retribution? Was he dead or alive? Maybe he could save his life, but if he were already dead, what could he do? He’d need to touch him to examine him and if he were already dead, touching him would make the priest impure. There were provisions for this, of course, to once again purify that which had become unclean, but they were time consuming, expensive and shameful.
And what if the bandits were still nearby?
The priest wasn’t a bad man, just conflicted by the number of rules and interpretations, and pressed by a sense of more important responsibilities given everything else. And so, he walks away.
But you know he thinks about it – his evening will be filled with what-if’s.
What if he was an Israelite and he was alive and he was brutally beaten on his way home from the Temple? What if he was someone he knew? Someone from his village? Someone’s kin? He could make a good legal argument for walking away, but what if he had stayed? Could he have saved the man’s life? Surely he prayed that someone had come along after him to help the poor man.
And by chance, someone did come along – a Levite – also on his way down from Jerusalem. Levites assisted the priests in the Temple. In fact, this Levite could have been this priest’s assistant. Several Middle-eastern scholars are convinced that the Levite would have been able to see the priest in front of him.
The contours of the road made it possible to see a good distance ahead. Regulations weren’t as strict for the Levite as the priest, but if the Levite saw the priest walk away, you know it would have influenced his decision.
On this, 19th century Anglican Archbishop Richard Trench wrote:
The Levite in his turn may have thought with himself, that it could not be incumbent on him to undertake a perilous office, from which the priest had just shrunk; duty it could not be, else that other would never have omitted it. For him to thrust himself upon it now would be a kind of affront to his superior, an implicit charging of him with inhumanity and hardness of heart.
In other words: if the priest didn’t stop, who am I to stop? And the Levite too must have prayed that someone would come along to help this poor man, if in fact, it was God’s will that he be helped.
He’s not a bad Levite, but the man is still in the ditch. And the cost of the first man’s choice to walk away has now multiplied with this second man’s choice.
We don’t know which direction the Samaritan is traveling. If he’s heading toward Jerusalem, he’s passed these two men.
If he’s coming from Jerusalem, he’s likely seen them from behind. He’s not bound to any of their rules or their social expectations. He has his own, but whatever they are, they take a backseat to his compassion for the beaten stranger.
Which is the point, after all.
This, Jesus says, is the way to life: Love of God and love of neighbor. Not just words, but merciful action – that’s the priority – over rules and laws, over boundaries and borders, over ritual, over social norms, over everything.
Ayelet Gundar-Goshen said she wrote Waking Lions because she wanted readers to ask themselves:
What if this happened to me? Driving home to my family late at night, I hit somebody who looks different than me and I’m certain nobody has seen – am I absolutely sure I wouldn’t walk away?
Or- maybe I didn’t cause the accident at all… I came upon someone hurting and suffering… and no one else was around… am I absolutely sure I wouldn’t walk away?
A parable, according to theologian John Dominic Crossan is
a story that never happened but always does. We know this story. We’ve lived it. Not with these exact details, but there’s not one of us here who hasn’t walked away from someone in need and we have lots of reasons – good ones even:
We don’t want to enable. We have limited resources. Someone else is better equipped. We have very important other responsibilities – other priorities. It’s too risky – not safe for us. We don’t speak their language or understand their culture. We can’t relate to their life. We’re afraid. We hope and pray someone else comes along — someone more equipped, someone who knows better what to do… It’s easier to walk away. And it may be, but at what cost?
Jesus tells parables to invite listeners to examine their hearts and to adjust their seeing, their hearing, their being to live more fully in the kingdom of God.
In light of this story, what could that look like for us?
Instead of walking away, what if we stay with it just a little longer?
What if we ask a few more questions… try to understand the facts and circumstances of a neighbor’s life with more compassion and empathy?
What if we invest in the effort to learn about human and community systems – what works and what doesn’t – where the real gaps are and what role we might play to help those who suffer?
What if we widen the circle of support and establish a bigger resource base… develop relationships with others willing to help… share the load?
What if we set aside judgment and open our minds and our hearts to stories different than the one we live and know?
What if we pause in the everyday busyness of our lives long enough to hear the cries of the hurting, to see someone in pain, to come alongside our neighbor who is struggling and offer to carry some part of the load?
Jesus said: Do this, and you will live.
Do you think it’s possible that every time we walk away, we live a little less? And every time we walk toward we live a little more?
Scripture: Luke 7:36-50
Sermon: My Story
In first century Galilee, it’s likely that the Pharisee Simon lived in a house with an adjacent courtyard. Private dinner parties like this one were held in the paved courtyard, which had a roof supported by columns. It was like a terrace. No walls blocked the surrounding night, and it was customary that uninvited guests would hang around
outside the party.
For some, it was entertainment. They’d gather to see who made the guest list and who sat next to whom – to catch a glimpse of the rich and powerful at play.
Parties like these attracted the poor too. They waited until the dinner was over, and then the servants would feed them leftovers. In this way, the host fulfilled his charitable obligations and the hungry were fed. A win-win.
Still others — entertainers, artists, merchants, and street vendors made themselves and their wares available to the dinner party guests and the gathered crowds.
So in addition to the people sitting around the table inside the courtyard that night, there were many other watchers.
Whose life was changed that night by what was seen? Whose story didn’t make Luke’s gospel? Imagine… Imagine another woman in the shadows… If she could tell her story, maybe it would sound like this:
There I stood… in my usual place. I adjusted my shawl, ran my fingers through my hair and waited – hoping it wouldn’t be long. I scanned the crowd loitering in the streets…
I’d been in this business long enough to size them up pretty quickly. The over-eager ones were trouble – rough… the nervous ones were nice, but they never paid much – and I had too many mouths to feed to waste my time. I liked a confident man – sure of himself – a man who knows what he wants when he sees it – I like a man to be choosy.
There is some chemistry in this game… chemistry, but not love. A long time ago I thought maybe there could be love – that someone kind would come and he would see me for who I really am… and he would buy me things and be gentle with me and plead with me to come away with him. He’d make a new life possible for me … and he would never be with another woman and I would never be with another man again…
That was a long time ago… when I actually thought gifts meant something and I actually thought I meant something… that was a long time ago and a lot of men ago…
So there I stood… waiting and watching. Tonight a dinner party gathered down the road. Important looking men were talking excitedly with one another as they headed toward the house. I recognize those robes – religious men.
They walked by me without even a glance my way.
No surprise there… they’d be afraid to notice a woman like me in public. And, well, I guess I’d be afraid to be with one of them in private anyway. I know what they think of my kind. It’s better if I keep a good distance from them.
And then a man walked by I’d seen recently mingling with my crowd. He seemed out of place now with this crowd, and yet the man who lived in the house came out through his courtyard and personally greeted this man like he was invited – maybe even the guest of honor. How strange. But what happened next was stranger still…
I saw a woman I knew –not well – in fact, I don’t even know her name, but I’ve seen her around – she does what I do. So, it wasn’t strange to see her there… I was there… it’s a busy street with lots of wealthy men. The strange thing was — she was walking toward the house like she was going to the party. People like her – like me – we don’t go to parties like this – what was she doing?
Maybe she was looking for a place to stand and wait for the dinner to finish – you know, to take advantage of the men who came stumbling out … but like I said, these weren’t the kind of men to mess with – surely she knew that. So, what was she doing?
I moved closer to get a better look. The woman hesitated at the edge of the courtyard. Inside, the guests had all reclined around the dinner table. She just stood there, looking at the man I’d seen before – not trying to get his attention, just looking at him.
I watched for a bit, but this had nothing to do with me, and I had to get back to work… but as I began to turn away, she moved… quickly and purposefully into the courtyard.
What was she doing? She had no business there! But she pushed her way in and moved toward the man. He was seated next to the host and when she reached him, she fell at his feet.
I moved from the shadows to get a better view and when I did that, some of the men turned to look my way. Their hard looks of disapproval sent me quickly across the street and out of their sight, but I found a spot where I could see her. I watched as she pulled out a jar… I’d seen that jar before…
A wealthy Roman gave it to her – only a couple of weeks ago. I overheard her talking about it. She cradled her precious jar next to her heart, calling it her “promise of a new life”. She said she was sure the Roman would come back for her… thought he might actually love her… that this jar proved she was special to him…
I remember thinking– she’ll learn… promises are always broken and there’s no such thing as new life. And I wondered which Roman he was, because I sure wouldn’t mind an expensive box of perfume of my own…
But tonight I watched her take that same precious jar and smash it open, pouring its contents all over the man’s feet. He had his hand on her shoulder and she was crying… and then she was kissing his feet. All conversation had stopped. And I realized my breathing too had stopped…
Couldn’t she feel the eyes of each and every man around that table on her… boring into her… judging her… condemning her? Surely she knew all talking had stopped… as she had become the object of their fascination… their embarrassment… their contempt.
As I looked at each of their faces, I felt her shame – my heart was pounding… my stomach was churning, my flesh seemed on fire… I felt her shame because it was my shame… but she… somehow, she didn’t notice anyone in the room but him. He was the center of all of her attention… her hands, her tears, her hair, her eyes were only on him.
Leave now, I silently pleaded with her! Before it’s too late! I saw the way they all looked at her and began to whisper to each other. Please… leave! Now they cut you with their eyes. Soon it would be stones… why wouldn’t she leave? I couldn’t bear to see what would happen next, but I couldn’t bear to turn away.
And then, the host of the party shifted his gaze from the woman to the man… and his expression changed from disgust to what – disappointment? Pity? Superiority? But then the man turned to meet the eyes of the host, and as he did, he raised his hand to stop the whispering that had begun around the table. All attention was on him as he spoke. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the whole time he spoke, the woman continued massaging his feet with that expensive oil that only a couple of weeks ago had meant everything to her…
And then he turned to her. He took her hands in his hands and lifted her to her feet. Then he lifted her face to his face and spoke directly to her. I could see his face as he spoke and it was the kindest, warmest face I had ever seen, and his eyes held not a trace of hatred or disgust or contempt in them… and no lust or eager desire – I knew all of those looks well … No, in his eyes was something I had never seen – I had never known… and somehow, in that moment, even though he was looking at her, I felt like he was also looking at me.
Then the moment passed, and the woman turned and left the house. He watched her as she left, then he reclined again at the table. I was frozen in place, watching the scene, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman. I turned toward her and her eyes met mine. Quickly I looked away and began to move away but she was quicker still and she reached out for my arm. “This is the right man”, she said.
“He looked into my soul and he saw me … not the tricks I had turned… not the men I had known… not the lies I had told… but he saw me… and in his eyes I saw truth … I saw love… I saw new life.”
Tears were running down my face as I fell to my knees. I was so afraid to believe it… I had built such a thick wall to protect myself from disappointments and pain – and to hide from the truth of what I had become, and yet I felt it crumbling as her hand moved from my arm to my shoulder, and then she knelt beside me and she held me. Together we wept – tears of grief and of joy, of fear and of hope… and then she reached for both of my hands and raised me to my feet.
And she said, “Follow him with me.”
Story after gospel story are lessons of contrast: some see and others are blind… some know the need for forgiveness and others hold on tightly to self-righteousness and judgment… some withhold hospitality and others love extravagantly… some play it safe and others risk it all…
Where are you?
In every story, Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life.
In every story is a life-changing invitation: Come and See.
Scripture: Luke 7:18-35
Sermon: What did you expect?
It’s almost Valentine’s Day and I’m reminded again of this little box of chocolates my parents gave me for Valentine’s Day – when I was maybe 7 years old. It was about the same time a Sunday school teacher told our class about the importance of inviting Jesus into our hearts. She referenced the picture we had in our church of Jesus knocking on the door of a heart– waiting to be welcomed in, and she talked about how Jesus wants to make his home with us – each one of us. How he loves us each so much he wants to live inside our hearts – and never leave us.
And all we have to do is open the door and invite him in.
That night as I lay in my bed I prayed and I asked Jesus to come into my heart and make his home there. And to symbolize what I had done, I finished the last chocolate out of my heart candy box and placed his picture inside. Then I put the box under my bed. And when I climbed back into bed that night – and I still remember this – I felt good. I believed my heart was filled with Jesus – his love, his friendship, his safety and his peace.
35 years later I got out of bed in the middle of the night and with my golden retriever at my side I went out into the backyard and sat down and cried. It was the night after my ordination to the ministry of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church. In the quiet and dark of that night I was overwhelmed. I’m sure some of the tears were from exhaustion: house guests, my mom was sick, it was a really long day- an emotionally exhilarating and draining service… but I cried and cried that night – tears I’m still interpreting.
This following Jesus thing is a costly enterprise.
In the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” For Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian who sacrificed his life resisting the evils of Nazi Germany, that was literally true.
Part of the reason I cried was because I didn’t know what lay ahead for me. What would following Jesus look like for me? And each time this call as pastor has been hard and heartbreaking, I’ve understood the tears a little more.
What did you expect when you said yes to following Jesus?
I knew more at 42 than I did at 7, but paradoxically I also knew the magnitude of what I didn’t know and sometimes even now I long to return to that childlike sleep when there were no hard truths and knowing he loved me was enough.
What did you expect when you went out to the wilderness? Jesus asked the crowd – when they began their journey to a new life. Surely they didn’t travel all that way to see a reed blowing in the wind – nor did they go to that place of desolation expecting to get rich.
But what did they expect would happen when they let a prophet of God take them under the Jordan River?
What do we expect when we stand before the baptismal font and commit to renouncing evil and all that defies God’s purpose in the world and commit to turning fully toward Jesus, accepting him as Lord and Savior? What change do we expect to see or feel in our own lives? What difference do we expect it to make in the world?
Both of our children went to a private Christian school for a while. I remember one day after school – after one of the chapels, Courtney – who at the time was probably about 7 – was upset.
They talk about how if we don’t pray to accept Jesus we’ll go to Hell, she said, And I pray every time but I don’t feel any different – what if I’m not doing it right?? And Alex said – You only have to do it once, Courtney – you’re fine. But she expected there was more…
Later Alex asked a different question: Which is better, Mom – to accept Jesus and be a bad person or be a good person and not accept Jesus? How about that for a loaded question?
Imagine me pulling up a chair next to his bed and trying to explain that it’s not that simple… not black and white: first of all – there are no such things as straight up good people and bad people – and better – is a value judgment – better for who – the person, the rest of the world? And what does it really mean to accept Jesus? Accept him as what? If we say we accept him as Lord – Lord of what? Of me? of the world? yes to both? Then what difference does that make in our lives? Why do we accept him in the first place? In order to guarantee a place in heaven after this life or in order to reorient the way we live our lives here and now?
And here’s Alex – probably like 10 or 11 – just wondering why there were mean kids in a Christian school, when he took his WWJD bracelet seriously.
Remember WWJD bracelets? Back in the 90’s—-
They started when youth group leader Janie Tinklenberg, of Calvary Reformed Church in Holland Michigan wanted a catchy way to remind her teens to stop and consider what Jesus would do when confronted with whatever it is a teen might face.
“We looked at T-shirts and hats, Janie recalls, But this was the time when kids were making braid friendship bracelets with colored thread. So bracelets it had to be. And we just used the abbreviation because kids wouldn’t have time to read the four words and they wouldn’t fit on the bracelet.”
She asked a friend to make a few hundred of them to give to the kids from her church to wear for 30 days and remember their commitment to God and good Christian behavior. They were immediately popular with the kids who asked for more to give to their friends and so on and so on. When Paul Harvey mentioned WWJD bracelets every day for a whole week in 1997, they became a sensation.
They were everywhere – on the wrists of athletes and business people, politicians and actors. Estimates of sales in the US during the 1990’s range from 15-52 million bracelets.
What would Jesus do?
Over the years the question has evolved into more specific questions: In 2002, Christians concerned about the environment launched the campaign What would Jesus drive? to help people understand the relationship between transportation choices, oil dependence and global warming.
Some are convinced Jesus would cruise in an old Plymouth because the Bible says,“God drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden in a Fury.” But other scholars insist he drove a Honda, citing John 12: 49 “For I did not speak of my own Accord…” And see here– his apostles followed their master’s lead –check out Acts 5:12 “The Apostles were in one Accord.” –they even carpooled!
What would Jesus buy? was a documentary released in 2007 profiling Rev. Billy and his church of Stop Shopping. It focused on the commercialization of Christmas, materialism and addictions to over-consumption. Rev. Billy continues to preach and teach sing about what he calls the Shopocalypse.
In 2011, Dr. Don Colbert wrote the book What would Jesus eat? It came with a companion cookbook and espoused the dietary benefits of a middle-eastern diet.
An Internet conversation emerged in 2014 on the question: What would Jesus pack? Meaning – what gun would Jesus carry.
Some argue that if Jesus had access to a gun when he went into the temple to chase out the evil money changers, instead of a whip, he would have chosen an old-fashioned cowboy six-shooter as a symbol of justice. Others lobby for the .44 Remington Magnum – the gun of choice for Dirty Harry, saying:
“Jesus is a God of love who expects the best of us. He literally wants each and every one of us to ‘make His day.’”
And there’s a Facebook page that’s become popular just in the last couple of months: Who would Jesus deport?
These questions may trigger thoughtful and faithful reflection, and to the extent that they drive us back to the Scriptures to engage in meaningful theology, they’re helpful, but the truth is we can never claim to know what Jesus would actually do. Even his closest followers were continuously surprised. He defied expectation.
John the Baptist asked if Jesus was the One they’d waited for because he wasn’t doing what John expected him to do.
Tell John, said Jesus, the blind are seeing, the lame are walking, the lepers are clean, the deaf hear, the dead live again, and good news is preached to the poor, but according to scholar Amy Jill Levine, Jewish sources do not traditionally speak of the Messiah as a miracle worker. They expected the Messiah to bring about God’s justice by defeating all agents of oppression. He would occupy the throne and establish a new kingdom of peace and prosperity. That meant overthrowing Rome.
But Jesus’ script was different. Even the Pharisees and religious scholars didn’t accept him as Messiah – and they’d spent a lifetime studying exactly what they should be looking for. Jesus didn’t fit in a box then and he doesn’t fit in a box now.
Even a pretty heart-shaped box.
In 2017, Jesus remains an enigmatic figure. But saying we’ll follow him is more than just words, it’s a call to action – to due diligence in study and reflection and prayer… to honest and earnest engagement of the mind, heart and hands…
To a raised level of expectation that our lives here and now will change and the world too will change, and it’s a call to deep humility. My last entry in Alex’s baby journal was in 2005. He was 13 and in his last year at the Christian school before entering public High School. Reading it again recently, it seems as relevant now as it was 12 years ago:
“Families have different understandings of what it is to live faithfully. That’s really the thing – there is no single, uniform Christian walk because we are all unique people. We all come out of different families, different communities, different experiences – we all see things slightly differently – sometimes not so slightly. Yet, we are all called to respond to Jesus when he says “Follow me”.
Alex, this call is not an easy one, but it is one that will fill your life and your heart with joy – even if at times (or when at times) it also involves pain and struggle. Your convictions on what it means to “Follow Christ” may lead you to stand in different places than some of your Christian friends. When you do this, be humble and full of grace—speak the truth in love not harsh judgment.
Seek to follow the way of Jesus—the way of peace, gentleness and love. Allow yourself to develop convictions—led by the Spirit, and remember that the Spirit speaks through others too—so let your convictions not be so inflexible that you are unable to hear a word of truth spoken by another. Don’t allow your heart to close to new realities that the Spirit has for you.”
And in all things remember you’re loved. For when everything else may feel uncertain, that is the truth.
Scripture: Luke 7:1-17
Sermon: Cross Culture
Abraham Lincoln once said: Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.
Power, according to Merriam Webster, is the possession of control, authority or influence over others.
This morning we have two gospel stories – told back to back in Luke: the powerful and the powerless… and Jesus is in both.
I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them, Jesus said to his disciples just before they entered Capernaum where they were met by a delegation of Jewish elders:
He deserves this, they say to Jesus. And hearing the word deserves, I’m thinking Jesus raised an eyebrow.
The he they’re talking about is a Roman centurion. Centurions were powerful people – officers with as many as 100 men under them. This one’s a good Roman, they say, and by that they mean he’s been good to them.
He loves our people, they say. He paid for our synagogue, they say. That, in their estimation, made him worthy of Jesus’ attention.
Jews of the first century had a strong nationalistic identity. As a people set apart by God and for God, they took great pride in their religious traditions and culture. At the center of most villages with observant Jewish communities stood a synagogue. They gathered there to honor and celebrate their ancient heritage through rites and rituals. Archaeologists have found stones in some of these synagogue ruins with the names of Roman patrons inscribed. Perhaps the name of this centurion was lauded in such a way.
His beloved servant was sick and near death. Having heard of the healing power of this Rabbi Jesus, he sent Jewish negotiators to plead his case.
He deserves this, they say. He loves our nation.
And Jesus went with them toward the Roman man’s house.
I don’t deserve this, the centurion says, in a message delivered to Jesus by a second delegation — this time the centurion’s friends – probably other Romans – who met them on the way.
Here is a figure who holds one of the highest political offices in the region. Technically, he could have pulled rank and ordered Jesus to come to his house, but he does exactly the opposite: in a dramatic public display, he empties himself of all cultural authority.
` I don’t deserve to have you under my roof, he says.
And the Jewish synagogue leaders of the first delegation undoubtedly agree– it’s further testimony of how great this Roman is – he even knows his real place compared to the people of Israel.
You — you don’t need to come here, he says, say the word from where you are and it will be done. – From a man who knows authority and the power of words – complete deference, respect and honor for Jesus.
I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them, Jesus said. This Roman centurion had all political authority, and he laid it down, humbling himself before the One he recognized as True Authority.
And that’s why he deserves it – the good, true, humble, noble character of his heart.
But to underscore the point, Jesus says: I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith. Now he’s gone too far – offending the Jewish leadership—a nationalist people by suggesting a Roman had stronger faith… Madness.
Next, Jesus meets a funeral procession. An only son died and his mother mourns. She’s a widow – the epitome of powerlessness in her culture. What a contrast from the first story. Jesus sees her weeping – for all that she has lost: a present and a future, security, welfare, life, love… Despite the crowds of mourners, she is utterly alone – and Jesus is moved with compassion. Literally his gut wrenches. And without being asked, he awakens the dead man.
What is this?
Nothing in her society says she deserved this – that she was worthy of this grace. But it is his call:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind.
to let the oppressed go free.
Within first century Palestinian culture, widows were the poorest, most vulnerable and voiceless. No claim to property, no protection, no hope.
What manner of injustice leaves people like this? What laws, what decisions, what norms, assumptions and traditions? Jesus acts out of compassion and with defiance against every systemic evil and structural injustice that creates and supports this widow’s plight.
I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them, Jesus said.
We have before us this day power and powerlessness.
Using 50 factors to determine a country’s Power index, the Global Firepower 2016 list ranks the United States number 1 out of the top 40 most powerful countries. This ranking is not simply based on the most weapons, but considers weapon diversity, natural and human resources, logistical flexibility and local industry.
Economically, we rank number one out of 190 countries in GDP – the total market value of all final goods and services produced in a country in a given year.
When asked if the United States has a moral responsibility to be a force for good in the world, 71% of the people who live in a five mile radius of Tecumseh said yes, 1% more than the United States as a whole, and 72% of the people of Tecumseh believe Americans act increasingly irresponsibly to the detriment of the common good – 2% higher than the United States as a whole.
In 2012 when MissionInsight prepared the report, we believed overwhelmingly that we are to use our power and our world influence to be a force for good and we also believed overwhelmingly that we were acting increasingly irresponsibly…
Wouldn’t it be good to know what people meant when they answered those questions? What if we sponsored a forum to listen and learn and reflect on global and local issues in our day and in light of Christ’s call to compassion, justice and love?
On the day after President Trump’s inauguration hundreds of thousands of people in cities around the world in Australia and Belarus, Botswana and Brazil, Chile and the Congo, Costa Rica and Latvia and Madagascar and Poland… in Israel and Saudi Arabia, Serbia and South Korea – even in the Antarctic Peninsula hit the streets and marched. Including those in the US, the number is now estimated at close to 5 million people: Be a force for good in the world was the message – Use your power compassionately – to build up – to reach out – to pursue freedom and dignity and humanity – for all. The world is watching.
In his Inauguration Speech, President Trump said: From this day forward, it’s going to be only America first, America first… Every decision on trade, on taxes, on immigration, on foreign affairs will be made to benefit American workers and American families…We will seek friendship and goodwill with the nations of the world, but we do so with the understanding that it is the right of all nations to put their own interests first.
Jesus didn’t teach a self-first ethic, but rather an other-first, self-sacrificing – laying down of power in the interest of lifting up another in need – neighbor to neighbor… people to people. What about nation to nation?
For now the world looks on and our nation’s character is revealed as we shut the door on refugees seeking sanctuary – victims of terrorism, genocide, religious and gender based violence and civil war – many of whom have been fully vetted by a legal refugee entry process. These are the truly powerless – forced to leave their homes and their villages – burying their children and their futures – and we who could offer life – out of our abundance, do not.
For fear. But people on the front line of refugee resettlement ministries like Matthew Soerens, co-author of Seeking Refuge: On the Shores of the Global Refugee Crisis and the U.S. director of church mobilization at World Relief, say this policy will not make us safer while devastating so many.
Is one child more worthy than another? More deserving than another of full and abundant life? Who is our neighbor? Only those who live inside our borders? our walls? Practice our religion?
Last week I got together with a couple of other pastors in this town. Not surprisingly, politics came up. I listened to them talk about how they were navigating the waters in these turbulent times within their congregations. Both of them said: I’m staying out of it and just preaching Jesus.
I don’t understand how preaching Jesus can be anything but in it. Jesus said: From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded. What does that mean for you and for me and for the church and for the nation and for the world?
Scripture: Luke 6:1-11
Sermon: At the Intersection of Love, Faith and Holy Outrage
A man with a withered right hand went to the synagogue that Sabbath day. That’s how he was known: The man whose right hand was withered.
In his faith tradition, the Right Hand was more than the five digited appendage at the end of the right arm. It was the primary point of physical touch, and as such, it symbolized the whole of a person’s actions, intentions and strength. Spiritual power transferred through the right hand for blessings and anointings – then and now. Greetings were exchanged through the right hand of fellowship. Often Jewish prayers called on the Mighty Right Hand of God, symbolizing all of God’s strength, power and enduring providence.
So what did it really mean that his right hand was withered? What did it mean to him? What did it mean to others in his faith community?
It didn’t ban him from worship. He could tuck his shrunken, weak and useless right hand into his cloak and enter the synagogue to sing and pray and listen to the Scriptures, as they were read and taught. But when the people turned to greet one another – or lifted their hands in the air to pray as was their custom, it was awkward and probably shameful for him.
He was a one-handed man in all aspects of life. He couldn’t push or pull or lift or embrace with full strength. His employment options were limited. It was difficult to provide for his family or contribute to the physical needs of the community. In his own eyes and in the eyes of others, he was not a whole person. Not dying, not bleeding, not uninvited to worship, just weak and diminished… less than.
If there was a cure for his condition, it was against Jewish law to administer it on the Sabbath – because it would require work and work was forbidden. Healing on the Sabbath Day was only lawful for people in life-threatening circumstances.
But who is to say what threatens full and abundant life?
The Pharisees and scribes went to the synagogue that Sabbath day too. They were always there — the elite worshippers. They knew the religious Law inside and out and oversaw its application in the faith community. They were smart and esteemed; the teachers … the local authority on all things holy. They were not only there, they held seats of honor.
Jesus saw the man with the withered hand. He has a habit of seeing people. And the Pharisees took note.
Come and stand here, he said to the man here– front and center – next to them.
This is the kind of thing that gets Jesus in trouble, over and over again. The gospels tell story after story like this. Jesus sees someone or something that’s just not right and he doesn’t wait until coffee hour – he stops everything to address it. Here he sees someone who believes he’s less than… and he sees people who believe they’re more than enforcing religious laws and practices to keep it that way … and he calls it out.
He loves to do it on the Sabbath day and particularly in the sanctuary. What better time; what better place. If Sabbath is about freedom and justice and wholeness doing good not harm… saving life not destroying it– if the sanctuary is a sacred space set apart – holy before God – then what better time, what better place to reveal God’s love and grace for every person? But not everybody saw it that way.
Stretch out your hand… Jesus said to the man Put right out in the open that part you’ve kept hidden in shame– stretch it out in the open before God and all of these people…
Can you imagine? All eyes were on him. How he must have trusted Jesus at that moment to risk bringing into the light that shadowed part of himself before his whole community. And as he does so, only as he does so, is he restored.
The weird thing is that everybody isn’t filled with joy.
As the religious leaders, the Pharisees and Scribes– those considered by the community to be the credentialed holy ones looked on, they were filled with something else.
Not anger. Not fury. Not rage – it’s actually something else. The Greek word that describes what they’re filled with only appears one other time in the whole of the New Testament –
in 2 Timothy chapter 3:
You must understand this, pens the writer of 2 Timothy ch 3, in the last days distressing times will come. For people will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, inhuman, implacable, slanderers, profligates, brutes, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to the outward form of godliness but denying its power. Avoid them! For among them are those who make their way into households and captivate vulnerable women, overwhelmed by their sins and swayed by all kinds of desires, who are always being instructed and can never arrive at a knowledge of the truth… these people of corrupt mind and counterfeit faith, also oppose the truth. But they will not make much progress, because… their folly will become plain to everyone.
That’s a mouthful. And I don’t know if these are the last days or the first days, but there’s something in here for us —
Folly is what the Pharisees and Scribes were filled with when they saw the man’s hand restored that Sabbath day. Folly – the complete absence of wisdom, reason and sober judgment – as if their minds had become infected with a corrupting virus making them incapable of discerning truth and goodness and light and life.
The King James calls it madness.
The truth is, Jesus didn’t break any Sabbath laws that day. He didn’t touch the man. He didn’t work. He did nothing wrong and everything right: he saved a life. But that’s not what they saw and not what they would say and not what they would use to conspire against him.
This is what Jesus was up against. The folly – the madness of these people of pedigree and power was dangerous. They sat on councils and planned and plotted his demise.
Yet over and over again, in story after story, Jesus stood out in the open– with defiance and conviction and challenge – in the synagogue and on the Sabbath – in the marketplace and in dinner parties – he stood for love and he stood for justice; he stood for truth and he stood for life – he exposed madness and he calls his followers to do the same.
One of the speakers at the Women’s March in our nation’s capital last week, Rabbi Sharon Brous said this:
Sometimes—maybe once in a generation—a spirit of resistance is awakened at the intersection of love, faith and holy outrage. In those moments, we are reminded what we’re fighting for, what our armed forces are willing to die for, what this country was built for and what our flag flies for: liberty and justice, for all. This is one of those sacred moments. Today, around the country, we, the people, stand together in protest, proclaiming our fidelity to love over hate, progress over regress, and inclusion over exclusion.
One of the criticisms I heard upon my return from the march in DC last weekend was that it wouldn’t amount to much – not really have an impact – because it wasn’t unified in purpose. It’s true, there were lots of different reasons people marched – lots of different hand-made signs and lots of different causes. But in the midst of all the diversity, there were common themes.
Rabbi Brous hit on some of them: liberty and justice for all, love, progress, inclusion. I made a sign that said: We will hope, We will love, We will stand, We will speak. Those themes were represented broadly too: steadfast and persistent hope… relentless love… courageous stands… silence turning to voice.
I didn’t march against President Trump as a person. I didn’t march against democracy or the election results. I didn’t march against a political party or because I was upset my candidate didn’t win.
Fundamentally I marched against madness. Today’s Scripture helped me name it. And in reading this Scripture I’ve learned something else:
More than march against folly, he stood his ground before it – and he faced it full on with love and faith and truth and holy outrage.
Because folly is a corrupting virus, and it infects us all. It is rationalization and projection and objectification and the exploitation of power. It’s the seduction of privilege and fear of scarcity. It’s believing in absolute dualities like winners and losers and the misguided striving after trophies and accolades – the proof that one has and is more than… it’s the suffocating dread of being less than. It blights the soul, deprives the mind of rational thought and drains the heart of compassion. It’s madness – a sickness unto death.
And when exposed, it doesn’t go gently into the night.
Come here and stand, Jesus said. Come into the light – into the center – into full view. Stretch out your withered and reluctant and fearful and intimidated and atrophied and nervous right hand. Stretch it out in full view and join it with another and another and another – here at the intersection of Love, Faith and Holy Outrage. Come and stand here. And lo, he said, I will be with you always, day after day after day.
Scripture: Luke 4:14-33
Sermon: The Spirit of the Lord is Upon Me
Jesus was coming home! And they were so proud. The villagers of Nazareth had raised him after all. And now everybody throughout Galilee was talking about him – their Jesus!
Imagine their excitement. They watched with great expectation as he stood that day in the synagogue to read the scroll. All eyes were on him as he unrolled it and looked it over. Then, with a clear, strong voice he read:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…
he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…
sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind…
to let the oppressed go free…
and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.
They knew those verses – they’d heard them many, many times. They’re words of hope spoken by the prophet Isaiah to a people living in exile – proclaiming a long-awaited return.
They’re from the 61st chapter of the book of Isaiah, which continues: they shall build up ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities… everlasting joy shall be theirs… their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the LORD has blessed…
The people of the synagogue of Nazareth clung to words like this. Life was challenging under Herod’s rule. They saw his loyalty to Rome as idolatry and his personal antics and ethics as abhorrent. In fact it was Herod’s corruption that drove many faithful Jewish families to leave Judea and settle in the hills of Nazareth. There they formed a tight community and waited for God to deliver them.
Jesus didn’t read the whole scroll. He sat down after reading the line:
and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor…
and he said: Today. Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.
And that was exactly what they longed to hear! What they had waited for! God’s deliverance was at hand! And it was their Jesus – their hometown son — who proclaimed it! What a day!! This was not just good news – it was great news.
And then Jesus kept talking. And they stopped clapping each other on the backs and their smiles froze and began to fade… and their eyes – shining just moments before, clouded over… their hearts hammered against their chests and their fists began to clench – and just like that, they were filled with rage and drove him out of town.
This is a preacher’s worst nightmare.
Everything changed after he said those three little words:
the truth is…
Jesus returned to Galilee filled with the power of the Spirit – courageous, inspired, fearless and ready to speak truth. And they did not like it.
Because the truth was not what they believed it to be.
Who are the poor?
Who are the captives?
Who are the blind?
Who are the oppressed?
The faithful people of Nazareth assumed they were God’s chosen people – that the promises were exclusive. They couldn’t conceive of anyone else getting God’s favor in the way it was meant for them. And here’s Jesus – one of them. They trained him for goodness sake. His religious training came from their synagogue – their rabbis. They knew his parents – where did he get these crazy notions?
And what was so crazy about what he said?
When there were tons of widows in Israel, God sent Elijah to a Gentile widow… when there were lepers all over Israel, God sent Elisha to heal a Syrian.
Jesus had the audacity to proclaim God’s freedom to move past human categories of privilege and religious pedigree to love outsiders and heal the ritually impure and free all kinds of captives.
He had the nerve to suggest that human understandings of “chosenness” are not the same as God’s.
And that is disturbing.
Preaching professor Dr. Paul Scherer wrote: It is necessary first of all…to quit covering over the offense of the gospel in an effort to do people good. Nothing can do them good without disturbing them, and nothing will disturb them to any lasting effect unless it disturbs them deeply.
That kind of preaching marked Jesus’ short career as his message and his ministry over and over again met with hostility and opposition. People don’t like to be disturbed.
But the truth is…
Often unpopular – especially if it’s demanding or unexpected or uncomfortable or risky or painful or challenges deep-set convictions.
Who are the poor –
Who are the captives –
Who are the blind –
Who are the oppressed – in our midst?
And what is our responsibility, our risk, our call as followers of Jesus – to be liberators, reconcilers, healers, peacemakers – in his name? in this day? in this place?
Last Saturday was training day. Our elders and deacons – the leaders of this church – came together to review the tasks of ministry they are set apart to do. After watching a short video reviewing the call of elder and deacon, the room was quiet.
Comments? Questions? Thoughts? I asked.
It’s overwhelming… daunting, some said. You should review these things with us before we say yes.
If you didn’t feel that way, I’d be worried, I said. And then I said:
It is only by the power of the Holy Spirit that we – any of us – are able to do what we are called to do.
The saying goes: God doesn’t call the equipped, God equips the called.
In a few moments we will be inviting all of the new elders and deacons forward to be ordained and installed. And we will lay hands on them as we pray for the Holy Spirit to come upon them and equip them for the service to which they are called.
Together this leadership team will discern what it will mean to be church in this place, in this time – Tecumseh, Lenawee County, Michigan, the United States of America — 2017.
Our decision-making process in the Presbyterian Church is representative, and by that we mean our leaders represent the congregation demographically – the leadership should mirror the congregation in such categories as age, gender, etc.
We don’t represent the will of the people in our decisions, but rather together we seek to discern the will of God. From time to time, that may mean that we make decisions that some don’t like or find uncomfortable or challenging. It will be our responsibility to communicate clearly, honestly, faithfully and with integrity to the gospel all of our decisions to you and to listen to your responses, even as we seek to lead through the discomfort.
We won’t always get it right.
But by God’s grace we will learn and we will grow and our efforts and decisions will honor the One we call Lord.
The gospel of Luke, more than any of the other gospels emphasizes the role of the Holy Spirit in the ministry and mission of Jesus. From his baptism in the river Jordan, into the wilderness where he was tempted for 40 days, to his ministry in Galilee, and all the way to the cross, the Holy Spirit fills Jesus with power and courage and determined faith. And Luke’s sequel, the book of Acts, tells of the gift and strength of the Holy Spirit empowering the church into its mission in the world.
As we turn now to our service of ordination and installation, let us pray in song for the Spirit to fall upon us – all of us – that we may serve the living Christ with grace and truth.
Scripture: Luke 3:1-22
Sermon: What Shall We Do?
Every new year is a chance to change your life. Actually, every new day – every new minute is a chance to change your life, but culturally and traditionally, we wax nostalgic as each calendar year draws to a close, and with annual vigor and passion we set the course – mapping personal improvement plans through New Year’s resolutions.
January 2 of every year our family drives the 15 or so hours home from Hilton Head South Carolina where we have vacationed for the last 24 years. Sometime along that drive – and usually its in the Ohio wastelands north of Dayton on I75 – when its dark and late– and we’re talking to keep whoever is driving awake – the conversation begins:
So – what changes are you going to make this year?
Exercise more, eat less, read more, talk less, clean out the closets, invest in important relationships, pray more, practice mindfulness, live greener, buy leaner – starting tomorrow.
We always say it out loud to each other. Witnesses help.
These days there are also apps to help us keep our resolutions. For example: I got a Fitbit for Christmas and I downloaded the Fitbit app. Now my wrist buzzes when I’ve been sitting too long and it buzzes when I’ve reached my 10,000 step/day goal. It measures my sleep patterns, how many calories I burn each day and my heart rate. It even guides me through a deep breathing relaxation exercise if I’m stressed.
This will be the year of tidying up, I said – somewhere around Lima. And sure enough, there’s an app to help me. Daily tips, guides and insights, tidying challenges and checklists – all available with a simple swipe of my finger.
There are budgeting apps, mindfulness apps, nutrition and organizational apps. Your phone can remind you to pray and give you prayers to say. If this is the year you want to learn a second language, there’s an app for that, and there’s even an app to help you break away from addictions to your mobile devices.
Even with all this, a US News and World Report study concludes that 80% of New Year’s resolution-ers return to old habits by the first week of February. Unless you first change your mind, the study says, don’t expect your goals to materialize. It’s not the gym, Pilates class or diet that will change you – it’s your mind.
Metanoia, is the Greek word for a changed mind, and it was John the Baptist’s rallying cry: Repent! Re-orient your thinking, your heart and the direction of your life. Turn from what was and turn toward what will be – a life lived in right relationships – with God, with neighbor and with self.
Crowds of people came to this charismatic prophet on the edge of the Jordan River.
One by one he led them down into the water and back out again. His wasn’t a ritual cleansing like the others – but a one-time immersion – John’s intention was clear — when you come up out of the water, you’re permanently changed.
Nicander’s recipe for pickles is helpful here. This Greek poet and physician from around 200 BC said: there’s a two-step process for making a pickle: First dip the vegetable in boiling water and then baptize it in vinegar. Step one is temporary but step two leads to permanent change.
John wasn’t messing around. He proclaimed a new kingdom of world change. Everybody was welcome to join it, but joining meant more than just talking about it.
Every person has a part to play – every life matters. Be in for the in or don’t bother playing – the stakes are too high. The kingdom of God is near – now is the time.
An interesting mix of folks came to the River Jordan to answer John’s urgent and provocative call: there were the common people – the masses – the farmers and peasants, merchants and working class — aka the general public, but there were tax collectors too. They were an altogether different breed.
Nobody liked tax collectors. They were greedy two-bit hoodlums. They ripped people off above and below. They were notoriously dishonest and slick. Why did they come?
Some soldiers came too – representatives of the oppressive empire – servants of the war machine. Their reputation was unsavory too. Yet there they were.
What shall we do? Each asked in turn – what is expected of us in this God movement?
To each type of person who asked, there was an answer:
Share… don’t take advantage of others… charge what’s right and reasonable – and no more… never exploit or manipulate another… your power, your social, political or religious position is not a tool for intimidation – so don’t use it that way… Don’t defraud or extort another… turn from corruption… Whatever your station in life… whatever your vocation… you are called to do what’s right.
Be honest and genuine and just and fair. Treat your neighbor with respect and honor. Clear your junk out of the way so the path to God is clear.
Jesus was in the crowd too. Jesus, a carpenter’s son from Nazareth. He came to the wilderness to the edge of the Jordan River as did so many – shoulder to shoulder seeking freedom, justice, peace, an end to all that was wrong with the world.
Luke tells of Jesus’ baptism almost as if it’s a P.S.: P.S. before John was locked up, he also baptized Jesus – along with the tax collectors, Roman soldiers, and all of the masses.
Jesus went out to the River Jordan to join the movement – to give his life new purpose. Joining was his first step. Leading came after.
I’m imagining a long line of people… crowds streaming from the villages and towns… and somewhere in the middle of it all is Jesus – just another guy in line – refusing to claim superiority or privilege… waiting patiently, humbly, thoughtfully – taking it all in.
A long time ago I saw a print on the wall of a homeless shelter that came to my mind as I thought about this scene in the Judean wilderness. The artist was a Quaker named Fritz Eichenberg.
The Christ of the Breadlines, it’s called.
Writer Paul Luikart describes it this way:
Jesus Christ standing in line…waiting with the rest of the down-and-outers for His turn… In front of Him and behind Him are other raggedy people, hands in their pockets, wrapped up in shawls, anxiously waiting… They’re all together nomads, riff-raff, vagrants, human dreck, homeless.
He’s wrapped in rags. He’s entirely in shadow. No bulging abs, no mountainous biceps.
And the figures in the painting with Him are still. They stand, with the Lord of the universe in their midst, motionless in their deep poverty and hunger, wanting the same thing He wants—rest, fulfillment, an end to suffering.
The figure of Jesus is literally in the middle of the piece, but the details—the stuff that Eichenberg pays such close attention to—are of those in the line with Jesus and not Jesus Himself. However, they can only be seen by the light of His crown.
This is the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry: he comes to the River Jordan to stand alongside the masses – one with them – together joining a movement to change the world.
What shall I do? Jesus may very well have asked in prayer as the heavens split open, the Holy Spirit descended and the voice spoke– not about what he would do, but about who he is:
You are My Son… My Beloved Son… In whom I am so pleased.
Every child we baptize – young and old – we mark with a cross – the sign of Christ and we say:
You are God’s beloved child, marked and sealed with God’s grace by the Holy Spirit now and always. And we pray that that child – whatever age – will grow into the fullness of that identity – with courage, strength, wisdom and joy.
As we begin this new year – 2017 – may we make another kind of resolution. May we resolve to hear that call from the wilderness from the edge of the River Jordan to change our lives – to really change our heart orientation toward God, following the way of Jesus. May each of us ask:
What shall I do to bear the fruit of a baptized life?
Whatever the particular circumstances and vocations of each of our lives, from that unique place, we are to live more justly, more honestly, more openly and more compassionately toward our neighbor and toward ourselves.
There’s not an app for this kind of change. This is the work of the Holy Spirit upon and within each of our lives, changing us, transforming our minds, more and more into the likeness of Christ.
This is where the journey begins for Jesus and this is where it begins for us: call, promise, belovedness, grace, new identity.
What shall we do? Who shall we be?
Today as we come forward to celebrate the Lord’s Supper for the first time in a new year, let us come with joy – remembering his baptism and our baptisms… remembering who and whose we are… thankful for yet another chance to examine and change our lives by the power of the Holy Spirit.